29: Mysteries Abound

They spent the better part of an hour searching the surrounding area for the missing hunters. Éothain, being the youngest of them and lighter in weight than the other men, was chosen to climb the holly tree and retrieve Haleth’s bow. Aragorn scoured the area while the others looked on, realizing they were likely to miss all but the most obvious clues. Yet, even Aragorn could not find ought and the frustration and fear that the broken bow had engendered in all of them merely grew.

"This makes no sense!" Heremund exclaimed after Aragorn admitted that he could find no trace of the missing men. "How could they have just disappeared? Why was that bow in the tree? Who put it there?"

"And where is my cousin Éofred?" Éothain demanded, his expression bordering on fear for one he loved as a brother.

"Not to mention Haleth and Léofred," added Ragnawulf grimly.

Aragorn sighed, feeling equally frustrated. The snowfall had hindered his investigation, wiping out almost all trace of the missing Riders. Only the fire pit remained to show that they had even been there.

Ragnawulf frowned. "Do you think the tremors of last night could have anything to do with this, Earntungol? You say there are no new fissures, but could the earth have opened up and then closed again?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I honestly do not know, my friend. I have never experienced an earthquake before. Have any of you?"

They all shook their heads. These Riders rarely braved the mountains with their air of mystery and dark tales best told beside a comforting hearthfire. Aragorn sighed, wishing one of the Elves of his acquaintance were there. It was inconceivable that any Elf who had lived even a few lives of Men would not have experienced an earthquake. He remembered Erestor telling him about one that had occurred only fifteen hundred years previously that had done some serious damage to Imladris. Only...

Aragorn found himself smiling to himself at that. He obviously had been living with Elves too long if he, a Mortal, was beginning to think that something that had happened when his ancestors were recovering from the war with Angmar that had seen the destruction of Amon Sûl had occurred just last week.

"You find something amusing in all this, Earntungol?" Heremund asked somewhat aggressively.

Aragorn looked up from his ruminations, schooling his expression to one of cool disdain. "I was remembering something one of my elven tutors told me about an earthquake. He spoke about it in great detail as if it had happened only the month before, rather than some fifteen hundred years ago."

The Riders gave him considering looks. Ragnawulf was the first to recover. "Did he tell you anything that might be of use to us here?"

Aragorn grimaced and shook his head. "No. I do not remember anything specific that would help us solve this particular mystery. I am sorry."

"Not your fault," Ragnawulf said with a sigh. "Let us return to the camp and let the others know what has happened. I for one do not look forward to returning to Dunharrow and having to explain to Thengel King how we managed to return without any meat for the Yule feast and with three men missing."

The others all grimaced at that, well imagining their king’s reaction to the news. With only the broken bow to show for their efforts to find the missing hunters, they set off back down the valley to where the rest of their party awaited them.

****

"What do you mean, there was no trace of them?" Déorhunta asked in disbelief as he stared at the broken bow that Éothain held out to him. "There has to be a trace. Men just don’t disappear into thin air. And three men at once!?"

Ragnawulf scowled. "We searched for an hour for any sign. Earntungol found nothing and he’s the best tracker we have. I have no answers for you, Déorhunta, for there are none to give."

"Thengel King is going to be rather put out by all this," Wídfara said, his expression bland as he spoke from the travois where he lay. They had planned to leave for Dunharrow as soon as the others had come back with the missing hunters and the camp had been struck in anticipation of this. Now, however....

They all looked at him, their expressions dark at the seeming flippancy of his words. Then the absurdity of the understatement hit them and they started laughing, though their mood was still grim.

"Indeed," Ragnawulf agreed. "He’s not going to like this at all."

"So now what?" Déorhunta asked, looking at Ragnawulf.

For a long moment there was only a heavy silence. The snow that had fallen earlier, erasing all trace, if there had been any, of the missing men, had stopped by the time Aragorn and the others had returned to the camp. The sky was still leaden, though, and the daylight murky and uncertain. It was getting colder as well and several of the men shifted their cloaks closed to keep in the warmth of their bodies. Finally, Ragnawulf looked up, his expression grim.

"We return to Dunharrow," he said with merciless finality.

No one was willing to dispute him.

****

It was a rather disheartened group that made its way back to Dunharrow. The snowfall of the last day or two made traveling difficult and Wídfara’s injury slowed them even more. The young Rider entertained them with his vivid imagining of what he planned to do to them all for every bump and jolt he suffered. The others grinned with grim humor, glad to have even that to distract them from their dark thoughts.

