15: Recovery

It was the grueling trek in inclement weather that did Aragorn in and he became feverish again, but this time he was also delirious for a day or two. Thus, it was nearly a week before he was sufficiently recovered enough to join the others in a council of war. They were in Hilderic’s office: he, Hilderic, Heruthain, and Gilhael. Wídfara had been given the honor of being assigned guard duty and stood diligently in front of the door to ward off any who would seek to interrupt the meeting.

Aragorn sank gratefully into a chair, not caring that he was still feeling weak. Gilhael had removed the stitches earlier that morning and the scar itched and he was hard-pressed to ignore it. He waved away the mug of ale Heruthain offered him.

"I want my wits about me, Heruthain," the Dúnadan said, "and having just risen from my bed after nearly a week, I do not trust myself with anything stronger than tea."

The Rohirric captain nodded. "A wise decision, Earntungol. Frankly, I’m amazed you’re even out of bed. You looked like death warmed over when we brought you into the keep."

Aragorn smiled thinly. "I felt like death warmed over, my friend, but I assure you I am better now."

"Better, but not well," Gilhael said as he handed Aragorn a cup of tea. "Which means I have the unenviable duty of sitting on you until you are. Otherwise you’re likely to run off after the orcs on your own."

"I’ll have Wídfara give you a hand there," Hilderic said with a grin. "The boy adores you, Earntungol, and would not willingly wish to be parted from you, so he will be only too happy to make sure you stay put, my lord."

"I’m not that bad, am I?" Aragorn exclaimed, wondering what they were on about.

Gilhael rolled his eyes. "In your delirium you do not remember trying to get to Mithfaron, insisting you had to go after the orcs. It took four of us to hold you down long enough to dose you."

Aragorn gave his cousin a piercing glance to make sure Gilhael wasn’t jesting, but the absolute sincerity in the man’s eyes convinced him that he wasn’t and he blushed. "Sorry. I don’t remember."

"Just as well," Hilderic said gravely. "Otherwise, I might have to come up with a suitable punishment for all the things you called me when I refused to let you leave your room."

Aragorn blushed even more. "Forgive me, my lord, I fear I don’t remember, truly. I hope you won’t take anything I might have said to heart."

"Well... most of it was trifling, though I’m curious about... seron-en-orch," Hilderic paused as he watched Aragorn go absolutely white with mortification. "Your cousin refuses to translate it for me..." He watched as the Dúnadan breathed a sigh of relief. "So I might have to make you teach me Sindarin just so I can learn what you did call me..." Aragorn closed his eyes and muttered something no one quite caught, though Gilhael raised an eyebrow when he realized his cousin was cursing in Quenya, a language he did not know himself except for a few words. Hilderic merely smiled, as if he’d scored a point in some game. "Then again," he continued, ignoring Aragorn’s dark looks, "I might be so busy I will forget about it because a certain Dúnadan Ranger under my command is not bringing himself to my notice by disobeying a direct order not to leave the redoubt unless I tell him to."

Now Aragorn gave Hilderic an appraising look and after a moment’s hesitation admitted defeat and nodded. "It will be as my lord commands," he said quietly, bowing his head slightly in respect.

"Yes, it will," Hilderic said, trying not to sound too smug about it. "In the meantime, we still need to address the situation in the Westmark. I’ve sent word to my uncle informing him what has happened. I hope to have a message from him in the next day or two."

"Speaking of messages," Aragorn said, turning to Gilhael, "did you..."

Gilhael nodded. "Wídfara told me you wished to get a message to Lord Elrond. I made sure it was sent."

Hilderic looked upon the two Dúnedain with some puzzlement. "How, my lord? I do not recall you sending any messenger off without my leave."

Gilhael shook his head. "Nor did I, but there are ways of getting a message to one of the Elf-lords other than by the usual means. Elrond knows by now, that is all that matters."

The two men of Rohan stared at the two Dúnedain with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Aragorn and Gilhael stared back with equanimity and Hilderic felt a shiver run through his body at the implications of Gilhael’s words. He had to remind himself that here sat two who could trace their lineage back to the Sea-Kings of Númenor and even he had heard the legends of their great powers.

