39: Æt þone Grundléaslican Landmearcan Ealdorceare

Warning: Certain scenes depicting the destruction of Underharrow and its aftermath may prove disturbing to some readers.

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They decided to return to Dunharrow two days later. During that time they kept note of the traffic between Edoras, Underharrow and Upbourn. It was obvious to them that plans were in the making for the spring campaign all knew would come.

"At least we know that some have survived the plague," Gilhael said at one point. "I don’t think there would be this much activity between the rebels if they were decimated in numbers."

"Or perhaps they plan to pool their resources," Hildered opined. "Have you noticed there is more traffic into Edoras today than is going out? I wonder if they plan to abandon Underharrow altogether if not Upbourn as well."

"Strategically, it would make sense," Aragorn said, "but on the other hand, if they are all in Edoras, that means that we can recruit from the other two...."

"What is it?" Elladan asked his brother when he noticed Estel’s expression. He had kept pretty much out of their discussions about the upcoming war, for he had no intention of getting involved in it, none of the Elves did, but he was concerned for his brother. This would be the first time Estel would face such a situation. Patrolling the boundaries of Imladris or the road to Bree does not necessarily prepare one for siege warfare and its grim results.

Aragorn stared at the Elf, his expression one of confusion. "Why would they let the citizens of these two towns join Thengel against them? Why abandon the towns to retreat into Edoras at all? If they hold Upbourn and Underharrow as well as Edoras, Thengel’s resources will be stretched to the limit and he will be less effective. Underharrow and Upbourn could harass us and wear us down before we ever reached Edoras."

The Elf nodded, secretly pleased that his brother was learning to apply what he, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Erestor had been teaching him all these years. "The only reason for them to abandon either of those two towns is if they know the inhabitants who are not with them pose no threat or will be unable to join the king’s forces against them."

"How could they assure that?" Hildered asked in confusion. "Unless they kill everyone...."

That thought stopped the young Rider cold and Ragnawulf began cursing in Rohirric. Hildered sprang up and began to grab his gear. Aragorn stood and grabbed him. "What do you intend to do?" he demanded.

"Warn mine Uncle," came the determined answer.

"Warn him about what?" Elladan asked in a reasonable tone.

"The people of Upbourn and Underharrow are in danger...."

"Indeed," Aragorn stated. "Yet, what exactly can you tell Thengel that isn’t mere supposition on our part? He will demand actual evidence before he can make a move."

"But how can we allow them to murder...." Hildrered protested.

"We do not know if that is what they intend," Gilhael interjected. "We do not even know if they plan to abandon either of the towns. All we do know is that there is more traffic going into Edoras than out. That’s it, nothing more."

"Well, at any rate, we will learn little more by staying here," Ragnawulf said. He had been distant from the others since seeing his uncle riding in Éolind’s train. The thought that Isenwulf of Upbourn might be a traitor had cut him to the quick and he had kept mostly to himself ever since, so his speaking now was unexpected.

"Should we return to Dunharrow, then?" Gilhael asked in surprise.

"Thengel needs to know that Edoras is closed to us and that Isenwulf might be in league with Éolind," Ragnawulf stated baldly with little emotion in his voice. "The king will need to change his strategy and make some hard decisions as to how he wishes to conduct this war."

Elladan nodded. "You are correct, Ragnawulf," he said as he went about gathering his own gear. "There is little more we can learn here. I wish to return to Dunharrow at any rate. Camping in the snow is becoming tiresome."

"Says he who’s spent the last twenty-five hundred years running around Eriador doing just that," Aragorn quipped with a wicked smile.

Elladan refused to dignify that statement even with a raised eyebrow and the others merely snorted in amusement, beginning to get used to the odd relationship between the two. There was some discussion about having someone remain behind on watch but Hildered refused to consider it. "I am not sanguine about leaving any of us behind alone," he stated and so they broke camp and made their way up the Snowbourn towards Dunharrow.

