30: Return to Dunharrow

It took them longer than they had expected to return to Dunharrow and not just because of Wídfara’s injuries. For one thing, they found they could not return along the same route as before; the earthquake had apparently changed some of the landscape. Valleys were blocked or had disappeared altogether. Streams had changed their courses. The hunters found they had to move closer to the steppes rather than cut directly across the mountains on the trails they had used previously. Several of the men worried for what the earthquake might have done to Dunharrow or even Edoras.

"We’ll find out soon enough," Déorhunta muttered to no one in particular when Éothain wondered about that aloud.

The weather hadn’t helped either, for winter was settling in in the mountains and they had to battle the elements almost daily. A few times they were forced to hole up for a couple of days to wait out a blizzard, and, of course, it got colder. The only bright spot was that two days out from Dunharrow they came upon another herd of deer, not as large as the other, and the meat was not as plentiful, but it cheered them as nothing else had and they felt less like failures.

"Or cursed," Isenhelm opined. No one was willing to dispute him, since they were all thinking the same thing.

Aragorn remained quiet, worry lines etched on his face. He did his part in towing Wídfara, or in scouting ahead for a way through or in bringing down game for them, but he was silent and he rarely entered into the conversations around him. Even Wídfara was unable to break through the barrier the Dúnadan had set around himself, and finally left him alone, though all could see how worried the young Rider was for his sweordbroðor.

Thus, it was only four days before Yule when they finally arrived at Dunharrow to find that while there had been some damage to the keep, the effects of the earthquake had not been felt as deeply as they had experienced. They were eagerly welcomed back, for they were late in returning, the deer meat gladly accepted. Other hunting parties had fared better or poorer but all had found something to contribute to the Yule feast. The fact that they returned with three fewer men and one severely injured cast a pall upon their arrival. When the hunters assembled in the main hall of the keep where Thengel held court, Aragorn found he could not look the King in the eye, feeling as if he’d somehow failed him. It was left to Ragnawulf and Déorhunta to explain what had happened.

Thengel gave them all a strange look as the tale was told, but said nothing. Aragorn kept his eyes on the ground before him, mentally tracing the steps he had taken to ascertain the fate of the missing men even as Ragnawulf recounted the search, wondering if he’d missed some vital clue because he’d been suffering such pain at the time. Had he allowed the pain to distract him? It had been a question that had haunted him since they had given up the search. The episode of foreseeing had haunted him as well. He wished suddenly, as he stood before Thengel, that he were back in Imladris where his adar or Glorfindel or even Erestor would have been able to soothe his distress and help him to find the answers he so desperately needed.

It was only when Éothain gently placed a hand on his arm that Aragorn realized that Thengel had spoken to him. He raised his head, blinking away fatigue and heartache. "My lord?" he asked, silently berating himself for being inattentive. What his brothers would say to that did not bear thinking on.

Thengel gave the younger man a sympathetic look. "I asked if there was anything you wished to add to Ragnawulf and Déorhunta’s account."

Aragorn had to think about that for a moment, realized he’d barely heard what the other two hunters had said and sighed. "No, my lord. I have nothing to add."

For a moment Thengel looked at him and Aragorn forced himself not to flinch from the King’s regard. Finally, Thengel nodded. "Go, all of you," he commanded gently, "and seek what rest you may. I place no blame on any of you for what has happened."

The hunters bowed, save Wídfara, still strapped to the travois which had been placed to one side of the chair that Thengel had designated as his throne in Dunharrow. He had insisted on being present when the others faced the King. He merely nodded his head. Thengel gave him a warm smile.

"And how fare you, youngling?" he asked solicitously.

"Well enough, Sire, now that we are back," Wídfara answered with his own smile. "Though I hope I’m not confined to this contraption for too much longer. I would like to sit in a hot tub of water and count all the bruises I’ve endured from these louts pulling me. I’ve promised them all grave retribution for finding every rock or hole to drag me over or in."

The other Rohirrim in the room chuckled when Ragnawulf feigned taking a swipe at Wídfara’s head while Éothain stuck his tongue out at his friend. Even Aragorn allowed himself to be drawn into it by rolling his eyes and muttering something in Sindarin that only Thengel and Morwen caught. Both were smiling.

"Go, all of you," Thengel commanded again. "I have ordered a hot meal and baths for you all that you may be eased in body and soul."

