Chapter Two – Rhûn

EAST OF THE FIELD OF CELEBRANT

   Two more days had passed, and still they were alone on the long way to Rhûn. Aragorn strained his eyes to find any sign of the Elves still walking this part of the earth, but he could find none. They had abandoned these lands, constricted themselves to their realm for the last days of their stay on these shores, and his hopes of freedom sank. Still bound in a row the captives were pushed forward relentlessly, as if Harishdane feared the attack of other races, but they had not seen a single man walking here though the land was not bereft of people. Though no one would enter Fangorn Forest the Rohirrim had settled along its rim, but even there no peasants had been spotted. In the night before Aragorn had heard growling and hissing echoing from the south, but in the morning he could not notice that anything had changed. Only Asentis seemed to be in a better mood than the days before.

   The group had by now crossed the Field of Celebrant and was about to ferry across the River Anduin. If Aragorn had thought that at least here the captives would be released of their bonds he erred. Harishdane had left boats at the riverside and two men to steer them. It took a whole day for all of them to cross the river, but in the evening they pitched a camp on the eastern shore, and again Aragorn felt the leader's victorious glare resting on him. He still offered resistance against the hopelessness trying to sweep him away, but he knew his men could not. He heard the quiet conversation between Halamin and Hilberon, and his heart sank.

   “What will they have us do?” the young man asked, and Halamin glanced at Harishdane, standing tall in her pride, overlooking the plain ahead in yet another warm summer evening.

   “I do not know. It looks like we are going to work for them. They will not kill us, that's for sure.”

   “They will then… mark us?”

   “Might be, yes. Who knows what goes on in their minds? Do not worry now, Hilberon. We are soldiers. We face the enemy as he comes.”

   “But we can't do anything! We have lost.”

   “Who knows?” Halamin tried to cheer him up. “Who knows who comes around the next corner to meet us? Or sails down the river and sees us? We are still alive, and none of us is threatened to be killed. Stick to that, Hilberon, and remain calm.”

   The young soldier nodded without believing. He had longed to see his father again and tell him about the happenings on the journey. How the king had taught him a lesson in swordplay, and how they had fought against the hillmen later. But now he feared that he would not see the White City again.

   Only a few steps away his king fought the same thought of defeat.

* * *

RIVER ANDUIN

   The pursuers reached the river and far on the eastern shore small boats could be spotted. The leader cursed in Rohirric, but shook his head, knowing that there was no way to follow the captors any further. Grudgingly he turned south with his men, following the river's turns to Gondor.

* * *

RHÛN

   Harishdane felt light-hearted coming to the borderline again. Further south the Gondorian army was waiting; her scouts had told her so. But they went by at night, unnoticed, and as far north as they could without risking getting into the marshes. The Easterlings had walked this path before many times and were sure-footed. Knowing the enemy so close by she had again ordered the captives to be gagged, and so the group trudged on in silence, stealthily for the last time.

   The Easterling leader let the group move on and vanished into the darkness. Her eyesight was superior to that of Men, and she enjoyed the soft coolness of the night under her feet. Gracefully she ran southward, covering half a league in a short time, then, panting, she waited for a few moments, straining her ears to listen to the sounds of the soldiers resting near by. Their fires were low and hidden between the tents. She got closer, careful, and always watchful. Guards in shining armour stood on their posts, their attention turned eastward. They did not see her, not even thought of someone getting closer from the north. She crouched and halted. Muffled sounds of a conversation came to her ears, and she dared to move closer. On one of the tents a banner hung lifelessly in the calm night. She had not seen it before and guessed it to belong of the man in command over the hundreds of soldiers in the camp. Again she ventured on, until a horse neighed and fidgeted to her right. Immediately a guard pivoted and looked after it, and Harishdane realised that she would not be able to get any closer. But she had already seen enough. Evading the returning guard to the left, she went around the camp at safe distance and then ran back to the group to lead them over the border.

   She had never felt so alive.

