Twilight of the Gods - A Different Twist of Events

A short note:

When the writing of my part of the main story with Aragorn and his men as well as Ridasha and her tribe was done back in July 2004, I turned to the question, “What would have happened if Éomer hadn’t arrived on time to save his friend?”

It’s a short piece since I solely concentrated on the different developments, which might have evolved, and left out everything else that stays the same.

Since it is just a mind game the part is not beta-read. If someone is up to the job I will gladly accept help.

T.

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Chapter One – No relief

NORTHERN DUNLAND

   The simple festivities of the warriors about being united again had lasted half the night. Now Harishdane was the last to leave the campsite, and with a quick glance she made sure nothing had been left behind. The tents were broken down and carried in parts by some soldiers, the fires had been extinguished and covered with loose rocks, and the grass would soon stand up again. It was still early morning, and the mist had not yet risen, when she followed her kindred into the gorge that would lead them through the Misty Mountains eastward to end north of Fangorn Forest. Quick and sure-footed she overtook the last of her kin to reach the leading two, Asentis and Sisune. They greeted her with a curt bow, and she outstretched her hand to touch her second-in-command. He smiled with warmth and love, and finally, after the toil they had had to face she felt at ease. Content that all parts of her plan had worked so far, she looked forward to meeting Lomarin again, expecting him to have fulfilled his part of the plan as well.

* * *

   The King of Rohan raised his hand to let the éored come to a halt. For nearly six days now they had ridden hard and fast, and both riders and steeds were exhausted, but the sight of the empty campsite alerted them again.

   Immediately Thor dismounted and crouched to inspect the ground with his hands. Undoubtedly a camp had been pitched here, and it had been left not long ago, but the traces leading away from it vanished on the rocky grounds. It appeared that the men, who had rested here during the night, had climbed up the sheer walls. It was impossible, but he could offer his ruler no other explanation.

   Éomer ground his teeth. It had been time consuming to find Aragorn's trace in the first place, and now that they knew that the men, who had abducted the Gondorians, must have come down here, it was even harder to accept that they had missed them again. Éomer cursed and turned to his men.

   “Search the surroundings! I want to know about everything that happened here! Thor, tell me if the captives were among them. Did they come here? And how many men were resting here?”

   Thor lifted his brows.

   “More than forty, my lord, but… as I see it, this was no camp of the Dunlendings. It is far too… noble. They had tents, firewood, and…” He took up a piece of leaf that had lain near the fire's rim. Its edges were black from the soot. “And this. Whatever it is no Dunlending ever uses to put leaves into the fire.”

   “Did we find their allies then?” Éomer asked heatedly and with bitter mockery, scanning the area with his eyes to find anything he could concentrate on. This defeat was hard to take.

   “We might. The whole camp looks unfamiliar to me, my lord.” Thor let go the leaf. There was a strange and bitter smell to it, and he did not like it. “I have never seen anything like it, and the footprints were not left by boots of the Dunlendings. They are far smaller and very light. Only a few are among them were made by boots we know.”

   “So the captives have been with them?” Éomer pressed. He needed some good tidings; at least to know that the captives were still alive if rescuing them had failed.

   “Yes, this is quite likely,” Thor admitted lowly, disappointed to not bring better news. He searched the surroundings again. There had to be a sign where the men had gone. Something he had missed until now. He exhaled, glancing at the ground. Whoever walked left prints or scratches. The strangers had used tents, so they would have carried them on their backs when entering the mountains again. He lifted his gaze to a man's height and followed the stony path at the slope again.

   Elfhelm saw the deep frustration in his ruler's face. They had lost too much time in the search for the tunnel's entrance, and now they paid bitterly for the delay. Though Woldro had helped them, he, too, had not mentioned the strangers, who had trained them to fight, and Éomer had not pressed him since the Dunlending had at least been willing to accompany them. And even though it was likely the Gondorian soldiers and Aragorn would still be alive, they had again disappeared within the mountains. The Lord of Westfold took off his helmet to wipe his sweaty face. No one could say where the captives were taken from hereon. And for what purpose.

   Éomer turned to him as if knowing he had been watched.

   “Thor says the captives are not in the hands of hillmen. Who else could be responsible of taking them?”

   Elfhelm stroked his beard and said lowly:

   “Woldro and Durden will know.” He lifted his brows, and Éomer nodded slowly. “Will you have us ride back to ask them?”