The young man shook himself mentally and gathered his wits about him. "Well, that is really neither here nor there at the moment," he finally said, and was pleased that his voice sounded almost normal. "We still need to deal with the Westmark."

"The only good thing about any of this is that it’s too late in the year for any possible campaign," Heruthain said with a slight grunt. "Winter approaches, so the villages will be safe until next spring."

Aragorn shook his head. "Not necessarily. Orcs care not what the season is and will attack whenever they please. The villages might not be as safe as you would like."

This was a sobering thought. Hilderic shook his head. "It’s impossible for us to mount a winter campaign. The Westmark usually sees more snow than we and the winters there can be brutal. There is no way we can hunt down the orcs in the winter."

Aragorn thought for a moment. What Hilderic said was true. Winter campaigns were almost unheard of because of the danger to both men and horses from the snow and the cold, but that was not to say they did not occur. His heart warned him that the orcs would not be deterred. Even their Dunlending allies would be forced to join them in their marauding and the orcs would not care if any of the Men died of exposure along the way.

"Then the villages need to be warned," he finally said, "and perhaps scouts can be sent into the Westmark to learn where the orcs and Dunlendings are holing up. They must have a base somewhere. That band that attacked us came from the west, not the east."

"They also fled west, not east," Heruthain added. "That means they knew of a place wherein they could take refuge."

"West and north," Aragorn said musingly, staring at the map on the wall, his eyes distant with thought.

"What are you thinking, Cousin?" Gilhael finally asked.

But Aragorn merely shook his head. "I do not know, yet, Cousin. There is too little information. We need to send scouts back into the Westmark. I must go..."

"No!" Hilderic practically shouted and the others looked at him in amazement. The young leader of the éored swallowed visibly but did not back down. "I forbid it. Dúnadan you might be, Thorongil, but you are also mortal and you are still recovering from fever and a grave wound. You are not to leave Helm’s Deep without my leave. You may be an excellent scout but there are others who can fill that role."

The other three men stared at Hilderic in silence. Heruthain’s expression was one of amusement at the sight of the two Outlanders gaping at his young lord, who suddenly reminded him of the lad’s father. Hildebrand could be just as forceful and woe betide anyone who thought to contradict him. It seemed that Hilderic was taking a page from his sire’s book.

Aragorn and Gilhael just looked at the young man as if they had never seen him before and Hilderic was hard-pressed not to squirm under their considered regard. In spite of the fact that Thorongil was younger than he, Hilderic had the uneasy feeling that in many ways the Dúnadan was immeasurably older and of course Gilhael indeed was older. Aragorn was the first to break the silence with a sigh.

"You are, of course, correct, my Lord Hilderic," he said quietly. "I spoke out of turn and ask for your forgiveness. Gilhael might go in my stead, for he has been a Ranger longer than I and is well-versed in the ways of orcs."

Hilderic nodded. "A good idea. It’s bad enough having one Dúnadan Ranger underfoot... having the two of you together is too much for me to handle." Hilderic managed to say all that with a straight face, but at the sight of the two Dúnedain in question raising almost identical eyebrows in disbelief, he broke into a wide grin and then the four of them were laughing.

In the end, Hilderic decided to send a small sortie into the Westmark, with Gilhael leading. "I know you have the superior knowledge of both scouting and orcs," he told the older Dúnadan. "I will let you choose whom you will take with you, but keep the party small, no more than five or six."

Gilhael nodded, well aware of what he needed to do. "I will ask Heruthain to introduce me to those whom he thinks are the best scouts. We will leave in two or three days."

Hilderic nodded his approval. Aragorn resisted a sigh as he absently rubbed his left thigh trying to relieve the itching of his scar.

****

Gilhael left three days later with three other men — Háma, Éobeorht and Guthwulf. Aragorn tried not to show his disappointment in not being able to go but his cousin was not fooled.

"Now you know how I felt being left behind," he said and Aragorn had the grace to blush slightly at the unspoken reprimand.

"Take care of yourself, Cousin," he said, giving Gilhael a warrior’s clasp. "Don’t let what happened last year affect you to the point that your companions’ lives are endangered."