Éothain especially was distraught over his cousin and was the most reluctant to abandon the search. It took the combined force of Ragnawulf, Déorhunta and Aragorn to make him see reason but finally the young Rider agreed that there was nothing they could do then.

Aragorn especially was disturbed by all that had happened though he maintained an air of calm about him as he took his turn at pulling the travois. The broken bow in the holly tree was especially unsettling and ominous. He hoped that the mystery would eventually be solved, but he had his doubts. Now, more than ever, he wished Thandir....

"Sweordbroðor!" Wídfara nearly screamed as Aragorn stumbled and fell to his knees gasping. "Ragnawulf! What’s happening?" The injured man tried to look over his shoulder to see what was occurring.

The others had stopped in amazement and Ragnawulf was running to the Dúnadan. Aragorn had his arms wrapped around him, his eyes wide open but seeing nothing as he knelt in the snow, trembling and whimpering. The Rider held him tightly while ignoring Wídfara’s insistence on being allowed up to go to his sweordbroðor.

"Earntungol," Ragnawulf exclaimed, "what ails you?"

Aragorn, however, did not answer, merely continued to rock himself, clutching tightly to his body as if in extreme pain.

"Earntungol!" Ragnawulf repeated more loudly, shaking the Dúnadan.

"Hold, Ragnawulf!" Wídfara demanded, trying to undo the lacing that held him in place. "He cannot hear you. Someone help me out of this stupid contraption."

When no one moved to help, Wídfara began cursing loud and long. "Béma take you all!" he fairly screamed. "I know what to do for him. Now help me to my sweordbroðor!"

Éothain, the next youngest member of their party, finally went to Wídfara’s aid. All this time, Aragorn sat huddled in misery, unseeing and unhearing anything that was going on around him. The others stared on in dismay, unsure what to do for the Outlander. Finally, Éothain undid the final lacing on the travois and helped Wídfara over to Aragorn, placing him on the ground so that the Rider was sitting next to the Dúnadan but facing in the opposite direction. Then Wídfara wrapped his arms around Aragorn and held him tightly.

To the utter amazement of the other Rohirrim, Wídfara then began to softly sing, not in Rohirric, but in a tongue few of them had had the pleasure of hearing, for it was the tongue of the Elves. Wídfara was singing the same lullaby Aragorn had sung to him in the nameless village where they had taken shelter during the retreat to Helm’s Deep. Wïdfara had insisted his sweordbroðor teach it to him. Aragorn never knew that Wídfara had sung the lullaby to him as he lay huddled against the parapet of the keep of Dunharrow. Somehow the young Rider had instinctively hit upon the one thing that would bring the other Man out of his state.

So, ignoring the looks of surprise and disbelief on the faces of his companions he began singing, softly, yet loud enough for all to hear, though none understood the words.

     "Sedho pen dithen, avo nallo,

     thinna i galan, Anor losta,

     dan Gil-Estel ar Ithil reviol

     calar i menel a chened lîn

     men lîn erin vâd en-elei

     na-den athôl i aur."

As Wídfara came to the end of the lullaby, Aragorn visibly relaxed, his eyes no longer wide and unseeing, his body no longer wracked with seeming pain. He sighed, closed his eyes and sank into Wídfara’s embrace, seemingly asleep. The Rider continued to hold him and rock him, softly humming the tune of the lullaby. Finally, the Dúnadan stirred, blinking uncomprehendingly around him. The others simply stood like statues, unsure what to do. Aragorn focused on Wídfara’s face that was full of sympathetic concern and sighed.

"It happened again, didn’t it?"

Wídfara nodded. "No ci mae, mellon nîn?"

"Mae, ci hannon," Aragorn replied automatically, feeling too confused at that moment to be surprised that Wídfara had spoken to him in Sindarin rather than in Rohirric.

Ragnawulf gave the younger Rider a considering glance. "Since when do you speak the tongue of the Ælfcynn, Wídfara?"

Wïdfara gave the older Rider an amused look. "I don’t actually. Just a few words and phrases and that one song that Earntungol has taught me."

Déorhunta crouched down beside the two still sitting in the snow and gave Aragorn a hard look. "Well, Outlander, do you want to tell us what this is all about?"

"Leave off, Déorhunta," Wídfara almost snarled. "Can you not see this is neither the time nor the place. We need to keep moving. I’m freezing my backside sitting here and my sweordbroðor isn’t going to tell you anything."