****

Dunharrow was close to twenty miles as the crebain flew from Edoras. Upbourn and Underharrow lay approximately ten to fifteen miles up Harrowdale along the east bank of the Snowbourn. Once they were in the dale itself they headed east to avoid Upbourn altogether, skirting along the western slopes of the mountains towering above them. The land was hilly, the only flat space was where the river carved its way through the mountain dale as it made its way into the Eastfold to flow into the Entwash.

They left Edoras behind them late in the afternoon and so they did not get too far before night overtook them and they had to stop, although Elladan mentioned somewhat diffidently that he could easily see in the dark with only the stars to light his way.

"Then you are free to continue on, muindor nîn," Aragorn told him, speaking in Sindarin, and sounding a bit piqued. "The rest of us, however, will take what rest we may until morning."

Elladan gave his brother a searching look, then grinned slyly. "I may just do that," he said, and without another word melted into the darkness of the fir-shrouded hills as silently as any ghost.

The Mortals all stared at the place where the Elf had been only moments ago. Aragorn scowled and would not answer Hildered’s questions concerning Elladan, leaving it to Gilhael to explain. "Elladan has gone on ahead to do some scouting since as an Elf he sees as well by starlight as we do by day." He gave his cousin an uncertain glance before continuing. "I don’t think he expects us to wait for his return. If he’s not back by dawn we should continue on. No doubt we’ll meet up with him along the way."

Hildered gave the two Dúnedain a sharp look, his brows furrowed. "I think more is going on than you say," he finally stated, "but I will not press the matter. To tell you the truth, Lord Elladan’s presence makes me somewhat uneasy, though I cannot tell you why." He gave them an apologetic look and there was a silent plea for understanding in his eyes.

Gilhael nodded, giving the younger man a clap on a shoulder. "They do have that effect on most Mortals. The Dúnedain have had more dealings with the Firstborn than most, but even for us who are used to their ways, they can be somewhat disconcerting at times. I would not worry about it."

"Let’s set up camp," Aragorn said then, sounding brusque. The others turned to him with expressions of surprise and concern, but he ignored them, not wishing to discuss his own ambivalent feelings about the presence of the Elves, especially his brothers.

Silently the two Riders went about setting up the camp while Aragorn and Gilhael headed further into the mountains in search of game. They returned about a half an hour later burdened with the carcass of a buck and some edible roots to add to the stew. It was not long before they were all sitting companionably around the fire enjoying the smell of the stew bubbling away, quietly sharing their hopes and dreams for the future and wondering at the uncertainty of the times.

"I hope Thengel King can reclaim his throne with little bloodshed," Aragorn said with a sigh at one point. "We Dúnedain are familiar with the horrors of kinslaying, for it is part of our own history."

Ragnawulf nodded. "So I have heard it said. I little like..."

What more he planned to say was left unspoken, for suddenly Elladan was in their midst, his expression one of deep distress. All the Mortals startled at his appearance. Even Aragorn went for his sword before he realized who it was. The Elf ignored it all.

"You must come," he demanded softly yet with much authority. "There is grave evil afoot this night."

"What?" Hildered asked.

Elladan shook his head. "I do not know. I only know something Evil is abroad this night."

"Orcs?" Aragorn asked even as he was dousing the fire while Gilhael rapidly began digging a hole in which to bury their half-cooked meal and the rest of the carcass that they had planned to smoke over the fire later.

"Nay," Elladan said blankly. "This has the smell of the evil perpetrated by Men."

The two Rohirrim gave him dark looks but the Dúnedain merely nodded, well aware of the sensitivity of the Firstborn to evil in its many forms and habitations. The evil of Men, while nearly on a level of that of orcs, was not nearly as corrupt, though it sometimes came close.

"Let us go, then," Aragorn said as he grabbed his bow, ready to follow his brother even if no one else did.

Elladan nodded and set off, not caring if the others followed or not, though he knew that Estel would as a matter of course and that meant his cousin would not allow his Chieftain to face whatever evil lay in wait for them without him. What the two Rohirrim did was not his concern at the moment. In the end, muttering curses, Hildered and Ragnawulf followed the others into the dark.