* * *

ROHAN

   The King of Rohan cursed silently upon getting the news that the éoreds of the Eastfold would need two days to assemble for departure. Grinding his teeth, he ordered Lord Erkenbrand to summon and head them to Ithilien.

   “I would prefer another man to take over command,” the Lord of Eastfold replied sternly, but Éomer had neither the time nor the patience to discuss the matter of loyalty and regret with his marshal.

   “Will you desert me or our allies in time of need? Is that what you are about to say?”

   “My lord…”

   “If it's not, make haste to gather them and depart as soon as possible. I will send a messenger to meet you half-way if I know where exactly we will be riding to.”

   “Yes, my lord.” Erkenbrand still looked confused when he left the tent, but Lord Elfhelm exhaled noisily.

   Éomer turned to him.

   “Don't ever tell me something about diplomacy. I have no time for that. With how many men are we riding right now?”

   “The first éored is nearly complete. They will accompany us. The other two must be informed first.”

   “Good. We leave before dawn.”

   “The supplies…”

   “We have no time to collect supplies. The men shall take what they can carry on their horses. I won't stop if there is no need to.”

   “Aye, my lord.”

   Elfhelm left, and Éomer stood in front of his tent. His gaze found the Queen of Gondor, who quietly and with deep worry looked north. She had pressed her lips tight, her hands clenched into fists, and with the minute passing Éomer saw tears trickling down her cheeks. He wanted to go to her, soothe her, but he knew that he would not be able to. A guard came to report to him, and when he turned back again the queen had left the place in front of the tent.

* * *

RHÛN

   It was a smooth and cool morning breeze on her face, and she relished on the moment of relaxation before she turned to face the group she had outrun to reach the borders of her home first. All of the captives were alive and healthy though her men had made them run where the terrain had allowed it, making up for the delay they had caused on the first part of the journey through the mountains. Now they were exhausted, and their faces haggard. At least, she thought, they had not shown any signs of resistance on the way, and the expression on the king's face could only be read as complete defeat. She smiled and turned again, seeing Lomarin bow to her as she had expected.

   “My leader, we welcome you back with the utmost delight,” he said evenly, and she briefly touched his black hair.

   “I bring more slaves for Úshemor,” she told him, and he lifted his head again to smile broadly. “See that they are taken to the others, but not the one with the marking.”

   “A marking?” Lomarin echoed surprised and almost stepped back seeing her angered expression.

   “Yes, this one stays. Ridasha shall take him to Asentis' tent. I expect your report shortly.”

   “As you wish, my leader.”

   She turned and left with Asentis to inspect the campsite while Lomarin regained his composure. He briefly wondered about the necessity to mark a prisoner on the way, and how it could have been down without the high priestess with her, but he put the thought aside. There were other, more important things he had to take care of. He met the group entering the campsite and helped to loosen the rope connecting the captives, and ordered the gags to be removed.

   “What did she say?” Ridasha requested with the undertone of disbelief, but Lomarin looked at her haughtily.

   “Do as ordered, soldier. Take this one to Asentis' tent and make sure he stays there. The rest of the soldiers will be taken to the other slaves.”

   He pivoted and gave the order to his waiting kinsmen. Without delay the Gondorians were shoved in their backs to get them going again. Ridasha took the healer's arm to lead him further into the campsite.

   “No!” he protested and broke free of her grip. “Where are my men taken? Why do you separate me from them?”

   “I have my order.” She grasped his arm again. “Do not defend yourself, Strider, or I make you go!”

   “I demand an answer, Ridasha! Tell me what will be done with my men!” Ridasha overlooked the camp. It had grown since the last news she had got from her kindred, and she was impressed to see the forces gathering here. It might be seven hundred by now and about two hundred tents. Some women coming up to them greeted her, and she replied politely, feeling at home again. Finally she would take on her armour to fight and gain land. Again the healer resisted to be taken away. He craned his neck to see what happened to the other captives. And they – with expressions of fear and worry – followed the healer with looks. “Ridasha!”

   She exhaled noisily.