Déorhunta raised an eyebrow at the younger man’s tone. "Quite the little champion, aren’t you?" he said somewhat sarcastically. Wídfara blushed but did not offer a retort. "I did not think this Outlander needed anyone to come to his rescue," the older man practically sneered.

"He does not," Aragorn said, looking up at the Rider, the light of his elven ancestry shining brightly in his eyes, forcing the other to look away, "but I welcome my sweordbroðor’s help nonetheless. Come, it grows dark. Let us find a suitable camp. Éothain, help me put Wídfara back onto the travois."

With that, Aragorn forced himself to stand and, ignoring everyone else, reached down to lift Wídfara up. Éothain came to Wídfara’s other side and together the two managed to get the young man onto the travois, though Wídfara muttered curses in three languages as they settled him in. Aragorn smiled at hearing some of the words.

"Now, I didn’t teach you that," he said in mock disapproval.

Wídfara looked up and grinned. "No. Gilgirion and Celegrýn taught me."

Aragorn threw back his head and laughed. The last shreds of whatever had held him in its grip faded along with the chancy daylight.

"There is a stand of trees not too far away," Déorhunta said, pointing further along their intended path. "We should be able to find shelter there for the night."

Everyone agreed to that and without another word Aragorn grabbed the poles of the travois and began walking towards the trees. The others followed with Éothain and Ragnawulf slipping ahead to scout out the area. Within a short amount of time, a bright fire was going and what little they had in the way of food was being shared by all. Wídfara remained lying in the travois, though the laces had been untied.

"No sense in moving unless I need to," he told them. Aragorn agreed and, noticing the lines of pain on the younger man’s face, set about boiling snow melt and throwing in some willow bark for tea. Wídfara grimaced at the mug Aragorn offered him but drank its contents down nonetheless. In minutes, the pain lines were easing and soon the Rider was drifting off to sleep.

Ragnawulf looked at Aragorn from across the fire, his expression troubled. "You want to explain what happened?" he asked, speaking softly so as not to waken Wídfara.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "I wish I could, Ragnawulf, but I honestly cannot because I do not know. All I do know is that on a previous occasion I... blanked out. It was while we were awaiting news of Thengel King after I brought Théoden back from Aldburg."

Ragnawulf nodded in encouragement. Aragorn continued his narrative. "I was standing on the wall of the keep, thinking, wondering what was happening with Thengel and where was my cousin and if he were safe and then...." Aragorn shook his head again. "The next thing I knew I was up in the highest tower cowering against the parapet with Wídfara seeking to comfort me and I have no idea why."

"Were you thinking of your cousin now?" Déorhunta asked.

"No," Aragorn answered. "I was thinking of...." he took a deep breath as if to steady himself, then continued. "I was thinking of Thandir."

"The Elf-lord who saved Lady Théodfrid from the assassins?" Éothain asked.

"He would claim to be no Elf-lord," Aragorn replied somewhat sardonically, "but I suspect that in truth he once was." He quickly explained to those in the group who were unfamiliar with what had happened in the Westmark and the role the Elves had played. "When it was learned that my cousin Gilhael was missing in the Westmark I wanted to go to his rescue, but Thandir would not let me. We had a... confrontation," the Dúnadan said softly, painfully. He gave the others a grim smile. "I lost."

Ragnawulf snorted in disbelief. "I think there is more to this than you are saying, Earntungol, but I will not insist you tell us. I little like the idea of dealing with the Ælfcynn. It is not a good thing for Mortals to involve themselves with them."

Aragorn gave him a nod of understanding. "Well, my people have had dealings with the Elves of Imladris for many generations of Men, and I’ve known Thandir most of my life."

Déorhunta grunted. "Well, we’re not going to solve that mystery any more than we’ve been able to solve the other one. Earntungol, take the first watch along with Éothain." He then assigned the other watches to the rest of the party save Wídfara. "Might as well let the lad sleep," he concluded, casting a fond look at the still sleeping Rider. "He was in much pain today."

Aragorn nodded. "I will make up some more willow bark tea for him. Should he awaken during the night at any time, give him some, or call me if ought else is wrong with him. I expect him to contract a slight fever. That is normal, so there is no need to be alarmed, but if the fever rises, wake me."

The others nodded their understanding and then went to their rest. Éothain checked the perimeter while Aragorn went about making more willow bark tea.

****

Sometime in the middle of the night Aragorn woke to the sound of someone screaming.

"Earntungol! Earntungol!"