The Elf slowed his own steps so the Mortals would not lose him, though every nerve in his body screamed at him to hurry. Hurry where, he could not say. He had walked only a league or so when an overwhelming feeling of hate and terror and despair assailed him. He had rushed back to Estel and the others in fear for their lives, grateful to the Valar when he saw them safe, yet knowing that Evil still stalked the land, Evil that had a Mortal smell to it. Like a hound on the trail he led them unerringly through the dark, chafing at the seeming delay at the slowness of their steps. Estel and Gilhael had no trouble keeping up, for were they not both of the line of Lúthien? It was the Rohirrim who delayed them, unable to see as clearly in spite of the clear night spangled with brilliance.

"I smell something," Ragnawulf said suddenly, sniffing the air. "Smoke."

Elladan nodded. He had in fact been smelling the smoke for some time and was following its scent, knowing with a sick heart what it must mean. He did not bother to look at the others. Gilhael, he suspected, had a fair idea, and perhaps the older Rider, but he doubted if the two younger Men understood the significance of what they were smelling. Not yet.

It wasn’t until they topped a rise along a ridge of land that overlooked the valley of the Snowbourn that they could see the origin of the smoke. In the darkness of the moonless night it was difficult to ascertain details but one thing was clear — a contingent of horsemen rode through the dark away from Underharrow, heading north and leaving behind them a burning town, its gates closed. Screams could be heard even from where they stood at least a league away, and there was a sudden clarity amongst them all as to what was happening.

"Béma, no!" Hildered screamed and began racing down the side of the ridge, heedless of his path, nearly plunging headlong over a precipice save that Elladan caught up with him first and pulled him back in time.

The young Rider fought against his rescuer, intent only on reaching the doomed town, but Elladan’s elven heritage stood him in good stead that night, and Hildered was helpless against it.

"Estel!" the eldest son of Elrond shouted, speaking Sindarin, as he continued to hold the still struggling and cursing Rider. "Follow the west face of the ridge, it’s the only safe means down to the valley. I will bring Hildered."

Aragorn wasted no time in arguments but convinced Ragnawulf to follow him; Gilhael was already checking the intended route, seeing what the Elf had meant. The east side of the ridge facing the Snowbourn was nearly a sheer precipice at this point. They had come up from the northwest, following a line of old oaks and dark firs. Now, the only way down was to descend the western face of the ridge and come around to the south where there was a fold in the land allowing passage to the river valley.

"We’ll never reach them in time!" Hildered protested as tears streamed unheeded down his cheeks.

"We will never reach them at all if we are dead," Elladan said remorselessly. He knew perhaps better than the others what their chances of rescuing any of the inhabitants of the doomed town were, but he would not voice those concerns aloud. There might still be some who could be brought out of the inferno.

They reached the lower slopes of the ridge, making their way through a crease in the land where the roots of the mountains to their left met the hills bordering the valley. Elladan took the lead then, for it was too dark here for the Mortals, even Aragorn, to see clearly where they should go. It seemed to take forever and always in the clear winter night the screams of the dying rent the still cold air while stars shone down with indifferent brilliance. At last they crossed over into the valley itself and could clearly see the conflagration illuminating the landscape in a nightmarish light. Far to the north, disappearing around a bend of the river was the fleeing contingent of murderers and traitors.

Now that their way was clearer, they made better speed and in spite of the deep drifts through which they were forced to wade at times, they finally reached the doomed town. Flames licked at the wooden ramparts and a question they had all had as they raced to the rescue was grimly answered: Why hadn’t people climbed the ramparts and jumped? True, there was the risk of broken limbs or even death, but in jumping there was a chance. Remaining behind the walls was assuring a grisly death. Only when they reached the gates did they understand.

"Oil!" Ragnawulf growled. "They soaked the walls with oil and set them afire first."

Elladan nodded, his expression cold as granite under the unforgiving light of the stars and the all-consuming flames reaching heavenward. "Thus preventing any from escaping by climbing the ramparts and jumping. They must have spent several hours at it while the inhabitants slept."

"Look!" Hildered pointed in horror. "They’ve barred the gate from the outside."

"We need to get this gate open," Ragnawulf said. "It’s their only chance, if any still live."

