28: Red Deer and Danger

The season the Elves of Imladris would call Rhîw came stealing across the mountains and the snows deepened, cutting the people of Dunharrow off even from Harrowdale. Thengel’s scouts reported that the villages of Harrowdale appeared to have been taken over by the rebels as well, for the white horse of Rohan no longer flew over the ramparts of Upbourn and the gates of Underharrow were closed to them.

Thengel grimaced at the news but said nothing, merely giving Morwen a sad look. Morwen returned the look with one of determination, her grey eyes lit with an inner fire that made her look dangerous in spite of her gravid condition. "We will reclaim our land and our people, my husband. Innas e-Belain coren."

Thengel smiled then, and gave his queen a brief but heartfelt kiss. "Your eyes blaze like sunlight on sword’s edge," he said with a twinkle of humor in his own eyes. "I think I will have to call you ‘Stýlescýne’ from now on, my love."

Morwen merely laughed, but those among the éored who heard the exchange gave one another satisfied nods, for they had come to love their lord’s lady for her own sake in the four years since Thengel had taken up his crown.

In spite of the dearth of news out of the Westmark and the uncertainties of their existence, Thengel and Morwen determined that the Yule festivities, curtailed though they might be, would still be held, for the sake of all the children now living in Dunharrow, if for no other reason. To that end, Aragorn, Wídfara and others of the éored were commissioned to hunt for game to supplement the meager fare taken from the storerooms of Dunharrow. They were already rationing supplies in anticipation of a long hard winter, but for this one day Thengel would not begrudge his people some cheer.

"I will eat the offal of pigs before I allow even one of my people to go hungry on this of all days," he declared at one point. "This year has ended badly for us, but not so much so that we cannot allow a small indulgence. I would not have my children or the children of my people suffer for my own arrogance and stupidity."

Thus, Aragorn and Wídfara and a number of the Rohirrim set out on a clear, if brilliantly cold, day about three weeks before Yule to hunt for the Yule feast. They left the Firienfeld, making their way down the Hold Stairs to the lower reaches of the mountains. Their destination was eastward, along the eaves of the forests clinging to the mountains. There was no actual path, except those made by wild animals, but Aragorn had no trouble finding his way in the mountain wilderness. The Rohirrim who accompanied him watched in awe at his tracking skills and were amazed at how silently he moved through wood and glen.

"Like a ghost," Wídfara commented at one point, but Aragorn merely snorted.

"The Elves would say that I make enough noise to wake the dead, and actually mean it," he replied with a self-deprecating laugh.

They were expected to be gone for at least a week and all hoped that Lord Béma would look favorably upon them and the hunters would return with much game.

"Perhaps we will even bring back a boar," one of the hunters said hopefully. Only Wídfara noticed how pale Aragorn went at those words, but did not comment.

For two days they found no trace of larger game, although rabbits were plentiful and they hunted these for their own meals. It was on the third day that Aragorn found a faint trace of game.

"Deer," he said, pointing not to tracks, for the snow had covered them, but to the chewed edges of leaves and broken branches which indicated the passing of large animals. The other hunters grunted, though whether in agreement with the Outlander’s assessment or in surprise at his finding such slim clues that would have gone unnoticed by others, none could say, least of all Aragorn.

"They passed this way recently," he continued, ignoring the looks of the others. Only Wídfara seemed unfazed by Aragorn’s abilities.

"Then perhaps we will have that feast after all, sweordbroðor," was all he said, giving Aragorn a broad grin, which the Dúnadan returned.

"Come," Aragorn said, "let us see if Lord Béma favors us this day."

To that the other hunters had no objection and soon they were moving swiftly and as silently as they knew how, following the faint traces which only Aragorn seemed to find. They had found the first clues in midmorning but it was well past the noontide before they came into a hidden glen deep in the mountains. It was rock strewn and the snow was less than in other places. A small mountain stream danced merrily around the rocks, not yet frozen, though ice was beginning to form near the banks. All around them were towering pines and balsams with the odd oak and mountain holly. The sight of this last delighted them for now they could return with some of the holly as decoration for the keep, along with the hoped-for game.