He felt someone shaking him and as he came fully to himself, he realized with chagrin that it had been him screaming. He opened his eyes, gasping, to see all the men staring at him. Ragnawulf was kneeling beside him. It had been he who had been shaking him. Wídfara, his eyes full of pain, attempted to sit up and tried to reach him. The healer in him pushed the nightmare away and without a word Aragorn was up and at Wídfara’s side.

"Nay, sweordbroðor," he said softly. "Lie down. I don’t want you shifting that leg any more than necessary." Aragorn gently pushed the weakly protesting man back down, surreptitiously checking for fever. There was none, but it was obvious that the Rider was in a great deal of discomfort. He stood up to go to the fire so as to fetch more willow bark tea, but Ragnawulf stayed him, giving him a hard stare.

"What was that all about?" he whispered angrily. "You were yelling loudly enough for the people of Mundburg to hear you."

"Not now, Ragnawulf," Aragorn replied shortly. "Let me see to Wídfara’s comfort first."

The older Rider stared at the Dúnadan for a moment before giving a curt nod and stepping back. Aragorn gave a short bow of his head then went to the fire and checked the tea. Someone had kept it warm so it took only a moment for him to prepare a mug which he handed to Wídfara who took it gratefully. The Rider drank the contents, only grimacing slightly at the bitter taste, before settling back down on the travois and giving Aragorn a knowing look.

"Thandir again, wasn’t it?" he asked.

Aragorn nodded as he spoke with great hesitation. "I... I can’t remember what I was dreaming, but... I think I was seeing something... something that was happening now... or may happen, I don’t know for sure, and Thandir... Thandir was there."

"What mean you, Outlander?" Déorhunta demanded.

Aragorn looked up to see expressions of suspicion and even fear in the eyes of the other Riders. He sighed and wished he were back among his own people who were used to their Chieftain having foresight, though admittedly this was the first time he’d ever dreamt a seeing.

"Among the Dúnedain," he said quietly, "there is given to some the gift of foresight. I have the gift in part, though this is the first time I’ve ever experienced it while sleeping." He shook his head in dismay. "I... I think I saw my cousin and Thandir beset by orcs."

"Could it have simply been a nightmare, brought upon by your worries for them?" Éothain asked sympathetically. He would never admit it to the others, but he too had been suffering a nightmare concerning his beloved cousin Éofred and what might have happened to him and the other missing men.

Aragorn sighed again. "I would like to think so... but it was too... real, as if I were there as well. Foresight has a different... flavor to it than a mere dream or night terror. I’m sorry I woke you all....

Ragnawulf merely snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. "Well, I had to get up in another hour for my watch anyway." He cast a wry look at the younger man and Aragorn couldn’t help but to grin shyly as those around him snickered. He felt a hand squeeze his and looked down to see Wídfara giving him a sympathetic nod.

"Well, I suggest you get some rest," Ragnawulf continued. "Morning will be coming soon enough. Heremund, Elfbeorht, Isenhelm, go to your rest as well. Déorhunta and I will take the remainder of your watch."

Soon all was quiet again in the camp. Ragnawulf stirred up the fire to give him and Déorhunta more warmth against the night’s brittle coldness. Stars shone down upon them in crystal glory and a slight wind stirred the trees.

The two older Riders sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Déorhunta, casting a glance at the now sleeping Dúnadan, sighed and gave his friend a worried look. "One more mystery to plague us."

Ragnawulf nodded. "And who is to say which is the greater mystery."

To that the other Rider had no answer as the night made its inexorable journey towards morning.

****

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

No le mae, mellon nîn?: (Sindarin) "Art thou well, my friend?"

Mae, le hannon: (Sindarin) "Well, I thank thee".

Ælfcynn: Elf-kind.

A semi-literal translation of the lullaby sung by Wídfara:

     "Hush little one, do not cry,

     the daylight fadeth towards evening, the sun doth sleep,

     but the Star of Hope and the wandering Moon

     light the heavens that thou may see (literally: for the purpose of thy seeing)

     thy way upon the Path of Dreams

     until the morning cometh again."

Historical note: In 1409 (1548 years earlier), Angmar surrounded the fortress of Amon Sûl and destroyed it, though the palantír was rescued from the ruin. Arveleg I of Arthedain was slain. His son, Araphor, not yet full-grown, eventually repelled Angmar with the aid of the Elves of Mithlond, Imladris and Lothlórien. [Appendix A (iii), "Eriador, Arnor and the Heirs of Isildur"]