   “Your men are brought to the others. Deeper into our land. They will be marked soon and dispersed on the other tribes.” Seeing that she needed help, a man came to aid, taking the healer's left arm. They both pulled him roughly, and when he still fought them, a quick and hard blow to his stomach broke that resistance. Ridasha frowned and regretted the measure her fellow had taken, but kept her face blank of any expression. The prisoner coughed and grimaced with pain, but straightened to catch a last glimpse of his men, before he was steered through the rows of tents to finally reach the one that belonged to Asentis. Ridasha moved the flap aside, shoving the captive into the empty room. “You will stay here.”

   “Why? What is Harishdane up to?”

   “Sit down. Asentis will soon get here.” She pressed his shoulder, but he resisted, turning away from her grip furiously. She glared at him. “What did you expect? You knew before. They will find their peace in serving the tribes. And you will serve the Jásheni. That is your fate! Don't fight it. And don't fight me!” She nodded to the other soldier to make the captive sit down, and they both struggled to bring him down. “You can resist me, yes, but not all of us!”

   “I will resist as long as I can!” Aragorn shouted, his face covered with sweat. “You will not make me serve my enemy!”

   “You cannot escape your fate.” They held him fast until steps were drawing near. Asentis entered, surprised to see them. “I was ordered to bring him here,” she told him on his question.

   “Then we will see that he stays here.”

   “You will not break me!” Aragorn cried, trying to free himself from the tight grip. Asentis dismissed the other soldier and forced the king on the ground in the tent's centre, ignoring the pain he caused.

   “Take the rope and bind him,” he ordered, weighing the captive down like he had done before. He considered it a pity that the man was quite weak now, and held him though he struggled until Ridasha had wound the rope around the captive's waist and the pole supporting the tent. “Bind his ankles too.” Asentis stood and smirked seeing the healer glare at him. He would no longer be a threat. He watched Ridasha end the knot and turned to leave again. “You may give him water and food. The leader will come to him later.”

   Ridasha exhaled and crouched in front of him. Aragorn coughed and lowered his head, panting. The pain in his neck and shoulder had increased that it was nauseating.

   “What is she up to?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and she took the water-skin from her belt to let him drink.

   “I am not sure.” She frowned. “She might keep you here because you are already marked.”

   “Where exactly are my men taken?” He swallowed and tried to shift his body, but the ropes held his arms tight, and he could not even lie down as long as he was bound to the pole.

   “There is another campsite north-east of here. All prisoners are gathered there and the high priestesses will mark them in the ceremony.”

   “That is not your reason for being here,” he replied, taking in the surroundings for the first time. It was a spacious and splendidly decorated tent, worth that of a leader. In every corner the colours of the Easterling banner were repeated, and with the sun shining through it was an impressive mixture of different shades of red. “You have come here to stay for a longer time.”

   “We might.” She rose. “I get you something to eat.”

* * *

ANÓRIEN

   Asfaloth sensed the urgency of his rider, and with a speed that could only be outmatched by Shadowfax the great white stallion rushed through the darkness. Arwen kept him on the Old East Road, outrunning the Rohirrim soldiers. She had been unable to wait any longer. Stretching her senses and closing her eyes she tried to touch Aragorn's feelings again, tried to restore the bond that she had lost. And somewhere, faint and distant, she felt his sadness and his pain.

   “Do not give in,” she uttered under her breath. “Please, my love, do not give in.”

* * *

RHÛN

   The order had been clear, and Ridasha was still furious about it. Harishdane had sentenced her with staying at the healer's side as if she was an old woman, for whom she had no other use. She would have to watch over the prisoner instead of marching with the vanguard! Since the leader had the right to place the soldiers anywhere she thought them useful, Ridasha had not objected, but it had been obvious that this measure resulted from her insubordination during the night of the marking.

   “You are quiet,” Aragorn stated quietly when she had finished feeding him. “Tell me what happened.”

   She looked at him and still found a truthfulness that astonished her like it had done the night Strider had asked her to loosen his bonds.