   “I have found something!” Thor announced running up to them. “There is an entrance into that gorge over there. But it's narrow. No horse will fit through.” The king and Elfhelm followed him swiftly, and they inspected the passage where the scout had finally found a scratch on the stone.

   “Well done,” Éomer said when they followed the steep path uphill. It was hard to tread and partly they had to walk sideways to reach the next ledge. After half an hour they stopped, overlooking the way that wound itself through the mountain north-eastward. “There is no use in following them any further. They are gone.” The king turned, but Thor hesitated. “Yes?”

   “If they have to take captives along they won't be fast. I could take four or five men and follow them.”

   “I need you to communicate with the Dunlendings. But your idea shall not be neglected. Elfhelm, choose five of your men with experience to take this path. We will ride back to gather information from the Dunlendings. I am sure they know more about this charade,” he growled. “And they will tell us.”

   “Aye, my lord.” But Éomer had noticed his older friend's worried expression, and when asked Elfhelm said, “I would not count on those five men to free the captives. And we need to inform Prince Faramir.”

   “Not to mention Lady Arwen,” Éomer closed gloomily, and they went the way back to inform the waiting soldiers about their decisions.

* * *

MISTY MOUNTAINS

   During the whole day Harishdane pressed her kinsmen and the captives to move on faster. She wanted to return home as soon as she could, now that her goal had been achieved. She glanced over her shoulder. Like the other captives the king had been blindfolded and gagged for the first part of the journey, taking away every possibility to communicate or to know where they were heading for. The Gondorians had tried to slow down the group, but Asentis' quick and effective retaliation of one of them had ended that resistance. Now they trod the paths like they should, and with every mile they covered the Easterling leader felt her spirits rise. With Asentis at her side she would win without shooting a single arrow. No army would dare to fight them, for the king – long thought to be lost – was the most valuable man the kingdom possessed, the last of his bloodline. Without him Gondor would fall back into insignificance. Harishdane shuddered with delight and smiled.

   Gishvané was used to long marches, but since her younger days she had not been forced to such a hurry. To see how her leader treated the captives added to her discomfort. Since the day she had been consecrated a high priestess she had taught the tribal leaders to treat servants and slaves with respect and lead them into a fulfilled life. Harishdane was not open to reason and only in the evening when they pitched a camp still within the mountain she allowed the gags and blindfolds to be taken off. Gishvané looked into sweat-drenched faces full of fear and pain, and heard the men ask for water. The Easterlings took care of the Gondorians, and there were many among her own people, who questioned Harishdane's decisions, but none of them would ever openly accuse her. It was not their way, and they would follow Harishdane since the decisions she had made up to now had led to their fortune. The dream of occupying land to breed sharos on was tempting, and they hoped it would soon be fulfilled.

   Ridasha let the healer drink and handed him bread and dried fruits, noticing the bloody weals the rope had caused during the long time. The wounds in his face were healing, but where the garb over his right shoulder was cut still the scytejé shone red and rough as if it would not get better. Ridasha frowned and decided to talk with Gishvané about this. She watched his face again. The healer looked exhausted enough to sleep at once, and for some time he only stared at the food without intending to eat it.

   “Are you sick?” the woman asked frowning.

   “Where are you taking us?”

   “Home.”

   “That cannot be true. We would be of no use there – on land bereft of life as you said.” She evaded his stare, but did not flee like she had done before. “Since our fate is set – tell me the truth. What is Harishdane about to do?”

   “You will work as I already told you. Do not ask more questions,” she added when Nisenur passed them by, growling in shék that she should better keep quiet. “You have no right to. Try to sleep.” She rose and left and the king did not dare to look into the eyes of his men. He heard their whispers and got painfully aware that they expected him to decide what to do, but all his hopes were devastated. There would be no more chances to escape, and none would search for them within the mountains again. He had not seen the entrance to the gorge from the campsite and yet it had taken them only minutes to enter the narrow path. He had felt hard stone under his feet, and the sound of the footsteps had changed. From that moment on he had known his men and he would be at the mercy of the Easterlings for a long time.

