12: Into the Westmark

Dawn stole across the Westfold like a thief, robbing the earth of darkness. First there was just a greying of the sky as high, thin fallstreaks swept across the firmament, turning salmon and rose with the coming of Anor. Then, light, fragile yet inexorable in its beauty, illuminated the sharp crested foothills, the dying grass glowing like burnished copper as Arien looked down upon Arda from her exalted height. Mountains leapt with joy as the Last Light of Laurelin kissed them and the sky became a sapphirine canopy as birds of every hue and song greeted the new day.

Aragorn and the Elves rode with the Rohirrim under the dawn sky and the Elves sang a paean in Quenya to Arien that had first been composed two ages before by one who had witnessed the first rising of the Sun. Aragorn had met that Elf, now living in Imladris, though he did not speak of it to any of the other Mortals. Heruthain, leading the éored, asked him what the song was about and Aragorn translated the words as best as he could into Rohirric.

     Ai yávë Laurelingo, ambanima elenion, nai uvor tyeluval sisíla.

          O fruit of Hanging-Gold, most beautiful of stars, may it be thou shalt never cease to shine.

     Ámen lavë, hínilyar, i narë melmelyo sinomë nu aldarembina Endórë.

          Grant unto us, thy Children, the flame of thy love here under tree-entangled Middle-earth.

     Tári elenion Vardo, Arien, ámenna tirë rainavë ar á colë cyerminnar herilyanna.

          Queen of the stars of Elbereth, Arien, look graciously upon us and carry our prayers to thy Lady.

The song was joyous and beautiful beyond endurance and not a few of the warriors riding across the Westfold wept unashamedly as the music of the elven voices smote their hearts. Then, the Rohirrim themselves began a low sonorous song of their own. It began softly but swelled as first one voice then another joined in. It reminded Aragorn of the very steppes across which they rode — wide-open spaces, wild and free, with the wind beckoning across the plain.

They rode for hours, stopping once at midday to rest and water the horses before continuing. It was only a little more than eight leagues from the Deeping-Coombe to the Gap of Rohan where the Fords of Isen were. Heruthain was planning on camping just south of the Fords and then continuing south towards the Westmark the next day.

"The first village is only three leagues from the Fords," Heruthain explained to Aragorn and the Elves as they rode along. "But that village was completely burned out. Most of its citizens were slain or taken captive as slaves, we deem. The few survivors have moved eastward into the Westfold or further into the West Emnet where raids are few."

"Where are the raiders crossing?" Thandir asked. "Surely the Fords are guarded."

Heruthain grunted in agreement. "We think they ford where they will. The river is not overly deep though there are no places that I know of where horses may cross with safety except at the Fords."

"Have any of your scouts attempted to backtrack their trail?" Aragorn asked, but Heruthain shook his head.

"Most tracks are obliterated by the time we get there and our scouts are not that knowledgeable, I’m afraid," the Rohir captain said ruefully. "We have had little need for them until now. Ever has our strength been in the swiftness of our horses, not in the cunning of our pathfinders," he concluded apologetically.

"Then my friends and I have come to the right place," Thandir laughed and the other two Elves echoed him. Heruthain gave Aragorn a puzzled look, which Aragorn returned with a shrug.

****

That night they camped in the shadow of the mountains where they curved southward. The Isen was a thin blue strip in the middle distance. To the north they could just make out the dark green smudge that marked the southern eaves of Fangorn Forest. All three Elves stood staring at that ominous and ill-favored wood with expressions that went beyond longing, ignoring the mortals setting up camp around them. None of the Men, including Aragorn, were able to look at them directly. Only Aragorn dared to approach them and even he could be seen to be keeping a respectful distance as he bade them to join him by the fire to eat, speaking in the strange lilting tongue of the Firstborn.

Thandir was the first to stir from his reverie and the look he gave Aragorn caused those nearby to reach for swords and bows, as if suddenly confronted by an enemy. Aragorn never flinched, though many saw him pale slightly. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Thandir’s eyes came back to the present and they were merry once more. The Imladris scout punched Gilgirion in the arm and said something in Sindarin that caused Aragorn to grin. Celegrýn made a retort that had the other two Elves in stitches as they turned from that ancient forest to join the Dúnadan by the fire that he was sharing with Heruthain.