   “My leader refused to let me take my proper place in the army,” she said lowly and depressed, and before Aragorn could ask for the meaning, Harishdane entered. Lomarin and Asentis followed. The leader looked at her captive with cold eyes.

   “Tell me who heads the army waiting at the borderline.”

   Lomarin lifted his brows, astonished at the question, but he remained silent, eager to learn details about the strange prisoner. Aragorn faced Harishdane sternly, and when he spoke he let her know that still she had not broken him.

   “No matter who leads the soldiers into a war you are about to provoke you cannot win.”

   “I will win. In a few hours there will be no more resistance, and it will be your deed to make them retreat.”

   Aragorn stared at her, unflinching.

   “You are a coward, Harishdane. You think you can win by blackmail! You do not dare to fight openly because you know…” He broke off, gasping for air.

   Harishdane fought to restrain her anger, but for a moment it shone through, and like a bolt of lightning the king felt pain rush from his neck and shoulder through his whole body. He cried out in pain and terror, unable to hold it back. The torment seized him, made him clench his fists and shut his eyes. He could not fight it. He could not breathe. His body went limp within the excruciating pain; his chin fell on his chest, when, finally, the hurting ended. Aragorn heard himself moan. He swallowed, unwilling to look up again only to find Harishdane sneering at him.

   “You will not contradict me again, slave, or you will find out about my measures to gain your obedience.”

   He panted, listening to his wild beating heart, and the rush of blood in his head. Outside the wind sped up, causing the cloth to ruffle. Warm blood trickled down his shoulder-blade, and he felt weak, beaten again. Looking at his hands, he saw his vision blur due to an exhaustion that left him shuddering.

   “You can torture me like that,” he croaked between shallow breaths, still staring at his bound and shaking hands, “and you can kill me if you want to, but I will give you nothing.”

   Harishdane stooped.

   “You already did,” she hissed, and Aragorn felt her warm breath on his sweat-covered face. “You gave yourself into my hands. And your men too. You will not evade your destiny.” She gazed at Lomarin and Asentis, then took a cloth out of her bundle and unwrapped a piece of dark red bark, about the size of a small nut. She looked at Ridasha. “You will put that in his mouth and make sure he won’t spit it out.” Perplexed the young woman took the cloth, and with a nod Harishdane signalled the two men to leave the tent.

   Ridasha, still kneeling, was too shocked to say anything, and when she realised the leaders were gone, she whispered:

   “Why did she do that?” but Aragorn only looked at her, so that she lowered her gaze on the bark. She had seen it before and, frowning, she wondered about the strange order. “Why…?” she whispered and was startled when the healer rasped:

   “Will you obey her order?”

   Ridasha looked into pain-filled grey eyes, honestly unable to answer that question.

   “I… I must,” she finally said, but her gaze betrayed her words.

   He drew up his nose as a thin rivulet of blood dripped from his beard on his sleeves. Still he held her in his stare.

   “If you think her to be right, you should obey. I will not be able to offer you resistance.”

   Ridasha frowned; disgusted by the mere thought of treating the healer like that after he had done so much for her. She wrapped the bark again, still uncertain about a proper behaviour.

   “It's the bark she used that night,” she said flat-voiced. “It must be what causes you pain.” He did not answer and she rose slowly. “But first I will…” She realised he was no longer listening and left. Outside she searched the camp for Gishvané to bring her to the captive. “She caused him much pain,” the young woman explained upon entering. Quickly Gishvané knelt beside the captive, moving the torn cloth aside to look at the scar.

   “It bled,” she stated, puzzled, and put a hand on the captive's bearded cheek to make him look at her. His eyes were out of focus, and he flinched at the movement. “Tell me what you felt, Strider.” He but moaned, pressed his eyes shut and licked his lips. “Give him water and wash his face. It might help.”

   “Could you not make one of your teas?” Ridasha asked quietly when she held the water-skin to the healer's lips. “They always help.”