Aragorn signaled silence as they crept into the glen, keeping an eye out for any telltale sign of the deer. They had spread out among the trees. Aragorn and Widfara walked close to the stream without leaving the cover of the trees that stood back somewhat from the banks, for the ground was particularly rocky and there was little purchase for plants except further up the glen. Then, without warning a herd of red deer came bounding like ghosts out of the forest from an unexpected direction, heading downhill, for most of the hunters assumed the deer would be near the stream drinking.

"'Ware!" one of the hunters named Ragnawulf cried.

Aragorn had a fleeting glimpse of red streak past him before he was able to shoot. Only luck or the guiding hand of the Lord of Woods allowed the arrow to find its mark. Other arrows were flying as the herd swept pass them. In minutes five deer, including a six-point buck, were downed and soon the hunters were busily dressing the carcasses.

Aragorn did not help though, preferring to stand guard. Something made him feel uneasy. The deer shouldn’t have run the way they had, certainly not towards the hunters. He glanced up at the sound of a hawk’s cry in the distance. Other than that, all was quiet... too quiet.

"Listen!" he exclaimed, motioning for the others to silence. It took a moment or two for the Rohirrim to obey and they gave the Outlander puzzled looks.

"What..." Wídfara started to ask but Aragorn cut him off with a chop of his hand, signaling silence.

"Shhh. Listen," he repeated in a whisper and the urgency of his tone stilled the others and some of the older hunters stood up and gazed about in concern.

"I don’t hear anything, sweordbroðor," Wídfara whispered apologetically.

"That’s it," Aragorn said with a nod. "You don’t... not even birdsong."

And that alerted the others, for now they realized that whereas, before the deer had crashed through the woods, there had indeed been birdsong and even the occasional chattering of squirrels, but now... all was silent.

The men began to eye one another, their expressions worried.

"What can it mean, Earntungol?" Ragnawulf asked. "Is it the shock of seeing us where Men seldom come that has silenced the forest?"

"Nay," another hunter named Déorhunta countered. "There is some mischief abroad. Something has caused the deer to run and the birds to go silent and it wasn’t us, for the birds were singing even as we stalked the deer."

"What can it mean, then?" Wídfara asked, perplexed. He knew little of mountains, for all that he had lived within their shadows all his life.

Aragorn shook his head. "Nothing good. Quickly! Let’s wait until we are away from this glen before we smoke the meat. I would be gone from here before nightfall. I do not like the feeling of this place. It seems too much like a trap to me."

No one argued with that and not a few of the men cast worried looks at the dark forest surrounding them, wondering what menace was hidden from them. There was no bantering between them as they went back to work. In less than an hour they were ready to move on, the deer carcasses strung on poles. The hunters made their way down the glen, following the stream. By now it was late afternoon and the sun was well behind the mountains to the west and the eastern sky was already turning indigo and mauve. It was even darker beneath the trees and they found they had to walk carefully, burdened as they were.

They had almost reached the place where they had originally entered the glen when the ground shifted underneath them and several men cried out in alarm, fighting for balance. Then, the stream did a most remarkable thing: the water began to flow backward, exposing the stony bed. At first none of them could fathom what had happened or why, and then in a rush the water returned and the earth shook even more, sending most of them to the ground.

"Earthquake!" someone screamed and that was all anyone had time to yell, for suddenly the trees began to fall about them even as deep fissures started to open up. One appeared near the banks of the stream and water began to flow into the crevasse. Aragorn grabbed Wïdfara and Ragnawulf, both of whom had been standing next to him when the earthquake struck.

"Run!" he screamed. "As you value your lives, run!" He pushed them away from him, pointing them towards the entrance of the glen. Several of the hunters heard him and followed suit, though they still hung onto the deer, which slowed them down.

"Forget the deer!" Déorhunta cried, dropping his own burden. "It’s not worth dying for."

