19: A Prisoner Freed

Aragorn decided that there were only two logical places they would have put the boy: either in his own rooms or in the dungeons. Since the nursery was not far it made sense to check that out first. If the boy was not there, then he would check the dungeons. And if Théoden was not in the dungeons...

Well, he would cross that bridge when and if he got to it. In the meantime, he continued along on cat-feet, keeping an eye and an ear out for servants and guards. The upper floor was empty, as was the nursery. Aragorn grimaced. That meant the dungeons and reaching them would be problematic.

He thought about it, bringing up a mental map of Meduseld’s layout. There was one possible route that would avoid most of the public areas of the king’s palace and luckily the nursery was on the south side of Meduseld facing the White Mountains. Leaving the room he made his way further along the corridor to a door that led to the back stairs used by servants. He made his way down them cautiously as there was no light. At the bottom of the stairs he paused to listen at the door, but heard no sound. Easing the door open he found himself in the palace kitchens. A banked fire provided a little light by which to see.

He continued moving quietly around worktables, careful to avoid hitting his head on pans and utensils and the occasional ropes of garlic hanging from the rafters. He almost stepped on a young lad sleeping next to the stove. The boy stirred somewhat and Aragorn bent down and laid a hand on his cheek, gently stroking it and singing softly. The child gave a sigh and fell back to sleep without ever opening his eyes. Aragorn smiled fondly at the lad before stepping over him and making his way down a side corridor that was dimly lit with torches at either end of it.

This corridor led towards the guardroom situated at the west side of the Hall with the entrance to the dungeons just beyond. Here would hold the most danger for the Dúnadan, for he would need to retrieve the keys from the guardroom which would be full of sleeping (and not sleeping) men. He slowed his pace a bit to think things out. The door to the dungeons itself would not be locked, merely barred. If he could sneak past the guardroom unseen he might be able to lift the bar without making too much noise, but that still left him without the keys necessary to open the cells below.

He was pondering what course to take when he heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the guardroom that lay just around the corner and ran as softly as he could back toward the kitchens, for there were no other doors along the corridor. He stepped quietly to the left where there was a shallow alcove, pulling his hood over his eyes and crouching behind a couple of bags of potatoes just as two men entered, one slightly older than the other, both looking grim.

The first man was carrying an empty pail; the second a knife aimed at the other man’s back. That surprised Aragorn, but he schooled himself to stillness and waited. The men walked over to a sink where there was a pump. As the first man began drawing water, he whispered, "This is a bad business, Rædwulf."

Rædwulf shrugged, leaning casually against a table. "Bad or not, Cyneric, it is what it is and there is little we can do about it."

"You were willing enough to forsake your oaths...."

"I forsook nothing!" Rædwulf snarled, still keeping his voice low. "Your family is safely away at your father’s steading, but my wife and child are here and hostage to my obedience. I will do nothing to risk their lives or mine. I cannot protect them if I am dead or in prison."

Cyneric finished pumping and looked at Rædwulf sadly. "Why does the king not come?" There was a note of hurt and confusion in his voice. Rædwulf shrugged again and sighed.

"I do not know, my friend. I only know you were foolish to defy Waldamer. He is a vicious bastard and you may thank Lord Béma you still live. Now let us go. I don’t trust Waldamer or his cronies not to torment the prisoner in our absence." Rædwulf waved his knife at Cyneric, motioning him to walk in front. The younger man sighed and gave a slight grunt as he lugged the now full pail. Aragorn let them pass him and waited for a count of twenty before easing himself from his hiding place to come behind Rædwulf, grabbing him and holding his own knife against the man’s throat. The guard gave a gurgled gasp that alerted Cyneric. The younger man turned and stared in shocked surprise as Aragorn took Rædwulf’s knife.

"Softly, my friends," Aragorn admonished them. "I mean you no harm."

"Who are you?" Rædwulf snarled, fear tinging his voice.

"I am Lord Earntungol sent by Thengel King," Aragorn answered, stretching the truth a hair. "I heard you talking by the pump."

Cyneric gasped, his eyes widening. "Good sir, please do not harm my friend. He is no traitor..."

"Silence, you fool!" Rædwulf exclaimed. "You babble like a child on leading strings."

Cyneric paled at that and tried to stammer an apology. Aragorn released his hold on Rædwulf and stepped back.

"Peace, Rædwulf," he said. "Fear not, Cyneric. I am not here to judge. That is for Thengel King to do. I have come for the boy, for young Théoden. You will take me to him."

Cyneric shook his head. "We cannot, lord," he said, sounding fearful, "for he is not here."

Aragorn grimaced. "Then who is the prisoner of whom you spoke?"