"I will see to Wídfara’s comfort, Thengel King," Aragorn said, putting aside his own concerns to act the healer again. "I wish to check his leg and resplint it. I doubt he’ll be able to sit in a tub though," he added with a sympathetic smile to his friend. "I’m afraid it’s a sponge bath or nothing for at least another week."

Wídfara grimaced but did not otherwise protest.

Thengel nodded. "I will see that you have all that you need."

The hunters bowed again and started to leave. Thengel held out a hand to stay Aragorn, who was about to help in transporting Wídfara. "We will speak later in private with you, my son," the King said quietly and Aragorn merely nodded before taking one end of the travois while Éothain took the other end and they left the King’s presence.

****

Wídfara grumbled about not being able to take a proper bath, but brightened at the news that he would be able to walk as soon as crutches were either found or made.

"You must take care, though, when you step outside," Aragorn warned him. "The flagstones in the courtyard will be slippery and if you fall you may do even more damage to the leg."

Wídfara nodded his understanding as he allowed Aragorn to help him remove his clothes so he could at least take a sponge bath.

"Come," Aragorn said with a sympathetic smile, holding out his arms. "I’ll help you to stand while you wash."

Afterwards the two friends ate a light meal before falling into their beds. Aragorn was asleep in minutes but Wídfara found himself perversely awake, so he entertained himself by humming the Sindarin lullaby until he finally drifted off to sleep himself.

****

When Aragorn woke it was to find that he’d slept the rest of the day and night away and it was now nearly noon of the next day. Glancing over at the other cot he found Wídfara sitting up grimacing at him. He immediately got up and went to his friend, concern written all over him.

"What is it, Wídfara?" he asked, automatically checking for signs of fever. "Are you in pain?"

Wídfara gave him a blank stare and then started laughing. Aragorn was so surprised he ended up sitting down on the edge of his own cot staring at his sweordbroðor rather stupidly. "What did I say?"

That just made the Rohir laugh even harder. Finally, he got himself under control. "Nay, brother, I’m not in any pain, except for my sides hurting now from laughing so hard." He gave Aragorn a wide grin. "No, I was frowning because I’d just lost a bet with Grimbold."

When Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief, Wïdfara found himself giggling again. "Sorry...." he gasped, "we were betting on how long you would sleep, and I lost." Now Wídfara was looking sheepish and gave Aragorn a shy look.

Aragorn found himself grinning. "So what were the stakes?"

Wídfara sighed. "Loser has to do your laundry for the next month."

"What?" Aragorn exclaimed in surprise, laughing in spite of himself. "And what does the winner get?"

"The pleasure of watching the loser do your laundry, of course."

Aragorn and Wídfara looked up to see Grimbold standing at the doorway with a tray of food in his hands, beaming. He came inside and set the tray on a nearby table and gave the other two a considering look. "I take it I won?"

Aragorn started laughing. "Apparently so, from the expression on Wídfara’s face when I awoke. I thought he was experiencing pain from his injury."

"No, just to my pride," Wídfara said with a grimace. "I hate doing laundry."

Now Aragorn and Grimbold both laughed. "Well, I think it was a useless bet to make," Aragorn finally said. "You’re in no position to do even your own laundry, never mind someone else’s." He looked pointedly at Wídfara, then turned to Grimbold. "And I’m quite capable of doing my own laundry, thank you very much."

Now Grimbold and Wídfara exchanged looks that Aragorn couldn’t interpret. Then the two of them started laughing again.

"All right, you two," he said, looking at them suspiciously. "What’s so funny?"

Finally, Wídfara gasped out, "You lose, Grimbold."

Grimbold nodded, smirking. "That I did, lad," he said equably. "I was sure he’d actually fall for it."

"Fall for what?" Aragorn demanded, beginning to feel frustrated and angry.

Grimbold took pity on him and explained. "The bet was not about when you would wake up but how you would react to finding out what the stakes of the... er... imaginary bet were. I figured you’d just accept it, but Wídfara claimed you would refuse to allow anyone to touch your clothes and would insist on doing your own laundry."

"And what were the stakes for the real bet?" he asked, now feeling mildly amused.

Now the two of them looked sheepish and refused to say. Aragorn just gave them both an exasperated look and stood up. "I’m going to the privy. You two can do as you please and work out the details of your bet to suit yourselves."

With as much dignity as he could muster, he left the room, and heard the two men laughing as he padded down the hall, his own face wreathed with a grin.