   Hilberon hid his face behind his hands. For an evening and a night there had been the smallest chance of King Éomer reaching the campsite of their enemies. He had expected the King of Rohan to find traces, footprints, any sign where the captives had been taken to, and that he would do something to help them. Yearningly he remembered the proud and strong Rohirrim on their fast steeds. If they had known where to search they would have been there. And they would have fought the Easterlings and won. He was sure of that. But since the moment King Elessar and his men had been dragged through the mountain the King of Rohan had had no indications of how to follow them. They were alone. And they were defeated. Wearily he slid to one side and closed his eyes.

* * *

DUNLAND

   Through worry and anger Éomer felt pride to see how Battleaxe galloped without exhausting. He was fast and strong, a steed worth the choice. They had been riding as fast as all horses allowed to reach the first settlements again, hoping to meet Durden or Woldro. Éomer was in a bad mood, and he would let the hillmen know that they only had a chance to escape his wrath by telling the truth about their sudden ability at warfare. He longed to threaten a Dunlending until he gave in. It pained him to have lost so much valuable time in a pursuit that had led to nothing. Now the enemies were way ahead of them, and he did not count on the five men, whom he had sent to follow them, to be able to beat the group. If anything the men could return to Rohan to report about the direction the enemies had taken.

   Determined to solve the riddle of his missing men as well as his missing friend he spurred Battleaxe one more time. There was still one day-ride ahead, and he would not lose more time than he already had.

* * *

MISTY MOUNTAINS

   Though the blindfolds had been taken away and the captives were allowed to speak again – a measure Gishvané had insisted on with raising fury – the Gondorians trod their way in silence. The information seeped through to all of them that they were taken to the home of the Easterlings and would have to work for them until their lives' ending. Especially for Hilberon this news was like a stab to his heart, and he could not grasp its true meaning until late the following day. A part of him still believed that with the king at their side they would escape every evil fate, but Halamin had to destroy that noble hope. The Easterling leader watched King Elessar closely, and Ridasha was at his side most of the time. In opposite to the other soldiers the king's ankles were bound during the night, and the ropes holding him were checked by the guards frequently. Harishdane was not taking any chances, and reluctantly Halamin agreed with Hilberon that the woman from the east knew that she held the King of Gondor captive. There was no other explanation. But still he did not see her intention. Would she try invading Northern Ithilien with those three hundred unarmed women, who had gathered there? It seemed ridiculous to hope for victory.

   Halamin walked behind Tarés and the king when suddenly the group was called to a halt. Their way through the mountain came to its end; the path wound downward and was almost even. They had marched through the haze in the morning hours, and the wind brought the smell of bark and leaves, of wet soil and pine needles. To his right the sight grew darker. They had finally reached Fangorn Forest, but would pass it by along its northern rim instead of walking through. Halamin longed to be free. It seemed months ago that he had ridden with his fellows through Ithilien's waste woodlands. Now they would march over the plain between the forest and Lórien without hope of getting help from anyone. From the head of the group Nisenur appeared and bound a rope around the waist of the first captive and connected all other prisoners like this before ordering them to move on.

   Aragorn's heart beat fast recognising the place of their exit to the lands south of Lórien. Emerging from the morning's mist the woodland of the Elves could be spotted far yonder. He had walked this plain long before and knew what he would find when turning north. A sudden jolt of refreshed hope rushed through him. The Elves still lingered in their realm, and why should they not journey beyond their borders? But how could they attract their attention? There were not many of them left, and with the speed Harishdane hurried they would only remain in the Elves' range for two days. A sharp pull on the rope made him move forward. Aragorn inhaled deeply. Not all hope was lost, and he was willing to count on anything to find help for his men.

* * *

SOUTHERN DUNLAND

   Éomer's patience reached its end. They had lost a whole day near the River Isen to find Durden's hideout. To drag him and two other tribal leaders into the king's camp had not been easier. Now the Dunlending faced the Rohan king with forced politeness.

   “There can only be negotiations if the others are present,” Durden growled. “And where is the King of Gondor?”

   Éomer closed in on him, hissing into his face:

   “You will now tell me with whom you allied yourself with, or I will teach you a lesson in Rohirric wrath.”

   “You cannot threaten me!”

   “I already do! My men are still missing! King Elessar is missing, and Woldro already told us that they are brought through the mountains as captives! And since we found neither my men nor the Gondorians you will now tell us about your allies, or I swear you will not forget this night!”

   Durden retreated, only to find Lord Elfhelm's broad frame behind him, blocking the exit as effectively as a stone pillar. His own two companions were outnumbered by the soldiers of the éoreds, and the tribal leader could see in Éomer's face that this time he would not get away with trite answers. Still he dreaded to reveal the Dunlendings' plans.