"We will be gone when you awaken," Thandir said quietly as he accepted a bowl of venison stew from Aragorn. "Continue your patrol as usual. We will join you in three days time."

"How will you find us?" Heruthain asked, clearly puzzled. "You do not even ask for the route we will take."

"Nor would it mean anything to us if we did," Thandir said. "One mortal village is much the same as another to our eyes. Do not worry. We will find you." Then he smiled slyly. "Or rather, we will find our horses." He turned to Aragorn. "You will care for them while we are gone."

It was not a question, and Heruthain looked at Thandir in surprise at the tone of command in the Elf’s voice. Aragorn merely nodded as if he had expected no less. "The usual signals?" All three Elves nodded.

"Three days," the Dúnadan said, giving each of the Firstborn a hard stare. "Then I’m coming after you."

"Which means we better be back on the night of the second day," Celegrýn said with a laugh, "or Estel’s going to make our lives miserable."

"He is his father’s son, after all," Thandir said with a warm smile for the Dúnadan, and Aragorn was left wondering which father the Elf meant.

****

The Elves were indeed gone when the camp awoke and none of the men on watch could honestly claim to have seen them go, though Wídfara thought he had seen a wisp of mist that disappeared northward.

"Elves can travel unseen by Mortals if they so wish," Aragorn said casually as he went about the task of helping to break camp. Wídfara gave him a strange look which Aragorn ignored. Soon they were on their way, their destination a small village that nestled against the mountains.

"We will do a circuit of the villages," Heruthain explained to Aragorn, "moving south through the foothills, then swinging westward where the mountains curve to the east. From there we will go towards the Isen and then make our way back north in a serpentine pattern as we go from one village to the next until we are at the Fords."

"How long does such a patrol normally take?" Aragorn asked.

Heruthain shrugged. "Depending on the weather and such... about three weeks, maybe four."

Aragorn nodded and an easy silence ensued between the Rohir captain and the Dúnadan. Then, diffidently, Heruthain ventured to ask a question that had been on his mind since the night before. "Were you serious... about going after the Elves?"

Aragorn gave Heruthain a piercing look. "Yes," he said simply, "I was serious."

"You would have gone even without my permission?"

Now Aragorn shook his head. "I would have sought your permission first and hoped that my explanation would be acceptable, but regardless, I would have gone." He paused and Heruthain detected an air of sadness about the northerner. "Thandir tends to be... reckless. You see, a year before Eorl the Young came to Cirion’s rescue he lost his wife to orcs. He only remained in Middle-earth rather than follow her to Mandos because at the time they had two children who needed him still. Since then though...."

"He seeks death?" Heruthain asked quietly.

Aragorn shrugged. "I think he seeks redemption. I think he blames himself for Eluwen’s death and has never forgiven himself."

"Yes," Heruthain nodded in agreement. "Such men become reckless with their lives... and the lives of others."

"Elves even more so, I’m afraid," Aragorn said, "though they are careful not to involve the younger races in such pursuits. I only know about his story because he told me that summer he remained in Imladris and tutored me."

"Over four hundred and forty years...." Heruthain’s eyes went blank trying to imagine such a distance of time. Four hundred and forty-seven years ago, Eorl the Young rode out of the north to the aid of Cirion of Mundburg and Rohan was born, and in all that time an Elf grieved for a dead wife. It was difficult to comprehend.

****

They reached the village, called Dunwulfstun for reasons best known to its inhabitants, around noon. It was a typical daub and wattle village with a central meeting hall constructed of wood. It was a small hall, not more than forty paces long and half as wide, yet it served its purpose. Heruthain met the village headman, whose name was Cedric, before the doors of the hall. Aragorn saw a man with silver-tinged braids who was missing part of his right arm, yet otherwise appeared hale and hardy. He greeted Heruthain warmly.

"Westu, Heruthain, hál!" Cedric exclaimed as he hugged Heruthain and kissed him gladly on the cheek in greeting, which Heruthain returned with equal joy. "It is good to see you once again, sweordbroðor."

"As it is good to see you, as well, my friend. Let me make you known to Lord Thorongil, a Dúnadan from the north, who has taken service with Thengel King." Heruthain gestured for Aragorn to join them and Cedric eyed the young man critically, giving him a short bow in greeting.

"Well come, my lord. Well come to Dunwulfstun."