The five of them ran to the gates, dragging cloaks off their shoulders and wrapping them around their arms and hands to pull at the planks that were nailed athwart the gate. They hissed in pain as the fire scorched them, the intensity of the heat driving them back. Dimly they realized that they had not heard any screams for some time and they all shied away at the thought of what that might mean.

"It’s no use," cried Hildered. "They nailed the planks too well to the wood."

"If we had an axe," Ragnawulf muttered helplessly.

"Is this the only entrance into the village?" Aragorn asked, a glimmer of an idea coming to his mind.

"There should be at least two small posterns on the river side," Ragnawulf answered. "Come, I can show you."

"Wouldn’t they have bolted those as well?" Gilhael asked even as they abandoned their fruitless rescue and followed Ragnawulf northward around the town towards the river.

"Perhaps," Aragorn answered, "but they may not have bolted them as tightly, believing most people would try for the main gate instead."

It took only minutes for them to reach the river and there they saw a heartening sight: people huddled by the bank as well as in the water itself, keening in pain and bewilderment. As the five approached, several men rose from where they were crouched with farming implements and rusty swords in their hands. Hildered called out to them.

"Westu hál! It is I, Hildered son of Hildebrand, First Marshal of the Mearc, with friends."

At once the five would-be rescuers were surrounded by the survivors of the conflagration, a pitiful number of the inhabitants, perhaps only three score in total, who managed to escape when someone used an axe against the postern, weakened by the fire, or so they learned once Hildered demanded silence and everyone stopped speaking at once.

"Are there any injured?" Aragorn asked once they ascertained that all who could escape had. "We need to get away from here. We’re too close to the fire."

That was true, for the walls of the town and the banks of the river were separated by only a thin strip of cleared land, perhaps no more than fifty feet, and they all were in danger from flying embers and the heat. By now Underharrow was almost entirely consumed by flames, the stench of oil and burning flesh searing the back of their throats, parts of the ramparts beginning to collapse. One of the older men, Gríma by name, who turned out to be a master tanner and the only member of the town’s Geþeaht to survive, answered him, "Some few with burns," he said gruffly. "Most are suffering from the smoke. We’ve been soaking those with burns in the river."

"We must leave this place," Aragorn reiterated, speaking to Hildered. "We need to find shelter for these people and treat their injuries."

Hildered nodded. "And mine Uncle the King must be told of this."

"We are not far from Dunharrow," Ragnawulf pointed out. "If I leave now, I can be there by dawn or shortly thereafter."

Hildered gave his assent. "Go and bring what aid you can. We will move further up the dale. If memory serves, there is a place just upstream where we can shelter."

Ragnawulf nodded. "I know whereof you speak. I will be as quick as I can." With that he set off into the night.

Meanwhile, Aragorn, Elladan and Gilhael were organizing the survivors, pairing those who were the most severely injured with those who were not. The townspeople shrank away in fear when they realized that these were not men of the Mark, that indeed, one of them was an Elf. However, when Elladan spoke softly in Rohirric, his lilting voice soothed them and they allowed themselves to be herded together by the three strangers who cast critical eyes upon the injuries that had been sustained. The look that Elladan gave Aragorn told him that some of these people would not survive the night, for it was chill with frost and most had little in the way of clothing, having been rudely waken from sleep. The worst were the few children who had managed to escape, most of them now orphans. They were in a deep state of shock and were barely responsive. Making a quick decision, Aragorn turned to Hildered.

"These people will not survive the night, especially the children," he said softly in Westron. "What is this place whereof you speak? How far is it?"

"Less than half a league, I wager," said Hildered. "It’s a glade near the river protected by woods on three sides. It’s the best we can do under the circumstances."

"Warmth is what they will need the most," Gilhael said, joining the conversation. "Can you and Elladan handle the crowd while Hildered and I take a couple of the men who are not suffering greatly from injuries to this glade and see if we can’t get a bonfire going?"

"I think some of the fire has died down some so we might be able to get close enough to make some torches to light our way and for the bonfire," Hildered suggested, pointing to where part of the wall had fallen forward, away from the conflagration, the embers smoking in the snow.

"That sounds good," Aragorn said. "Elladan and I can manage."

