Ch. 29 - Death Is Not So Bitter

Aragorn’s eyes flew open. “Help is needed! Now!” He tried to stand up and looked with surprise upon his brothers, holding him down. “What are you about?”

“You were in the throes of a nightmare, Estel. We are trying to prevent injury.” Elrohir tried to impart as much calm upon his brother with his voice as possible.

“Elrohir!” Aragorn sobbed. “They are in the direst of danger. I know not what, but every sinew in my body feels it. We must be off.”

“Dark it is,” said Erkenbrand, “but I know this road like the back of my steed. We can move now, if that is what is needed.”

Aragorn threw him a grateful smile. “Please.”

Elladan stepped forward, helped the captain saddle their horses, and they were on the road again in a matter of minutes. Passing the flask of miruvor around, they each drank, then urged their horses into a gallop, Erkenbrand leading them.

As dawn broke, the landscape that lay before them was desolate. The plains laid before them for miles on end and not a movement was seen.

‘Where are our patrols?’ Erkenbrand thought. ‘We should have seen one or two during our journey across the Mark and at least a dawn patrol here on the Great West Road.’

Aragorn’s thoughts went in the same direction. He looked at Erkenbrand, noted the concern on the captain’s face, and spoke. “Have the Rohirrim changed their patrols? I have not seen any since we have been on the Mark.”

Shaking his head, Erkenbrand scowled. “I have wondered the same, Estel. We should have spotted at least a few by now. I know what signs to look for on the ground also, and have found naught of any passing. This does not forebode well for us nor for my people.”

“Orcs?”

“Aye. It would appear so. Winter brings scarce food for wolves, bears and deer. Orcs will find the same challenge. Our men must be scouring the hills for the beasts. We cannot leave our people undefended against such a foe. They have only pitchforks and shovels to defend themselves. Farmers, mostly,” he said at the puzzled look on Elladan’s face. “Farmers and sheep herders. Brave, but poorly armed.”

“We will be in Gondor’s domain soon, but the problem will be the same for my people.”

Erkenbrand crooked an eyebrow at that. ‘His people?’ He noted Aragorn’s eyes were looking into the distance. ‘I thought this man was from the north.’

Elrohir took in a quick breath. He had hoped, when he heard Aragorn’s words, that the captain would not notice. But he had. Aragorn’s anxiety was great to have let that information slip.

Elladan nodded at his brother’s grimace. “Estel,” he called.

But Aragorn’s thoughts were not on the plains of Rohan.

~*~

“Eat the dead 'un first; we can save t’others fer later. I’m not stayin’ in this cave long. Too close ta the road. An’ them horse lovers will be lookin’ fer us. I told Grodash we’d be seein’ him ‘fore mornin’ an’ we’ve already passed that.” He swore loudly. “Wish you hadn’t killed the horses. Now we’ll have ta carry this lot. But not till night comes. I’m not goin’ out with the snow shinin’ that sun in our eyes. Blind fer life if we do that.”

The others quickly put out the remains of the fire. They would eat their meal cold. It didn’t matter much. And they wanted no smoke to show on the outside so that they could be found.

“Tie their hands up tight b’hind ‘em.”

“We got no rope.”

“We’ll have some in a minute if ye’d use yer mind. Take the dead 'un and rip out his stomach. Them things in there, the long stuff, wipe it off and tie ‘em with that. Once it dries, it shrinks. Ain’t ye never used man gut afore?”

Three beasts joined their leader’s laughter at their comrade’s foolishness.

Éomund listened in horror. As far as he could tell, he had not been found, buried under the body of the Orc he had killed, but he also could not see. He had one spark of hope though; it seemed, from the beasts’ talk that only Gorlim was dead. But why did not he hear any noise from Indis or Théodred? ‘Still out cold,’ he thought sadly. His heart twisted. ‘Better for them if they are. ‘Twould not be good for either to see Gorlim’s gut torn open and riffled for his intestines.’ Too many times Éomund had found the carcasses of their dead men tied with their own insides. He bit his lip to keep a moan of sorrow from escaping.

He kept as still as he could. ‘If they do not see me…’ But then a true horror filled him. Perhaps it was about him that they were speaking and not Gorlim. Perhaps the creatures thought ‘he’ was dead and they were going to disembowel him. Fighting with every ounce of will, he kept his body still.

“Vrogak. This one wakes.”

“Then tie it quick an’ cover its mouth. I don’t want ta’ hear the moanin’ – least, not yet,” and an ugly laugh greeted his words.

‘Who is it?’ Éomund wondered, profound grief filling him, his concern for himself wiped away with the thought of Indis or Théodred waking to the horror that filled the cave. His heart broke; if there was aught he could do to protect them…

“Arrgh,” the one he now recognized as Vrogak scowled. “Not wakin’ – just moanin.’ Would ‘ave liked ta seen the fear as we tied it up.”

“We kin wait, if ya wants us to, or I kin kick it till it wakes.”

“Nah. We’ll play with ‘em later. I wants ta sleep a little ‘fore we move out t’night.”

“I wants ta sleep too an’ I stood guard last night. Not doin’ it again. Make Sguk do it.”

“First we’s gotta tie ‘em up and that means tearin’ that one apart. Then, we eats.”

Éomund heard rustling and loud sounds that he could not decide what they were. Then suddenly, a wet substance flew against his hand. He looked and had to clench his teeth not to retch out loud. Blood and tissue covered his hand. Tears filled his eyes, knowing that there would be no burial for Gorlim. ‘If I live through this,’ Éomund thought, ‘I swear I will avenge the Gondorian’s death.’

“Tough thing this one is. Can’t wait ta eat the female one. She should be tender.”

Éomund bit his lip. How would he ever endure this? But he had decided moments before to remain silent and hidden, hoping that an opportunity would arise to help Indis, Théoden and Faramir. His brow creased. He had heard naught from Faramir since before the attack and wondered if the beasts had killed the unconscious boy. Curses filled his mind laced with frustration and defeat.

“That’s good ‘nuff. Let’s take this stuff and tie ‘em up. I don’t want neither one both’rin’ us while we’re eatin.’”

~*~

“How much further do you think, Captain?”

“Another day. We are unencumbered with cart and a wounded child and making much better time than Indis. Fear not, Lady,” he said with compassion, “We will reach them very soon and you will see all is well with them.”

“I hope so. There are many dangers on the road, many more than I thought.”

“But Marshal Éomund has joined them by now. And Gorlim is one of our best warriors. They will not even have passed the Mering by the time we reach them.” He pulled his horse up. “We will stop at that little stream there, cook our meal, and then be off again.”

“Please,” Listöwel turned towards the captain, “May we not eat as we ride.”

Captain Durahil looked patiently at Listöwel. “The horses must have some rest. We have traveled well over four hours with none. Though the road is hard and firm, the snow tires them.”

She nodded but dropped her shoulders. He saw the despair in them as he dismounted. “Here, my Lady, let me help you.”

“Please,” she said in exasperation. “Do not call me ‘lady.’ I am a handmaiden to the greatest lady in Gondor and would have none look upon me as of any worth.”

“You are of great worth, wife of Amdir,” the soldier said quietly.

She looked down in surprise and let the man help her off her horse. “You knew my Amdir?”

“I served with him many years ago – in Cair Andros. I was only an esquire, but he was kind and doughty.”

“That he was.” A sad smile graced her lips. “He was indeed. Lord Denethor counted him among his dearest friends. And now both gone.” She swallowed hard. “And both missed.”

“Aye, my Lady. Forgive me. What would you have me call you?”

“Listöwel – simply Listöwel, Captain.”