The others were somewhat reluctant to abandon the meat, but when another, deeper, tremor hit them, they let prudence outweigh desire and the carcasses were abandoned. Now they ran in earnest, leaping fissures that opened up before them, dodging boulders and falling trees, for now they had the added worry of an avalanche to contend with. Large rocks were rolling down the glen at frightening speeds. One of the smaller boulders slammed into Aragorn’s back as he was attempting to avoid a falling pine tree and he let out a scream as his world was reduced to burning pain that swept through his body. He stumbled to the ground, his vision going dark as all around him chaos reigned. His last sight before slipping into oblivion was seeing a fountain of boiling water come gushing out of a fissure that had opened up just in front of him, scalding him, though the pain was nothing to what he was already experiencing. Then he knew no more.

****

Aragorn woke and immediately wished he hadn’t. Pain was all about him, blinding him to all else. He might have screamed or simply whimpered, but suddenly someone was there, though his eyes refused to focus long enough for him to see who it was.

"Easy now, Earntungol," said a gruff voice that Aragorn recognized as belonging to Déorhunta, an older Rider and veteran hunter. "Here, drink this. It should help."

He felt Déorhunta lift his head and then something cool touched his lips and he swallowed the water thankfully. It seemed to help, for the pain began to recede enough for him to focus his eyes. Only he couldn’t see anything.

"Wh-why can’t I see?" he rasped a whisper.

"Sorry, we haven’t had time to start a fire yet and clouds cover the stars," Déorhunta explained. "Can you sit up?"

Aragorn gave a brief nod and with help was able to rise to a sitting position, though it cost him for he could feel the fire running down his back. His hands and face itched with the burns from the scalding water, though lying in snow seemed to have helped to cool them down. He gasped as the pain coursing through him threatened to overwhelm him.

"At least your spine was not broken," the older hunter said with gruff relief. "Wídfara..."

"Wídfara!" Aragorn cried. "Is he...."

"I am here, sweordbroðor," came Wídfara’s voice some distance away.

"Wídfara, how fare you?" Aragorn asked anxiously, for he heard the sound of pain in his brother’s voice.

"My leg is broken, but otherwise, I am well," came the reply.

"Aye," Déorhunta said. "You and young Wídfara are no doubt beloved of Lord Béma for only he could have kept you two from departing from us forever. It is amazing that neither of you now lies dead this night."

"What of the others?" Aragorn asked with concern, ignoring Déorhunta’s commentary. "Were any others injured?" By now his eyes had focused enough that he could finally make out shadows and saw Wídfara lying not far from him. Of the others, though, there was no sign.

"None of the others have suffered more than minor scrapes and bruises," Déorhunta said. "You are the worst injured. Tell me, Earntungol, how fare you now?"

Aragorn breathed deeply, fearing to feel pain along his ribs that would have indicated broken or at least cracked ribs, but except for the aching along his shoulder blades and a nagging pain in his lower back, he could breathe easily enough. He made to stand and with some help from the other man managed to make it to his feet, though he immediately became dizzy and feared he would be sick. Déorhunta led him to a nearby boulder and helped him to sit. Aragorn put his head between his knees and then accepted some more water when offered to him. Soon the dizziness passed and he straightened.

"I think I will live," he said with a ghost of a smile on his lips that neither Rider could see in the darkness.

Déorhunta chuckled. "That is well. I did not look forward to lugging your sorry carcass over the mountains just to dump you into the ground anyway."

"Deorhunta!" Wídfara exclaimed. "You forget yourself."

"Nay, sweordbroðor," Aragorn responded with a laugh, "for I would’ve said the same thing had our positions been reversed."

Wídfara sighed. "If you say so, sweordbroðor." But he didn’t sound all that convinced.

Aragorn turned to Déorhunta. "Where are the others?"

"Some have gone back up the mountain to see if any of the deer can be salvaged, though I have little hope they will succeed."

"It is a foolish venture," Aragorn said grimly. "The earth tremors may come again. They could well find themselves in worse trouble than they already are."

Déorhunta shrugged. "They would not be persuaded from their plans. I elected to remain here and take care of you two. The rest are out scouting around, save for Ragnawulf. He is gathering wood for a fire. You haven’t been unconscious for too long and we only just found you. Ah, look... Ragnawulf has returned."