"Lord Gléomer," Rædwulf answered. "Thengel King’s Steward."

"Where then is the boy?" Aragorn asked, sounding frustrated and perplexed. The night was advancing and Grimbold awaited him. Dawn was not far off and the longer he tarried the more dangerous it would become, for the watch would soon be changing.

"I cannot say, lord," Rædwulf answered. "Only, when the traitors took the city, a rider was seen with the bundled body of a child before him. Lady Morwen and her daughters were captured and locked in the king’s bedroom, but no sign of the princeling did we see."

"How long ago was this?" Aragorn asked, thinking furiously.

"Two days ago, lord," Cyneric replied. "We did not even know what was happening until that swine Waldamer came and announced that he was in charge of us now. Of Captain Folcwine, there has been no word or sign. We... we fear the good captain is dead."

Rædwulf nodded grimly.

"Who holds the city?" Aragorn then asked. If he could not rescue the boy, he could at least find out as much as possible. It may be that Théoden had been spirited out by a friend in the confusion of the attack.

"Guthláf of Gálmódingsdale," Cyneric said, grimacing. "Fengel King banished him years ago."

"The only thing that king did right," Rædwulf opined, shaking his head in disgust. "Several of the men with him were also banished. Waldamer, for instance, was forced to flee when Thengel King returned because of his part in the attempt to prevent Thengel from taking his father’s throne."

"Ah," Aragorn exclaimed softly. Suddenly, things were becoming clearer.

Rædwulf gave Aragorn a nervous look. "We cannot linger, lord. Already we tarry longer than we should have and Waldamer will be suspicious and will send his men to find us."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "Go then, and I will follow. But wait, how do I get the keys to unlock the prison?"

Cyneric answered. "There is but one guard at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons. He it is who holds the keys. What do you intend, lord?"

"I mean to rescue Lord Gléomer and learn where Théoden has been taken," answered Aragorn, giving them a feral smile even as he returned Rædwulf’s knife to the guard. Both Rædwulf and Cyneric gave the Dúnadan a skeptical look, then Rædwulf shrugged and motioned for Cyneric to go on. Aragorn kept several paces behind them. The two men turned the corner and disappeared from view. Aragorn slowed his pace.

"What kept you?" he heard a rough voice growl. "If you were plotting any treachery..."

"You’re one to talk, Grimbeorn," Aragorn heard Cyneric say and winced at the sound of the slap and the man’s gasp of pain.

"Keep yer opinions to yerself, boy," Grimbeorn snarled. "Come along. Waldamer is tired of waiting."

Aragorn waited for the sound of the footsteps to fade away before venturing around the corner. Just ahead he saw the door to the guardroom on the right closing and sighed with relief. He had no doubt that Rædwulf was behind that, for normally the guardroom door remained opened at all times. He walked quickly but quietly past the door, which he saw was not completely closed — that would indeed have been foolish on Rædwulf’s part. The door leading to the dungeons lay just beyond around a second corner. Aragorn held his knife under his cloak and walked briskly around the corner as if he had every right to be where he was. The guard had only a moment to realize that the person walking towards him was not one of his fellow guards before Aragorn had his knife to the man’s throat.

"One false move, friend," Aragorn whispered with unfeigned menace tinging his voice, "and you are dead." The guard nodded mutely as Aragorn relieved him of his weapons. "Now, we are going to go down to the dungeons. You will take me to Lord Gléomer. Are there any others beside the Steward who have been imprisoned?"

The guard shook his head and Aragorn nodded, stepping back just far enough to allow the man to open the door and start down the stairs, the Dúnadan’s knife still inches from his throat. Aragorn grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and they made it to the dungeons without mishap. The guard led Aragorn to a certain cell which Aragorn made him open. The two of them entered and Aragorn saw an older man of around fifty lying on a pallet of dirty straw. The man groaned and held his arm to his eyes against the sudden light of the torch.

"Help him up," Aragorn ordered the guard and after a brief second of hesitation the man complied and gave the old man a hand. Aragorn could see that Lord Gléomer had been beaten rather severely but not enough to prevent him from fleeing. The problem would be the guard. Making a quick decision, he motioned for the guard to go before him with the prisoner, then, sheathing his knife, he grabbed the hapless guard from behind and slowly pressed against the man’s windpipe until he fell unconscious. Lord Gléomer stood there reeling somewhat and looking stupidly at the fallen guard. Aragorn took the man’s arm.

"Can you walk, my lord?" he asked. "I will lead you to a place of safety, but we must get hence before any come looking for this man."

Gléomer nodded, giving Aragorn a piercing look. "You are the Outlander Thengel King has taken into his service. How....?"

"We must away, my lord. Explanations must come later. Are there no other prisoners?"