"Thank you, Cedric Héafodmann," Aragorn said politely.

"Come, my friend," Cedric turned to Heruthain with a broad smile. "Let us share a flagon of mead and you will tell me what has happened in Edoras since your last visit and I will tell you about the latest exploits of my newest grandson born just this past fortnight."

Heruthain laughed. "The mead I will accept, my friend, but save your tales of your grandson and the wondrous deeds that he has performed before your eyes for another time. I wish to acquaint Lord Thorongil with what has happened here in the Westmark and I would have your counsel."

Cedric sobered somewhat and nodded. "Come then. We will talk." He led them into the hall which was darker than Aragorn expected and it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust. Cedric brought them to a trestle table set against one wall. There was a flagon and several wooden cups on the table and Cedric deftly poured the mead into three cups, giving the other two men a salute before they downed the honey-sweet drink. Aragorn was reminded of the mead that Beorn had offered him and he thought wistfully of the peace and serenity he had felt within Beorn’s hall. He brought himself back to the present when he realized that Cedric had asked him a question.

"Forgive me, Héadfodmann, I fear I was... elsewhere. Your mead brought back pleasant memories of a recent visit to Rhovannion. You were saying?"

Cedric gave the younger man a shrewd look. "I asked if you have ever been on a patrol before?"

Aragorn smiled. "Since I was fifteen, actually. I spent some time among the Elves in Rivendell and they took me on their own patrols of the Hidden Valley and then I was formally admitted among the Dúnedain when I was twenty. I have been on more patrols in the last six years than I care to remember. If we weren’t fighting orcs, it was wargs or incursions from Angmar. Believe me, sir, I am well experienced in the dangers of patrol."

Cedric nodded, apparently satisfied, then turned his attention back to Heruthain. "Now, tell me about these Elves again."

Aragorn realized with chagrin that Heruthain had already apprised Cedric about the assassination attempt in Edoras and the Elves’ role in foiling it while he had been reminiscing and vowed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Getting lost in memories might work well for Elves, but it was a dangerous occupation for a Mortal in these perilous times.

"Rumor has it that the Westmark is becoming dangerous," Cedric said at one point as the three men were unceremoniously herded out of the hall by no-nonsense matrons wishing to prepare it for the evening feast which was an expected event whenever Heruthain’s patrol came through.

"How so?" Heruthain asked as they settled themselves on a couple of benches off to one side of the porch that surrounded the hall.

"The raids are increasing and they’re moving southward," Cedric explained. "And there’s another thing."

"Well, what is it?" Heruthain demanded somewhat acerbically.

Cedric grimaced. "The raiders are reported to be Rohirrim."

"What!?" Heruthain stood up in shock and then just stared at his friend in disbelief. Aragorn, on the other hand, nodded. "Makes sense."

Cedric gave the Dúnadan a shrewd look, then glanced at Heruthain standing there with his mouth agape, and smiled with grim amusement. "Close your mouth, sweordbroðor. You look ridiculous."

Instead of responding to Cedric’s barb, Heruthain turned to Aragorn angrily. "What do you mean, it makes sense? Do you accuse...."

Aragorn raised a hand in protest. "Nay, Heruthain, I do not, but think about it. The people of the Westmark do not recognize Thengel’s authority over them, but neither do they cleave wholly to Dunland from what I’ve been told." Cedric nodded and Heruthain sat back down, looking thoughtful. Aragorn continued. "If it appears that certain of the Rohirrim are attacking the villages in southern Westmark, it may be seen as a retaliation for the depredations visited upon the villages in the Westfold and here in the northern reaches of the Westmark where the villages do hold allegiance to Thengel."

"If the Westmark rises up in retaliation, my friend...." Cedric left that thought unspoken and Heruthain shivered in spite of himself at the images the words evoked.

"Thengel King is beset by conspiracies to undermine his rule, both from within and without," Aragorn concluded. "I do not think the two are connected, but certainly both groups of conspirators may be taking advantage of each other to further their own cause."

Silence reigned between the three men for a time. Aragorn glanced idly around, noticing children playing near the village well as their mothers drew water and gossiped. The cling-clang of metal being systematically pounded by a blacksmith’s hammer could be heard though the smithy was not in view. Horses neighed and goats bleated. Village life went on around them, oblivious of the weighty matters being discussed by the three of them. Finally, Aragorn turned back to Heruthain and Cedric.