Aragorn turned his head to see a dark shape loping towards them. It was indeed Ragnawulf, carrying a bundle of wood. He saw Aragorn and even in the darkness, his smile was bright. "Good, good. You are awake. How fare you?"

"The next person to ask me that will wish they hadn’t," Aragorn growled.

Wídfara snorted, and Deorhunta chuckled. Ragnawulf merely raised an eyebrow as he dropped the wood at his feet. "It was just a question."

Aragorn sighed. "Forgive me, my friend," he said remorsefully. "I did not mean to snap at you. I am in much pain, though it seems to have subsided somewhat. My back hurts abominably and I have a vicious headache, but I am alive and that is all that really matters."

Ragnawulf nodded. "I’ll get a fire started then. What of the others? Haven’t they returned yet?"

Déorhunta shook his head. "Nay, and that worries me. Whether they had found the deer or not they should have been back by now."

"Well, let’s get a fire going," Aragorn suggested sensibly. "I’m beginning to feel frozen and I will need light to see to Wídfara’s injuries."

"You’ll be seeing to nothing, Earntungol," Ragnawulf admonished him. "We are quite capable of setting a broken leg. You are injured as well, in case you’ve forgotten."

"I have not," Aragorn returned, speaking sharply. "Indeed, I will need the fire at any rate to boil water so I may make some willow-bark tea. Wídfara and I are both in need of it."

Déorhunta nodded and Wídfara sighed. "Wretched stuff, willow-bark tea," he opined darkly, "but it does the trick and I for one will welcome it."

"Then I’d best get this fire going," Ragnawulf said with a chuckle. "And maybe some of the deer will have been found and we can have our own feast. I could do with a hot meal right now, myself."

The other men all agreed to that, and while Ragnawulf tended the fire, Déorhunta went to where the stream still ran, though no longer along its original route, and filled a pot with water while Aragorn went through his rucksack and found the necessary herbs for the tea. Soon, the water was boiling and the bitter smell of willow-bark filled the night air. The fire was welcome for its light and warmth and its blaze apparently drew the other men back to the makeshift camp. The scouts appeared first, claiming that the glen’s entrance was not blocked, though the number of fallen trees and fissures would make traveling that much harder.

"Still," Elfbeorht, the oldest Rider next to Ragnawulf, said, "it’s passable and that’s all that matters."

"Aye," Aragorn said as he sipped his tea, grimacing at the taste, for there was no honey to sweeten it. "We should try to leave as soon as it’s daylight, though I do not know how we will get Wídfara home."

"We can construct a travois," another Rider suggested and Aragorn was reminded of the one Glorfindel had made when Aragorn had fallen off the cliff. He nodded.

"A good idea," he said. "We will take turns dragging our youngest hunter back home. Of course, I’m not sure how he’ll ever be able to repay us for our generosity," he drawled and the others all chuckled.

Wídfara scowled. "You mean ‘pay back’ for every bump and jolt along the way, for I will hold you accountable for every one of them, sweordbroðor."

"Me?"Aragorn exclaimed in mock dismay. "Why me?"

Wídfara smiled then. "Because you don’t have any kinsmen in Rohan who will come after me if I do something nasty to you."

"Oh?" Aragorn said with a raised eyebrow. "What about Gilhael?"

Wïdfara waved a hand in dismissal. "Gilhael will be the first to help me wreak my revenge on you."

At that Aragorn threw back his head and laughed. "He would indeed and consider it his bounden duty to do so."

The others chuckled at that and a couple of the men set out to find wood suitable for a frame, while Déorhunta and Ragnawulf put together a meager meal from what stores they had on hand. All the while, everyone wondered what had happened to the others who had gone in search of the deer meat they had been forced to abandon with the start of the earthquake.

****

Aragorn was dozing, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulders, when he felt an earth tremor and sat up quickly. All around the other men stopped what they were doing, looks of concern and not a little fear marring their faces. The tremor did not last long and nothing was disturbed, not even the fire or the pot of rabbit stew bubbling over it. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"These tremors will continue for some time," Ragnawulf said. "They should lessen in intensity, but there’s no guarantee that another major tremor won’t strike at any time."