   Gishvané did not listen to her, but looked closely at the marking.

   “It is indeed a strange scytejé, so dark and rough,” she muttered and faced the healer again. “What has happened?”

   “Harishdane was angry,” Ridasha stepped in. “And then… he was in great pain suddenly though no one had touched him.”

   “In great pain?” The high priestess lifted her brows. “I never heard of that. And I never saw it bleed after a week.”

   “It hurts… all of the time.” The healer's voice was but a breath. “It is like a knife stabbed into my back.”

   Gishvané shook her head and looked at Ridasha.

   “Harishdane has somehow done more than marking him. She causes him pain on her will.” Angered she exhaled. “What else has she done?”

   “She gave me that bark,” Ridasha showed it to the high priestess. “I shall put it in his mouth. And make sure it stays there.” With a curse Ridasha had never thought Gishvané to know the old woman sniffed the bark and with a disgusted grimace folded the cloth over it again.

   “You will truly not do it.”

   “But she said…”

   “Our leader annoys the goddess with her action. Her insolence has gone further than I feared.” Considering her options, she stared at the captive. “Why should she do this to a healer?” Then she left.

* * *

ROHAN

   The news of Queen Arwen having left the host to ride alone did not surprise him, but added to his worry. Lord Elfhelm watched Éomer's sagged shoulders as he crossed the campsite to mount along with the rest of the éored, which had been gathered in the short time. Erkenbrand stayed behind to follow him as soon as he could. The new Lord of Westfold hoped it would not be too late.

   Éomer glanced at his men. They all had had hope the time of war would be over. They had lost so many men during the Ring War and still recovered. And now the king sent them to yet another battlefield. The tidings to enter Rhûn for the salvage of their own kindred and the Gondorians had roused questions only the soldiers, who had been to Dunland, were able to answer. Éomer had heard their conversations in the evening. They all were proud and courageous men and none of them doubted to win the battle. The Easterlings had once been beaten. They would beat them again. King Éomer was not that confident since they did not even know how many of them they would encounter in Rhûn. And the absence of a errand-rider from Minas Tirith or Ithilien made it even harder to judge about the situation in Gondor.

   This time the Rohirrim did not know what they would face.

* * *

GONDOR

   Arwen clung to Asfaloth's mane with the last of her strength. The onslaught of pain had left her breathless, and the last whisper had been to her steed to carry her on, to not stop whatever she did. The horse's ears twitched as he galloped on, and, recovering from the assault of feelings she had endured, Arwen tried to recall the pictures that had accompanied them. She knew she had seen the strange and threatening eyes of that woman before; she had felt the coldness in them. And she knew that that woman held her husband captive. She wanted something from him. And she was confident to get it.

   Arwen breathed through deeply, regaining her composure. She would not let it come to this. She would not let the enemy win while she had strength left to fight.

* * *

RHÛN

   Harishdane commanded the preparation of her army until late in the evening. Finally and with delight the soldiers put on their armour, grabbed their polearms and checked their scimitars. A messenger had been sent to the waiting reinforcement a day-ride to the east, and within three days her army would be double as strong. She watched the cart being prepared and the tents broken down under cover of night. All fighters of the Jásheni-Rhûvenan were gathered to form the vanguard. They were eager to depart, hungry for the first battle they were allowed to fight. For long weeks they had grudgingly watched the spies from Ithilien enter their land; they had been there when they had lain in the darkness to count their enemy. But none of those vanguard soldiers had known that the army of Gondor would soon be in great peril.

   Lomarin came up to her to report that the tents had been taken down except those of the leaders.

   “Well done,” she said evenly, her gaze directed to the west though not much could be seen. The moon was veiled, and the air smelled of rain. “You will lead them, Lomarin.”

   “As you command.” He bowed and left. Harishdane found Asentis. His bare-chested body attracted her, but her touch was only gentle and caressing. The time for closeness would come, but tonight they had to stay vigilant.

   “Are you looking forward to it?” She stroked his black hair over his shoulder, and he exhaled with a smile.