****

True to his word, Thengel sent for Aragorn later that afternoon. The Dúnadan found the King standing on the parapet overlooking the Firienfeld, a rich burgundy velvet cloak lined with marten wrapped around his body. Aragorn had the cloak Legolas had gifted him on his birthday the previous year. Thengel saw it and smiled in admiration.

Aragorn smiled back. "A gift, from a friend," he explained as he drew the cloak closer to him, for the air was brittle with cold.

"A princely gift," Thengel said with a nod.

"From a prince, no less," Aragorn replied with a short laugh.

Thengel nodded and then gestured. "Come. Let us walk. It is far too cold to be standing still for long. I’ve even ordered the sentries to keep walking and not stand at their post and I’ve shortened their duty time by an hour."

Aragorn nodded, pleased at the thoughtfulness of this king for the welfare of his people. It was a rarity among Men he feared, though, admittedly, he had had only the barest introduction to that world. He was still learning about his own people and found himself always measuring others against the Elves that he knew. Not that the Elves can claim to have acted purely in all things, he thought wryly to himself, knowing well the treachery, betrayal and death that littered the landscape of elven history. Still the Elves he knew personally were honorable to a fault and it was against them that all others were measured in Aragorn’s eyes, for better or for worse.

For several minutes the two Men walked the wall. The parapet was in fact wide enough for three to walk abreast. They passed one of the sentries walking the opposite way and all three saluted one another as they passed. Finally, Thengel led him into a sentry shed where a brazier burned brightly and they warmed themselves before it.

"You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Thorongil," Thengel said without preamble. "It does little good and achieves nothing except a headache."

This last was said somewhat drolly and Aragorn found himself smiling in spite of himself, though the smile did not last. He sighed. "Had I not been injured..."

"Had you not been injured, things may well have happened as they did anyway," Thengel respondedly shortly. "Second guessing also does no good, my son. It is a waste of time, as I eventually discovered on my own."

"How do you mean, sir?" Aragorn asked respectfully.

Thengel gave the younger man a wry look. "When I went to Gondor I spent the first few months in the White City berating myself and blaming myself for all that had happened in Rohan when my cousin led the revolt. I kept playing the events over and over again in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently, or even if I should have done something differently. Turgon, in his wisdom, allowed me to wallow in self-pity just long enough so that even I was beginning to tire of it... and me." He chuckled at that then gave Aragorn a more sober look. "Blaming yourself is a waste of time. You did all that you could, all of you. The three who have gone missing have no one to blame for their ill-luck but themselves. If they did not listen to Ragnawulf or Déorhunta, their own captains, what makes you think they would have listened to you? Their fate is not your concern. We must trust to Béma and the other Valar that they are well and if not...."  He grimaced slightly and sighed. "If not, we can only trust that their end was swift and they are already in Námo’s care."

For several long seconds Aragorn pondered the King’s words, recognizing the wisdom of them, little though he wished to do so. Finally, he gave a nod. "Thank you, my lord," he said quietly and Thengel clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come. Let us return to the keep and leave this shed for those who need it the most."

So saying King and Dúnadan left the warming shed and headed back to the keep in search of some mulled wine. Aragorn excused himself long enough to check on Wídfara who was being fitted with crutches, much to the young man’s delight. Seeing that his sweordbroðor was in good hands, he returned to Thengel, who was sitting at a trestle table in the main hall with a decanter of wine before him, sipping from a wooden goblet; Morwen was by his side. The two royals looked up as Aragorn entered and Thengel waved him over.

"Sit and have some of this wine," the King ordered, pouring some into an empty goblet. "It will warm you. My lady and I were discussing the upcoming Yule festivities, such as they will be."

Aragorn complied with Thengel’s command, noticing with approval that Morwen’s own goblet held mulled cider. He seated himself across from Thengel, accepting the goblet from the King’s hand, sipping on the steaming hot drink. He sighed as tension he did not know he was carrying slipped from his shoulders as the wine did its work.

Morwen gave him a knowing smile. "What traditions do the Dúnedain of the North keep for Mettarë, Lord Thorongil?" she asked curiously.

Aragorn looked pensive as he answered the Queen. "Well, we do not call it Mettarë in the North but follow the traditions of the Breelanders and call it Yule, as do the Rohirrim." He paused for a moment, thinking. "And, of course, the Elves do not celebrate it as such, though if Mortals are residing in Imladris at this time of year, my lord Elrond will ensure that some type of celebration is given in keeping with their traditions. The Elves will mark the solstice which generally occurs a few days earlier with song and merriment, though I suspect that for most Mortals, their celebrations would seem... tame."