   “You better speak quickly, Durden!” the king demanded. “I have no time to lose!”

   “Why you think we allied with any other people?” he asked to gain some time, but Éomer glared at him unrelenting. Already he felt like running out of time by talking with that primitive, and a bitter voice in the back of his head asked him why he had started those negotiations at all. He had drawn his Gondorian friend into this, and now he was dragged somewhere Éomer could not follow.

   “Don't try that, Durden. Give me the answers I need, and I will let you go free. If not I will hold you captive until the missing men are delivered. Have we got an agreement?”

   Durden swallowed. At Edoras he had come to know a ruler, who had at least tried to control his temper. He had been a man with the will to talk peacefully, and Durden had to admit that his answers and offers had been uttered with politeness. And he had stuck to his word to let the leaders return to Dunland unharmed and unharassed – a fact all tribal leaders had never imagined possible. He exchanged a quick glance with his men.

   “What you found up north?”

   “A campsite,” Elfhelm stepped in, “of more than forty people. They were not of your folk, we know that, so don't try to cheat us. They left before we reached them. And they had the captives with them.”

   Again Durden and Rulen met eyes. The man in the background growled some words in their tongue, and Thor, standing close to Éomer translated that the hillmen had already known about the regretted departure of their allies. Durden turned.

   “Our allies take the men to Rhûn,” he admitted reluctantly. “Your men will already be there.”

   “What for? Are they still alive?”

   Rulen spoke in Dunlendish, and Thor translated,

   “They were taken to become workers for this people. In exchange for the men the Dunlendings got weapons.”

   “You bartered weapons for my men?” Éomer growled. He was stunned and unable to grasp the meaning of these tidings. “You allowed my people to be abducted to Rhûn to become… servants?” He swallowed dryly. He would have thought them to be dead by the demeanour the Dunlendings had shown, but their fate seemed far worse. Abducted by Easterlings… It was hard to imagine that the people from the far-east had walked such a long way for that reason. What would they gain from an alliance like that? Durden looked at him, uncertain how the king would take the revelations. Éomer breathed heavily, and it was Elfhelm, who spoke into the lasting silence,

   “We have to summon all éoreds and ride to Rhûn immediately, my lord.” The king nodded, but still he seemed overwhelmed by the news.

   “That means King Elessar will be among them?” he uttered and faced Durden again.

   “Yes. She wanted to have him.”

   “What do you mean?” Did the bad tidings never end? Éomer brushed his hair out of his face. “Who is she?”

   “Their leader. She said she would bring more of her own soldiers if we gave her one of the kings.” His expression closed. “But… I know not when she will come.”

   “She wanted a king in exchange for her army?” Éomer had a bad feeling. His instincts told him that the Dunlending did not tell him the whole truth, or that he did not know it himself. “What did she promise you?”

   “She said her army is ready. But she wants one king to make sure Rohan would not be defended.” Durden growled a curse in his tongue, and Thor refrained from translating.

   Éomer nodded, but his glance found Elfhelm. He recognised the same uneasiness he felt. If it was true that the leader of the allies needed a king to threaten Rohan, why should King Elessar be led north through the mountains and now – as it looked like - to Rhûn? The king kept his doubts to himself.

   “What else was planned?” he pressed the hillman instead. “Tell me! I am loath asking for every detail!”

   “Nothing! We should wait! And…” He clamped his mouth shut.

   “And?”

   “And nothing! We emptied our settlements! We retreated into the mountains! We had enough to do without you strawheads harassing us!”

   Éomer believed him. He dismissed the Dunlendings, and when he was sure they could not be eavesdropped he spoke lowly to Elfhelm.

   “There is something else planned. They will not keep King Elessar within the mountains until their army arrives. Which means they have taken him and his men to Rhûn – but not to aid the Dunlendings.”

   “Right what I feared.” Elfhelm exhaled loudly. “And that leader knows who she got…”

   “I am sure she does. And though he did not tell in detail, Aragorn seemed to have faced trouble in his own land. There must be a connection between those incidents. We have to depart with the morning's first light.”