Aragorn nodded, remembering the lessons Erestor had attempted to pound into a young Mortal’s rather hard head about such things. "We need to get away from here as soon as we can." He glanced up at the sky. Most of the clouds had flown, leaving gaps through which he could see the stars. "It will be dawn in a few hours. If the others have not returned by then, we’ll have to go search for them."

Déorhunta scowled and muttered a few choice curses. "I will kill them when we find them."

"You will have to get in line behind me, then," Ragnawulf said with a grim smile.

"And you will have to get behind me," Aragorn replied with his own grim smile.

Wídfara, not to be undone, then spoke up where he was lying, his right leg neatly splinted. "And when you’re all finished killing them, you can make them carry me."

The other men stared at the young Rider for a moment and then burst into laughter.

****

Dawn came and so did the snow. There were many curses making the air even bluer than it already was. Wídfara fretted at the thought of having to remain in the camp. Ragnawulf and Déorhunta were all set on convincing Aragorn to remain in the camp as well, but the Dúnadan insisted he was recovered enough to join in the search.

"We won’t be going far," he said, pointing up the glen. "We cannot be more than a league from where we were when the earthquake struck. We were nearly at the entrance to the glen."

In the end, it was agreed that Aragorn would go with Ragnawulf, Heremund and Éothain, while Déorhunta and the other two uninjured Rohirrim would remain in the camp with Wídfara. The travois still needed to be finished at any rate before they could leave the glen.

Aragorn was sore and his muscles, especially along his back, protested every step, but as he walked the kinks worked themselves out and after half an hour he was feeling less sore, though he still stepped carefully, more so than he normally would. Still, he was determined not to slow the other hunters.

About two hours later, they reached the area where the deer had been abandoned. There was no sign of the missing men. Aragorn scouted around, bending low to the ground, though it cost him to do so and straightening up was an act of courage on his part, for the pain was intense.

"The snow has covered their tracks," he said, "but here they made camp." He pointed to where a fire pit had been built, now full of wet ash and snow.

"So they were alive and well last night," Ragnawulf grunted. He looked about him and sighed with frustration. "So where are they? Did the earth swallow them?"

"Remember that tremor we felt last night?" Éothain asked. "Could something..."

Aragorn shook his head. "There is no sign that any new fissures opened up."

"Any other clues?" Heremund asked with interest. The older man considered himself a fair tracker but Earntungol’s skills far surpassed anything he had ever seen before and he stood in awe of the young Outlander.

Aragorn started to shake his head but something caught his eye. Some distance from the abandoned camp was a stand of holly trees and something was gently swaying in the branches, something that shouldn’t have been there. He walked over to it and glanced up.

"What is it?" Ragnawulf asked as he and the other Rohirrim followed the Dúnadan. "What do you see?"

Aragorn pointed silently up as the other men reached him. For a moment they simply stared at what was nearly hidden from view.

"That... that’s Haleth’s bow," Ragnawulf said disbelievingly. "See the horn nocks? Haleth preferred horn to antler for the nocks."

So it was. They could see that the bow was nearly broken in half, hanging just out of their reach by the bowstring.

"What’s it doing up there?" Heremund asked in confusion.

"And where is Haleth?" Éothain asked almost at the same time.

The men sent nervous glances around the snow-shrouded forest, dark with pine and forebodings. All was silence, not even the sound of birdsong broke the quiet. Even the stream seemed to flow more sedately than before the earthquake.

"Where indeed?" Aragorn muttered with a grimace. The expressions on the other men were equally grave.

The silence and the mystery of the missing men hung over them like a pall even as the snow continued to fall.

****

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

Rhîw: (Sindarin) Winter, which begins on 23 Hithui (29 November). Rhîw lasts 72 days, ending on 4 Nínui (9 February).

Innas e-Belain coren: (Sindarin) "The will of the Valar be done".

Stýlescýne: Steelsheen. Morwen’s title among the Rohirrim. The spelling is deliberately archaic, even for Old English, to remind the reader that the language of Rohan is NOT Old English.