Gilhael paled somewhat at Aragorn’s words. "Be bith lîn, hir nîn," he said quietly, recognizing that Aragorn had spoken not as his cousin, but as his Chieftain.

Aragorn nodded. "No bedithar iBelain ah le."

****

Hilderic did not give Aragorn time to brood. He called the Dúnadan into his office shortly after Gilhael left. "My uncle will want every scrap of information we might have concerning the Dunlendings and the orcs. I would like you to write out all you can remember of the attacks. Any detail you can recall will help us to plan a more effective strategy against them. Also, anything you can tell us about how your people have dealt with orcs will be helpful."

Aragorn nodded. "My people have long had to deal with orcs and worse over the years, including fighting them in the depths of winter. I will put together everything I know for Thengel King."

Hilderic sighed. "In the meantime, I had better see to making sure Helm’s Deep is ready to receive any refugees if it comes to a winter campaign. What worries me is where those orcs and Dunlendings were heading when they attacked your encampment."

"What worries me even more," Aragorn said with a frown, "is where they went when they fled."

"Back to Dunland?" Hilderic ventured, staring at the map.

"I doubt it," Aragorn said. "Yet they obviously went somewhere." He sighed. "I cannot get it out of my mind."

"What?"

"Why were we attacked? They avoided every village along the way, but they deliberately attacked us, an armed encampment. Why? What did they hope to gain?"

Hilderic shook his head. "I have no answers for you, my friend."

And that was the most troubling thing of all, to Aragorn’s mind: there were no answers.

****

Over the next few days, Aragorn worked towards regaining strength in his leg, sparring with Wídfara, Heruthain, and even Hilderic, when the Marshal’s duties permitted. The Rohirrim were amazed at the skill with sword and bow that the Dúnadan exhibited, though Aragorn was unhappy with his performance, which he labeled as "mediocre".

"Ever since the boar fell on me," he complained at one point, "I have not been at my best."

"Such an injury takes time to heal, lad," Heruthain said knowingly, smiling sympathetically at the impatience of youth.

"It’s been almost a year!" Aragorn exclaimed, sounding frustrated.

Hilderic shook his head. "From what you told me, you shouldn’t have been able to walk at all. Be thankful for small favors, my friend."

Aragorn grimaced, but realized the truth of the Marshal’s words and nodded somewhat reluctantly. "You are right, of course. I guess I just haven’t seen it that way."

Wídfara, meanwhile, had said nothing during all this and Aragorn turned to see a worried look on the younger man’s face. "What troubles you, my friend?"

Wídfara looked at Aragorn and there was awe in his eyes as he faced the Dúnadan. "If your performance just now was... mediocre, what is your best like?"

Aragorn smiled and there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If I ever regain my former strength, you’ll find out."

All three Rohirrim gave the Dúnadan measuring looks. Aragorn merely bowed, and walked away.

****

A week after Gilhael and the scouting party left it snowed during the night, continuing into the early morning.

"A bit early," Heruthain commented as he and Aragorn stood on the Deeping Wall looking out over the plains. Large fat flakes were falling lazily, slowly covering the steppes in a blanket of white.

"It will not stick, though," Aragorn said, pointing. "The sun will banish it soon enough."

"True," Heruthain agreed, nodding, "but it is a sign that perhaps the winter will be harsher than usual."

"That might be a good thing," Aragorn said. "It will mean that even orcs might stay put."

"Then I suppose we should pray for a hard, cold winter, heh?" Heruthain replied with a glint of humor in his eyes.

Aragorn nodded with a smile, then stiffened as he gazed out into the Westfold. "A rider approaches," he said, pointing eastward.

Heruthain squinted his eyes, looking to where the Dúnadan pointed. "You are aptly named, my lord. You have the eyes of an eagle, for I see no one coming."

"Yet, one does. Wait you for a moment and you will see him. Perhaps he is a messenger from Thengel King."

It was another moment before Heruthain could see the lone rider approaching and, calling out, alerted the guards at the gate. "If it is a messenger from the King, Hilderic will want to know."