"Lady Morwen..."

Aragorn shook his head. "She and her daughters are safely away, but Théoden is missing."

Gléomer shook his head. "I know not the fate of the princeling."

"Never mind, my lord," Aragorn said solicitously. "Let us hence. We will find the boy and rescue him. Come."

He led the Steward out of his cell and took a moment to lock it behind them then started towards the stairs, but Gléomer stopped him.

"There is another way out," he whispered and Aragorn nodded. The old man turned and they went back down the corridor, passing the cells. Aragorn was no longer concerned about reaching the hidden licweg, for already an hour had passed and he knew that Grimbold and Wídfara would be making their way with the Lady Morwen and her daughters to their camp. Grimbold would not risk the lady’s welfare for his sake, of that Aragorn was sure.

"If we can get out of the city," Aragorn said, "there is a place we can go where others await us."

Gléomer nodded his understanding. "There is a culvert that leads out of the city from here, coming out near the middens on the south side of the hill. It will not be a pleasant route, but none will see us."

"Then lead the way, my lord, and I will follow."

The old man brought them to a grate set in the floor at the end of the corridor. It took Aragorn only a few minutes to pull it open and help Gléomer down before joining him. There was no way to replace the grate but it hardly mattered. Gléomer took the torch Aragorn offered him and the two men went on their way. There was a noisome smell and water trickled at their feet, but they ignored both, for indeed they had no choice. Their route was fairly straight, leading downward. Eventually they came to another set of bars, larger than the first set and immoveable, but the space between them was wide enough for them to pass through with care. Then they were outside at last, the night already lightening to their left with the approaching dawn, the mountains before them looming menacingly in night’s shadow.

"We must make for the Snowbourn," Aragorn said, taking Gléomer’s arm. The older man was reeling from fatigue and pain, but he forced himself to remain standing and nodded, allowing Aragorn to help him cross the middens. Finally, they reached a copse that hid them from any eyes on the city walls and Aragorn helped Gléomer to the ground.

"Here we may rest," he said, "but we cannot linger. They will discover you gone and the route we have taken. There is a camp not far from here where the Lady Morwen waits for us. If we leave now while it is still dark, we will not be seen crossing the open fields."

Gléomer nodded where he lay. "Give me but a moment to catch my breath, my lord, and I will be well."

Aragorn was not so sure, for the man’s face was pasty looking and his breathing was labored, but they had no choice. The alarm would come soon enough if it hadn’t already and they were running out of time. Yet, only a minute or two passed before Gléomer struggled upright and let Aragorn help him up. "Lead the way, young man," the Steward said, "and fear not for me. I am old but I am not dead."

Aragorn could not help but smile at the man’s words and nodded. Soon they were working their way across a field, stepping carefully for they had no torch to light their way, for Aragorn had abandoned their torch when they emerged from the culvert. It was not an easy walk and Aragorn feared that they would be seen with the growing light, but looking back he realized that trees hid the city from view. It was possible that they themselves would not be noticed should anyone be looking in this direction. Gléomer noticed Aragorn’s look of concern and chuckled.

"Fear not," he said, "the southwest side of the city walls are not as well manned as the north or the east. I deem we are safe from prying eyes."

"The camp is not far from here," Aragorn said, pointing towards where the Snowbourn ran. It was now full day and Aragorn was beginning to feel the strain of the night’s work. It took them another hour of walking though to reach the camp where they were greeted with joy. Morwen began to cry when Aragorn told her the news about Théoden.

"Fear not, my lady," the Dúnadan said, attempting to comfort the grieving woman. "We will find the boy. It may be that he was rescued by a friend and even now is safe with Thengel King. Yet, even if that is not so, I vow to you that I will find him and bring him to you."

"Which begs the next question," Grimbold then said. "Where should we go? We must hide and quickly for they will be looking for us as soon as it is learned that Lady Morwen and Lord Gléomer have escaped. Where can we hide that is not too far from here?"

There was a long moment of silence between them all. Aragorn noticed Morwen gathering herself together, forcing the tears away and giving Gléomer a piercing glance which the old man returned with a measured look of his own. Some kind of communication passed between them and then Morwen nodded. "Dunharrow," she said. "We will be safe at Dunharrow."

The other Rohirrim nodded in agreement. Aragorn did not dispute them. "Dunharrow, then," was all he said. Ten minutes later the camp was abandoned. Aragorn placed Théodfrid before him on Mithfaron while Hardbeorht took up little Théodhild. Morwen rode with Grimbold and Gléomer rode with Wídfara. They followed the Snowbourn up the valley towards the White Mountains and a ghost-haunted dale, leaving behind a beleaguered city held by traitors.