* * *

MISTY MOUNTAINS

   The Rohirrim scouts proceeded carefully, trying to follow the tracks of the group they pursued, but unless there were some small fragments of cloth between two stones or a footprint where some soil had remained it was close to impossible to determine the way the captors had taken. The soldiers lost more than three hours of daylight when they chose a wrong turn only to find out that it led nowhere. They had to walk back the whole way and try the second turn, venturing north-east. None of them was an experienced wanderer, but their king had trusted them with this mission, and they would fulfil it.

   When they finally reached the end of the path, it was more by luck than by knowledge that they saw the small, wound passage that brought them to the open plain again. On the grass the tracks were already lost due to the time that had passed since the Easterlings had wandered here, but they went on, looking far to the east, and when they still could not see the anything they trudged on the whole day, keeping their eyes on the ground, hoping to find a hint that they were still marching into the right direction. It was finally the youngest of them, who proudly showed them the remnants of a small fire though it had been covered with stones and grass. The leader of the pursuers nodded grimly. The captors took the Gondorians further to the east. They would neither linger nor turn now. With replenished strength he ordered his men to run on. His hope was that the River Anduin beyond the Field of Celebrant would stop the enemies.

* * *

SOUTH OF LÓRIEN

   Harishdane sent scouts north and south to make sure their trespassing would go unnoticed. With her went forty armed soldiers, but she would not risk a fight that would delay her return to Rhûn. With a smirk she remembered the last meeting with the Dunlending leaders. They had been so easily deceived, so willing to follow her orders, hoping to get more weapons and more lessons in using them! Harishdane had even allowed polearms to be taken to Dunland, and some of those primitives had earned quite a skill with that weapon. Harishdane knew that especially Ridasha had been willing to train the hillmen. Now she would be nothing more than the caretaker of the captives, and the leader knew she was angry about that decision. She was far more than a usual soldier, but the sentence Gishvané had spoken about her had been far too generous. For her rebelliousness Ridasha would be regarded as a low soldier for a long time, and as long as the King of Gondor was a valuable prisoner Ridasha was ordered to stay with him.

   Asentis breathed at her side. Finally they were in the open plain again, and he wished to run the whole day. She smiled at him benevolently. He would become the father of her children, and the tribe would expand further with the years to come. The Jásheni would remain the mightiest tribe even if the war would be over. She would make sure. Her gaze found Gishvané, and her bliss turned bitter. The high priestess had sentenced her severely, but she would deal with her in the time to come. Knowing that the other high priestesses would prefer to listen to Harishdane, there was no great risk expected when her case would be stated again. If it would be stated again at all. And with her victory to demonstrate her power, who should dare to question her measures?

   Harishdane surveyed the group, and found the King of Gondor in the row behind one of his men. His attention was directed north, and she knew he still hoped for help by the Elves, who had so violently betrayed the Easterlings long ago. But she had walked this path more than once, and at no time she had seen one of those traitors rove south of their realm. The Elves prepared to leave Middle-earth and would not return. Their gaze was directed to the Sea, and they cared little for other races roaming beyond their borders. If any of them strayed south her scouts would see them and warn the others or get rid of the threat by themselves. She was content with her planning, though she had preferred the King of Gondor to aid his ally with more troops, but now that the king was her prisoner the strength of his army was unimportant.

* * *

ROHAN

   Lord Elfhelm could not help but worry for the sanity of his young king. Any time they spoke he blamed himself for having failed his friend. Feeling that every hour counted to save Aragorn, Éomer pressed his horse hard enough to ruin the young steed. But he did not see it. He did not want to see what he did to the horse or himself.

   “We have to reach Edoras tomorrow,” the King of Rohan stated while his men, exhausted and weary like their ruler, pitched the camp. “We change horses and ride on – the same day if possible.”

   “Éomer, you do not even know if King Elessar is brought to Rhûn!”

   “I will not count on those strangers to keep him in the Misty Mountains. That is unlikely. Why should they take him so far north if they expected their army to come from the east?”

   Elfhelm could not deny the logic to this point, but he still wished his king to be more considerate.

   “You will not change his fate by a few hours,” he quietly replied, but found only cold determination in Éomer's features.

   “You are not telling me to slow down! Elfhelm, we almost got to them! It had been for those few hours that we could have fought them to release their prisoners! Now I stand here empty-handed! He came to Edoras on my request! He accompanied me to Dunland, and now I failed to free him out of the hands of his captors! No, Elfhelm, there is no time to slow down and take time to prepare. We will take as many men as can be readied in haste and then ride on!”