"I will find him," Aragorn said, making his way down from the parapet and across the courtyard where the statue of Helm Hammerhand stood to enter the keep itself. It did not take him long to find Hilderic, who was in an inner salle with some of the younger members of the éored going through maneuvers.

"A rider approaches, my lord," Aragorn said with a bow to Hilderic. "From the east."

Hilderic looked up at Aragorn and nodded. "Garwulf, take over," he said to his second-in-command. "Thorongil, come with me."

Hilderic strode out of the salle towards the changing room where he doffed his helm and hauberk, allowing Aragorn to help him, then he gave himself a brief wash before donning his tunic, belting his sword as he made his way towards the front of the keep with Aragorn beside him. By the time they reached the front gates, joining Heruthain, the rider was at the ramp. Aragorn could not see who it was, for the rider’s hood was up against the falling snow, thereby hiding his features, but when the man reached the top of the ramp, he threw back his hood. Aragorn gave an involuntary gasp.

Sitting on the horse was Grimbold, the man who had assaulted him. Grimbold, in his turn, saw Aragorn and gave the younger man a sour grin. Hilderic, seeing the interplay between the two men, sighed and grimaced at no one in particular.

"As if orcs and Dunlendings aren’t bad enough," he muttered, then in a louder voice, addressed the rider, who by now had dismounted. "Whatever possessed my uncle to send you to us, Grimbold?"

The man shrugged. "I was the only one available, Lord Marshal. Would you hear my message here or shall we..."

Hilderic grimaced again. "Come, let us adjourn to my study. Thorongil, Heruthain, join us."

"As you command, my lord," Aragorn said reluctantly, giving Hilderic a short bow and Grimbold a sour look, which the older man returned with a leer before falling into step with the Marshal.

Hilderic stormed through the redoubt with a grim look on his face and no one dared greet him as was their wont, stepping aside to let the small party pass without a word. When they entered the Marshal’s office he turned to face Grimbold, his eyes blazing.

"I rather doubt that you of all people were the only one available to be sent by my uncle, Grimbold," Hilderic stated baldly. "Understand this, I do not know what game you play, but I will not tolerate it. One false move, one wrong word to the wrong person at the wrong time, and I will feed you to the orcs that are ravaging the Westmark myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Grimbold paled somewhat at Hilderic’s words and his arrogance was deflated. When he spoke, it was with respect. "What I said was true, Lord Marshal. Thengel King is beset with troubles from the Eastfold, thanks to his mother’s machinations, and had few he could trust to deliver his message to you."

"Trust?" Heruthain asked in disbelief.

Grimbold reddened, though not in embarrassment, as he turned to face the other man. "Yes, Lord Heruthain. Trust. Thengel King knows well my skill at horse and my knowledge of the hidden ways to Helm’s Deep. He wished my going be remarked by as few as possible and there are not many among the king’s éored who know all the unmarked ways between here and Edoras. Thus, he gave me the task. Hardbeorht it was who was given the task of riding openly to Helm’s Deep." He paused, looking troubled. "That he is not here... I fear some evil may have befallen him, for he should have reached Helm’s Deep before me."

Hilderic grimaced at that. "Heruthain, have a company sent out immediately along the east road in search of Hardbeorht. Perhaps he has only been delayed by weather or a lame horse rather than by something more... sinister."

Heruthain gave the Marshal a salute. "I will lead the search myself, for Hardbeorht is my sister-son’s son, and dear to me."

Hilderic nodded and Heruthain left. Then the Marshal turned his attention back to Grimbold and sighed. "What you say is true, Grimbold, but what I say is equally true: I do not trust you, not after what you did to Lord Thorongil here. If I get even a hint of trouble from you...." Hilderic left the threat unsaid, but Aragorn and Grimbold both recognized the sincerity of his words. Grimbold gave the Marshal a stiff bow in acknowledgement. The young Marshal nodded. "What is the message my uncle entrusted to you?"