"And what of the Dúnedain?" Thengel asked with a nod of understanding. "How do they celebrate the season?"

Now Aragorn smiled. "With holly and ivy, with yule logs and feasting, with mistletoe hung from the rafters in strategic places as traps for the unwary."

All three chuckled at that. Aragorn continued. "There is much singing and dancing and the giving of gifts, and of course, drinking." Here, he stopped and looked suddenly sheepish, which intrigued the older couple.

"Something you want to tell us, young man?" Thengel asked in his best fatherly voice. Aragorn had a sudden feeling that it wasn’t Thengel who sat across from him but his own adar and he found himself reddening and gave an embarrassed chuckle.

"As I said, the Elves tend not to celebrate Yule or Mettarë," he paused to give Morwen a nod. "They celebrate the New Year in Súlimë, or Gwaeron, as we tend to call it in the North. Last year, I was in Mirkwood at that time and I was given some Dorwinion... lots of it."

Both Thengel and Morwen raised eyebrows at that. "A powerful wine, not to be taken lightly," the King said.

Aragorn nodded. "So I learned to my... discomfort." He went on to describe the events of that night and their subsequent consequences and before he was finished with his tale all three were laughing.

"Oh dear," Morwen gasped, wiping tears from her face. "It is well your naneth was not there to see you. You might not have survived the night."

That set them off laughing again, for Aragorn opined that that was most likely true. "Adar was furious at what happened, though he did not show it, but naneth would have skinned me alive and would not have cared who watched her do it."

"Nenith are like that," Thengel said with a sad smile and for a moment their levity fled and the weight of their circumstance crushed them. Then Morwen looked up and smirked. "This naneth, however, is the very soul of sweetness and light.... Just ask my children."

Thengel threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Indeed."

At that moment, Wídfara entered on crutches, his face strained and sweating with the effort of propelling himself along. Grimbold was walking by him. Aragorn stood and went to meet his friend halfway. Wídfara stopped and gave him a sickly grin.

"It’s harder than I thought," he said faintly.

Aragorn nodded and with Grimbold on the other side helped Wídfara to the seat he himself had just vacated. Thengel signaled to one of the attendant guards and presently another goblet was on the table and Aragorn was pouring some cider into it.

"It will get easier, I promise," he said to Wídfara as he handed the goblet to him, sitting down beside the younger man. "In fact, you’ll just get used to getting around quite well on them when we will take the splint off and then you will have to learn to walk all over again." He and the others laughed at Wídfara’s rueful look.

"Figures," he muttered darkly as he took another sip of the cider, but his natural optimism could not be quashed for long and soon he was smiling again, glad to be able to get around on his own. Being trapped in the travois except for short periods of time, usually when he needed to attend to personal business, had been a trial to him and he hoped he would never have to suffer such indignity again.

Shortly after, Alric joined them, after having seen to the proper disposition of his duty as Captain of Dunharrow, along with Hildebrand and Hildered and together they began planning the Yule festivities that would commence in two days’ time.

"It will be little enough cheer, I fear," Alric opined. "Our supplies are meager and with three of our people missing...."

"Not to mention the fact that we are here in Dunharrow and not in Edoras," stated Hildebrand gruffly. "My only consolation is that I convinced Hildegard to take the children to Hildegrimsdale for safety’s sake."

"Where is Elfhelm?" Aragorn asked, speaking of Hildegard’s husband and the father of Elfgar and Elfhild.

"I gave him leave to escort his family into the Westfold," Thengel replied. "I truly did not think all this would happen." He shook his head in disgust. "Arrogant... and stupid. A deadly enough combination in a common man but in a ruler...."

"You were not to know, my husband," Morwen said solicitously. "Your mother is a dangerous woman.... I fear you will have little choice in your judgment against her if you want your son to survive to rule after you."

Her tone was cold just then and there was a look in her eyes that reminded Aragorn of Gilraen at that moment, those few times when his naneth had become angry. Thengel sighed and patted his wife’s hand and gave her a rueful smile. "I think we will put aside the question of judgment until such time as my mother is actually in my hands for me to so render it. Meantime, I am more concerned to see that our children and all the children in Dunharrow have some sort of Yule, however threadbare it might be. Better something than nothing."

To that, they all agreed and so they spent the rest of the time before the evening meal discussing it and fleshing out details.

****

Nenith: (Sindarin) Plural of naneth: Mother.