   “I have longed to fight a very long time, Harishdane. Be assured it will happen as you think it will.”

   “I am sure,” she purred in his ear.

* * *

   Ridasha brought the healer warm tea and held it to his lips. He had drifted in and out of consciousness for most of the day, and she was worried if Harishdane had hurt him too much to be of any use for her.

   “Drink,” she said quietly, and he opened his blood-shot eyes to focus on her. He drank and thanked her. “Gishvané made it for you. You will recover.”

   “I do not wish to.”

   She frowned.

   “Why do you say that?” She put down the empty cup. “There is always a reason to live on. One does not just decide to end a life.”

   Aragorn swallowed and summoned his strength to look at her. His voice was bereft of the vigour it usually transported.

   “Ridasha, you have to help me escape.”

   The young woman looked to the entrance at once, utterly surprised by his request. Her eyes were wide when she focused on him again.

   “She sentenced me to be your caretaker instead of holding a place in the first row of the army.” She shook her head. “Don’t expect more from me than I am ordered to do.”

   “There is no other. Do not let Harishdane win like that.” She frowned and crouched closer to him, again quickly gazing over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “If you cannot do that you should better kill me.”

   “Why should you want that?”

   “Do you not see? She will try to use me as a shield against the army of Gondor. I could hear your soldiers prepare themselves. They cheered as if they had already won.”

   Her frown deepened, and her voice fell to a hushed whisper.

   “Who are you to make that happen?”

   Aragorn took her hand between his, and the contact made her shudder.

   “I am King Elessar of Gondor.”

   She gaped at him. For seconds her mouth stood ajar, and she seemed hardly able to breathe.

   “You are their king? Not a healer?”

   “I am both. Do you doubt that?” She shook her head as if she was numb. “You have to help me.”

   Ridasha needed a moment to collect her thoughts, and her voice was as low as it was intense.

   “So that was her plan from the beginning. She knew whom she held captive.” Aragorn nodded regretfully. “She knew how useful you would be.”

   “Yes.”

   “That is why she risked the anger of the goddess and marked you.”

   “And if you do not help me she will blackmail my army. If you do nothing she might win in spite of that insolence.”

   “But that is why we came here.” Ridasha drew back her hand, and her tone became hard. “We came to conquer Ithilien. We need the land to survive!”

   “But this will be no open challenge, only blackmail,” he rebuked, leaning forward as much as the shackles aloud. “Is that what you could be proud of and tell your child? That you needed an enemy to win?” For a moment she pondered over that accusation, but then shook her head. “There are other ways, Ridasha! You cannot expel the settlers from Ithilien to take their land. You would condemn them too. Make their wives and children homeless. There are alternatives to find new land!”

   “We have got nothing to lose,” she closed emotionless and rose.

   “Then you better kill me,” he insisted. “Do not let me become the bane of my people.”

   “You would prefer to die?” She could read the honesty in his exhausted and marred features and inhaled deeply. “You would choose death over their defeat?”

   “I would take any sentence to guarantee their freedom.”

   She still could not believe it.

   “Have you got a son to follow you as king?”

   “No.”

   Ridasha's eyes widened.

   “But that would mean your land loses more than its ruler.” He nodded. “You are a strange man, King of Gondor.”

   “Will you help me, Ridasha?”

   She hesitated, but then said in a low voice:

   “I cannot let my people die. We need the land, and we went a long way to finally get here.”

   “I can help you find another place to live on.”

   “Can you promise that?”

   “I can promise you that I would not send your people to their deaths.”

   Ridasha stood and looked down on the deplorable man, who held her with his intensive grey eyes, waiting for her decision.

   “You demand from me to act against my people. To commit treason in order to rely on your promise, which I cannot prove true.”

   “There is another way to find land to settle on than the one your leader chose. You have to believe me.”

   “I believe that we have a chance to win. There are only a few hundred of your army gathered. They will surrender themselves quickly. And I would risk everything if I helped you.” She turned and left the tent.

* * *