Aragorn was surprised when Grimbold did not hand Hilderic a message tube, but began speaking the message right then and there. He realized then that Thengel had decided to have the message be given verbally as a safeguard against it being lost or stolen, as message tubes could be. Now he understood Grimbold’s reference to ‘hidden ways’. Messengers could be waylaid and he wondered what trouble had arisen in Edoras that Thengel needed to use this subterfuge to assure a message reached Hilderic. That Hardbeorht, a young lad whom Aragorn vaguely remembered, had been given the task to ride as decoy was troubling to the Dúnadan, though he suspected the Rider had volunteered. Thengel would not willingly order such a dangerous role upon another. Aragorn gave himself a mental shake and concentrated on listening to the message, which was brief and to the point.

"‘I regret, Nephew,’" Grimbold intoned, keeping his voice neutral as he repeated Thengel’s message to Hilderic, "‘that I cannot send you more troops at this time. The situation in Edoras worsens. Another assassination attempt was made against your aunt and I myself am riding to Aldburg to confront your grandmother. Do what you can against the orcs and Dunlendings. The Valar, and Lord Béma especially, be with you.’"

Hilderic went white at Grimbold’s words. "Aunt Morwen! Is she..."

Grimbold held up a hand. "The Lady Morwen is unharmed. The attempt on her life was foiled by young Théoden, if you can believe it." Here, he gave them both a feral smile and Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that.

"How did it happen?" he asked quietly.

Grimbold turned to the Dúnadan. "I see your command of our language progresses, Outlander."

"And how have your language lessons been coming along?" Aragorn retorted, speaking Westron. Grimbold gave the younger man a sour look.

"Well enough," he replied in the same tongue but said no more about it, reverting back to Rohirric as he described the events surrounding the latest assassination attempt against the royal family. "The Lady Morwen was sitting in her solar with her women doing embroidery. The royal children were also there, the maidens sitting alongside their mother while the princeling played nearby. Then, an old woman came in, carrying a basket. None had ever seen her before, but they took no note, for there had been much coming and going of servants throughout the morning. However, something about the woman did not sit well with the lad, from what I can gather, and as the woman approached his mother, reaching into the basket, he suddenly screamed out a warning that brought guards running. Morwen managed to move aside, dragging her daughters with her, just as the old woman threw an adder in her direction."

"What?" Hilderic and Aragorn both yelled almost at the same time, the same expression of shock and disbelief on their faces as Grimbold nodded. "The guards seized the woman and killed the snake. Had the lad not yelled out when he did...." He paused and looked appraisingly at Hilderic. "I admit me that I little care for the fact that your uncle married a foreign woman and brings foreign ways to his court, against all custom of the Rohirrim, yet, the thought of anyone dying such a horrendous death...." He shook his head, unable to say more.

Aragorn began to see the older man in a different light. Belligerent and hostile towards foreigners Grimbold might be, yet, there was a core of honor in him that bespoke of a man who found such attempts against another’s life distasteful and contemptible. Perhaps Thengel’s trust in the man was not as misplaced as Hilderic thought.

"What happened to the woman?" Aragorn asked quietly.

Grimbold gave the Dúnadan a grimace. "Died under torture, but not before revealing that she was of the old queen’s household."

For several minutes no one spoke, each alone with their thoughts. Finally, Hilderic looked up with a sigh. "I understand now why my uncle could not send any more men to me. If the Eastfold rises in rebellion against his rule, he will need all the men he has to quell it."

"Let us hope that it doesn’t come to that," Aragorn said. "If the Rohirrim must needs fight on two fronts, Rohan will be in danger of being destroyed, both from within and without."

"I will die before I see that happen!" Grimbold said with great feeling, and Hilderic nodded in agreement.

"Then, let us think how we may avert such a disaster," Aragorn replied. "Let us work together to see that Rohan is not destroyed by her enemies, whoever they may be." The Dúnadan held out his hand to Grimbold, who hesitated only for a moment before clasping Aragorn’s hand. Hilderic added his own on top of theirs.

"Let us even so," he said quietly and all three men grinned ferally at one another at the unspoken pledge between them.

****

Seron-en-orch: (Sindarin) Orc-lover; considered to be one of the gravest insults in Sindarin.

Be bith lîn, hir nîn: (Sindarin) "According to thy word, my lord".

No bedithar iBelain ah le: (Sindarin) "The Valar go with you".