Hildered issued orders and a couple of people headed to where a stand of trees hugged the riverbank several yards north of the town. They came back with suitable fallen branches which were wrapped with strips of cloth from Elladan’s undertunic to make the torches. Once that was done, Hildered, Gilhael, Gríma and two other men went on ahead, while Aragorn and Elladan herded the rest along as quickly as they could, though the going was slow with so many suffering from burns and other injuries. There was little weeping as they were forced to leave their dead to the pyre that Underharrow had become, for the shock was too deep. One or two of the children, however, tried to run back into the flames, screaming for their mothers or fathers, before Aragorn and Elladan caught them and brought them away.

It was a nightmarish journey, made even more so by the fact that clouds had come up in the meantime and snow began to fall. Even walking on the relatively flat land beside the river, it still took them nearly two hours to reach the glade and three people, including a girl-child of around ten, never made it. They were forced to leave them where they dropped, their corpses shrouded by the pristine snow falling gently around them. The rest of the survivors were too numbed by shock and pain to do more than walk around the bodies. Elladan suddenly raised his voice in a lament sung in Sindarin. His eldritch song sent shivers down more than one spine but some oddly enough found comfort in it and they suddenly found themselves weeping in release of the deep sorrow that consumed their souls as surely as the flames consumed their homes.

Faint hints of false dawn were in the eastern sky as they finally reached the glade to find a huge bonfire blazing away. By now the snow had stopped falling, for which they were all grateful. A large patch of ground had been cleared of snow around the fire and logs had been set up for people to sit on and as many as could huddled around the fire while Aragorn and Elladan went from person to person to check their injuries, bathing burns with snow and cleaning blood-encrusted feet, for many had been forced to flee unshod and the two healers feared that some would eventually lose toes to frostbite. Until supplies arrived, there was precious little either of them could do to alleviate the pain and misery of the refugees, though Elladan sang over some of the more severely injured and Aragorn was able to coax them into a healing sleep.

Gilhael and Hildered, meanwhile, had gone hunting, knowing that the survivors, especially the children, would need something to eat. They returned about an hour later with a couple of snow rabbits and a young buck. Water from the Snowbourn was placed in the single pot that the scouts had brought with them and the meat was thrown in. It was decided that they would share out the broth in shifts, adding more water and meat as necessary, feeding the children and the most severely injured first. It was time consuming with only the one small cooking pot, and before they could feed everyone, five more people, all elderly, succumbed to their injuries and the cold. Their bodies were removed into the woods to await proper burial.

"Ragnawulf should have reached Dunharrow by now," Hildered said to his three companions at one point as they took a brief break in their ministrations. "Uncle will send men to help at once. They should arrive before nightfall."

"Let us hope they bring warm blankets and food," Elladan said grimly. "Even with this bonfire, we will lose more people if they must endure the night without better shelter."

"What about making lean-tos?" Aragorn suggested. "It won’t be much, but it might spell the difference between life and death for some."

That suggestion met with approval and so they set about constructing rude shelters from pine branches, clearing the ground underneath of snow. The shelters were placed as close to the still blazing bonfire as they dared and as many as four people were squeezed inside them. This proved a better solution than they had thought for the closeness of their bodies generated heat enough to keep them alive. Some of the less injured began to help with the shelters once they were given suitable instructions, so it was not long before most of the people were lying snug under pine branches.

Thus it was that when Thengel King himself rode into the glade at the head of his éored an hour before sunset, he found most of the survivors huddled under the lean-tos, while Hildered, Aragorn, Gilhael, and Elladan stood watch over their charges, the two Dúnedain and the Elf softly singing in Sindarin a song of healing and protection, invoking the aid of Lady Estë and Lord Manwë, while Hildered hummed along.

****

Note on title: Æt þone Grundléaslican Landmearcan Ealdorceare: ‘Through the Vast Country of Great Sorrow’. The title is inspired by a line from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegy: Tenth Elegy: "And gently she guides him through the vast landscape of Lament...." (translated by Stephen Mitchell).

Geþeaht: Assembly, council, consisting of the ealdorman, or chief magistrate, and guild masters of the town.