"We need to find those raiders," he said quietly yet decisively. Cedric nodded. Heruthain looked skeptical, but did not contradict the Dúnadan.

"Let’s hope your Elves bring us news," he said somewhat reluctantly.

Aragorn smiled. "Not my Elves, Heruthain. They belong to themselves and I have no claim on them save friendship."

"And that is more than most Mortals can claim, Lord Thorongil," Cedric said shrewdly.

****

They stayed in Dunwulfstun for four days. "I always stay the longest here in Dunwulfstun," Heruthain told Aragorn. "Cedric is a wily old bird and knows much that goes on in the Westmark. He is always a font of useful information... when I can get him to stop talking about his dratted grandchildren, that is."

The captain of the éored laughed and Aragorn joined him, for he had been a victim of Cedric’s obsession on more than one occasion during their stay. Not that he minded. He had realized early on in his Chieftainship that listening to his people prattle on about mundane matters helped to keep his own burdens in perspective and served to remind him to what he was dedicating himself: that ordinary people were free to prattle to their hearts’ content made his own sacrifices worthwhile.

Thandir and the other two Elves showed up on the evening of the third day, just as everyone was sitting down in the hall for dinner. Aragorn had already informed Heruthain that if the Elves were not there by dawn he would be going after them. Heruthain did not try to argue. Cedric said nothing, but his eyes were knowing. It was with some relief on Heruthain’s part when the doors of the hall opened and three ethereal figures entered.

As the Elves glided into the hall, all conversations came to an abrupt halt. Several mouths hung open at the sight of them. Thandir threw back his hood and smiled towards where Aragorn was sitting on a bench next to Heruthain with Cedric across from him. At least one maiden gave a strangled sigh at the beauty of that smile and fainted, much to the consternation of those sitting around her.

"I hope you’ve saved some of that delicious smelling stew for us, Estel," Thandir said with a laugh, speaking Westron. "We’re starved."

Aragorn gave Thandir a teasing grin. "Only if you help with the washing up afterwards."

Heruthain and Cedric, not to mention everyone else, just stared at the Dúnadan in disbelief. Ask one of the Firstborn to wash your dishes!? Why not just ask Lord Béma to curry your horse for you while you’re at it?

Thandir must have felt the same way, for he lifted a delicate eyebrow at the Mortal and said, with all the haughty arrogance of one who’s seen three Ages of Arda and more, "I haven’t trekked through fen and forest just to wash your dishes, Estel."

Aragorn’s smile deepened as he calmly picked up a spoon, dipped it into the trencher and took a sip of the stew, smacking his lips appreciatively. Then, before anyone could respond, Thandir pulled his bow off his shoulder, whipped out an arrow and shot it so that it rammed into the table within a hair’s breath of Aragorn’s hand. Everyone at the table rose in shock, backing away. Everyone, that is, except Aragorn, whose only reaction was to move his trencher half an inch to the left, as if to give the arrow more room.

At that, Thandir threw back his head and laughed. Celegrýn and Gilgirion grinned, exchanging amused glances. "Dishes it is," Thandir said with restored humor, "but only if you help."

Aragorn smiled at his friend and moved over to make room for the elves on the bench. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

For days and weeks afterwards no one in Dunwulfstun could speak of anything else but of the sight of three of the Firstborn elbow deep in hot water and suds, happily singing in their lilting tongue as they washed dishes while Lord Thorongil and Captain Heruthain dried.

****

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

Dunwulfstun: Mountain-wolf’s village.

Sweordbroðor: Sword-brother.

Héadfodmann: Headman, captain.

Historical Notes: Celebrían, wife of Elrond, was attacked by orcs as she and her entourage were crossing the Misty Mountains in 2509 on the way to Lórien. Thandir’s wife, Eluwen, was part of the escort for Celebrían; she did not survive the attack. Eorl the Young came to the rescue of Cirion at the Battle of the Fields of Celebrant in 2510.

Thandir is a Noldorin Exile who fled Aman under Finrod’s banner. He was born a millennium before the Darkening of Valinor. Celegrýn and Gilgirion were both born during the Long Peace (First Age 75-455) in Nargothrond. Both their parents originally came from Aman.