   “The éoreds in the Eastfold are not ready to ride in a few hours! You need at least two days to take them with you!”

   “Then they have to follow.” He locked eyes with his friend. “Lord Erkenbrand will command them and follow me to Rhûn and to battle.”

   Elfhelm bowed curtly, sensing there was nothing to gain by further argument.

   “Aye, it will be as you wish.”

   “It will be as my friend and my men deserve.”

* * *

   Edoras came into view. Éomer had wanted the sight of the Golden Hall of Meduseld to be soothing to his weary eyes, but now he knew he had little time to rest. From the main gate of the city riders approached, and it took him a moment to realise that not only the men of the Royal Guard came to meet him, but also his wife and the Queen of Gondor.

   “Lothíriel…,” he muttered exhaling, seeing her cloak, green and cold, billow over the hindquarters of her horse. How he had longed to see her again, to embrace and kiss her. And now he would have to tell her that he would only stay for one night.

   The riders reached the host, and Lothíriel gleamed with joy, bringing her steed close to his, laughing and weeping at the same time.

   “Éomer! Éomer! It is so good to see you again!” she exclaimed merrily, and he granted her a moment of embrace and kiss. During his absence his wife's belly had rounded even more, and he was grateful to see her so healthy and happy. It was a shame he had to ruin her hopes for his staying. Then his gaze fell upon the beautiful but sad face of the other woman.

   “Where is Aragorn?” Arwen asked, and she could read in Éomer's face that her husband had suffered a different fate. “What happened to him?” She brought Asfaloth on the other side of Battleaxe, concerned and eager to hear the tidings.

   “He was captured,” the King of Rohan admitted regretfully and saw Arwen press her lips tight. “He was abducted by the allies of the Dunlendings. We followed their way, but came too late to seize them. We learned that he was led through the mountains to… to Rhûn,” he closed quietly and depressed. Arwen but looked at him, and though he knew she would never accuse him, Éomer felt beat by the loss he could see in her face. “But as far as we could find out he is still alive.”

   “He is.” Arwen turned her horse and spurred him, back to the city.

* * *

   Lothíriel followed Arwen into her chamber and found the Elf gathering her few belongings.

   “You are not leaving to search for him alone, are you?” Lothíriel asked worriedly.

   Arwen turned, and the Queen of Rohan was stunned by her fierceness.

   “I will not leave him to the mercy of his captors. He is still alive, and whatever I can do to save him I will.”

   “Éomer will ride with his men tomorrow morning. Will you not wait for them to accompany you? You cannot go on your own!”

   “Asfaloth is the fastest horse. He even outran the Nazgul, so do not ask me to stay here and wait. They would not be able to follow me.”

   “But it is a six days' ride to Minas Tirith! You do not know what lies on your path.”

   “But I will not waste any time.”

   Lothíriel reached out to touch the other woman's arm.

   “I do know, Arwen, but Éomer won't linger either. Please, for the sake of the Valar, wait that one night.”

   “I do not wish to. Aragorn is led far away. With every hour passing, there is less chance to reach out for him. I do not want to lose the contact.”

   Lothíriel found herself moving forward, and she embraced the elven queen.

   “You will find him again, Arwen. He is strong. He will know how to help himself.”

   Arwen stood rigid to the queen's compassion. Lothíriel knew not how close the King of Gondor had come to lose his life before.

   “I dearly hope he does not give in to the darkness.”

* * *

   Lothíriel met her husband after he had dismissed Gamling to prepare all soldiers under arms to depart for Minas Tirith the next morning.

   “Queen Arwen will accompany you,” she told him and quietly put her hand into his. “Please, Éomer, take care of her. She is so worried for him that I fear for her safety.”

   “She knows then what happened to him?”

   “Yes. In a way they are connected, and she could feel that something happened to him. And that he is in fear.” Gently she caressed the deep lines on her husband's face. “It was not in your power to find him now. But I know you will do anything to save him.”

   “I saw their camp.” Éomer shook his head, pivoting; unable to stand the compassion Lothíriel was willing to grant him. He did not deserve it. “We came only hours too late, and still we did hardly find a trace of them.”

   “Who are they? Who abducted them? Dunlendings?”

   “Easterlings.” The king faced her again. “They bartered weapons for our men.” He could see how the news devastated her. “So it is not only King Elessar we have to find, but our people too.”

* * *