55: Explanations and Revisions

"You are late," Thengel said to Erkenbard, giving him a frown, though it was swiftly followed by a grin, "but you came in good time, so I forgive you."

Erkenbard bowed to his liege. "Thank you, my liege. We feared we would come too late, for several things delayed us." The Seneschal of Aldburg cast a look at Denethor, who nodded.

"Lord Fréawine came to Minas Tirith to find the city in something of a panic," the Steward’s son said.

Thengel raised an eyebrow at those words and then gestured for them all to follow him to his tent, which, remarkably, was still standing. He ordered food and drink to be brought so that he and his captains and the new arrivals could break their fast. Other orders were given for the men to go about the business of cleaning up the battlefield, separating the dead as before and putting the camp itself to rights.

When they were all seated in the tent waiting for food to be brought, Thengel addressed Denethor. "In what way was the city in a panic? Has aught happened to your father?"

Denethor raised a hand to still the king’s questioning. "Nay, lord. Father is well and sends you his greetings and," here the young man smiled knowingly, "he wishes he were here in my stead."

Thengel laughed, vastly relieved. "That’s Ecthelion to be sure. He always resented missing out on some of the fun whenever I was engaged in a sortie with the Haradrim or orcs and he was not." When he had sobered somewhat, he cast a shrewd look at the Gondorian. "So tell me what was amiss."

"I was," Denethor said with an easy smile. "Truly, Father would have sent us sooner to Rohan’s aid when Lord Fréawine arrived with your message...."

"I still do not understand how you were even able to contact Lord Fréawine or what message you were able to give him," Erkenbard interrupted, casting a frown at Thengel.

Before Thengel could answer, Aragorn spoke up. "The scouts," he said and all turned their attention to him. He forced himself not to blush as he stammered on. "The two men you sent from Aldburg with a strange message."

Thengel nodded, smiling. "‘Tôl i-lû ir gwist phain coren vaer: Comes the time when all oaths are made good’. Before I left Gondor to take up the crown of Rohan, Ecthelion and I made a pact that should either of us send a messenger who spoke those very words, it would mean that there was a need for the one to come to the aid of the other. This was arranged in the case that the beacons could not be lit and of course that is what happened here. I knew the traitors would have sent their own men to guard the beacons to prevent us from lighting them so I did not bother with them." He paused to take a bite of bread, washing it down with a goblet of small beer. "So, as I traveled through the Eastfold on my way to Edoras, I stopped at Brandingsdale to visit with my beloved cousin and told him about the message, hoping against hope that I would never have to send it." He sighed and gave Fréawine a rueful look which the younger lord returned. "Yet, I knew that if anyone could reach Gondor without being stopped it would be he," he added, saluting the lord of Brandingsdale with his goblet.

Fréawine nodded and gave them a winning smile. "I know of ways along the mountains’ edge that most do not. It was easy enough to avoid the traitors gathering around Isenbrandingsdale and Alorharadsdale." He grimaced as if the very names left a bad taste in his mouth and took a long pull of his drink.

"And then you came to Minas Tirith to find what?" Thengel prodded.

"To find me gone and rumors flying telling of either my capture or demise at the hands of the Haradrim," Denethor answered with a mirthless chuckle.

Eyebrows rose all around and they all waited patiently for the young lord of Gondor to explain. Denethor took a bite of cheese and nodded.

"I had been sent to South Ithilien to investigate rumors of an incursion of Haradrim into the area," he explained. "I must have left a couple of weeks before Lord Fréawine arrived. Anyway, there was indeed a small band of mercenaries making life interesting for the people around Pelargir. My men and I gave chase and we followed them nearly to the Poros when we were ambushed." The young lord gave them an abashed look. "My own stupid fault, really. I should have known better."

"Yet you obviously escaped," Thengel said.

Denethor nodded. "Just barely and in fact we were thoroughly routed." He grimaced at that and touched his left side, rubbing it in an unconscious manner.

"You were injured," Aragorn said and it was not a question. His healer’s eyes had noticed the pallor of Denethor’s skin when first they were introduced.

Denethor turned to Aragorn, his grey eyes widening as if only just noticing the Dúnadan. "You are from the North," he said, giving Gilhael a glance as well, "yet you are here fighting alongside the Rohirrim."

Both Dúnedain nodded, though it was Gilhael who answered. "Ever have some of us traveled southward to take service for a time with Rohan and even Gondor." At Denethor’s look of surprise, Gilhael smiled. "I’m sure if you check your records you will find references scattered about of Dúnedain of the North coming to Gondor and serving in Gondor’s army or among her Rangers for a time. I, myself, served for a time under Fengel, though it was not a happy time and I did not stay long. When my young cousin expressed a wish to do the same I joined him, wishing to see what changes had been wrought in Rohan since last I rode with the Horselords."

Denethor gave them both a considering look. Thengel, deciding the issue of the Dúnedain was of no real importance, returned them to their original topic of discussion. "Is Thorongil correct?" he asked Denethor. "Were you injured?"

"Aye, and nearly dead for my troubles," the younger man answered readily enough, a sour expression marring his patrician face. "I suppose that’s why the city was in an uproar. Somehow one of my men managed to elude the Haradrim altogether and make his way to Minas Tirith with the news that I had fallen."

"And that’s when I arrived," Fréawine said with a deprecating grin. "Naturally, Ecthelion was more concerned for the status of his son and heir than he was about Rohan."

"Naturally," Thengel said with a nod, not at all upset.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked Denethor. "How did you manage to escape?"

"My second, Damrod, made the unprecedented decision to go not towards Minas Tirith but to Mordor, or rather to the Ephel Dúath, contrary to the expectations of the Haradrim."

"Why?" Thengel asked.

"I was unconscious, perhaps even dead, so far as he knew, but on the off-chance that I was still alive he knew that there was nowhere in South Ithilien that we could reach safely to tend to my wounds. There are, however, numerous caves in the mountains and Damrod hoped to reach one of them where they could set up a defensive perimeter against the Haradrim."

"Surely they would have followed you," Wídfara stated.

Denethor nodded. "Indeed they did, but warily and my men were able to reach the mountains well ahead of them and set their own ambush. I was still unconscious so all I say at this point is hearsay. I only witnessed the results, not the actual event."

Everyone nodded their understanding.

"Obviously, the ambush worked," Thengel said with a brief smile.

"Oh yes," Denethor replied, his eyes dark with memories. "By the time I regained consciousness it was all over. My men fought bravely and well and none of the Haradrim lived to return with their own tales, but my wounds were grave and they dared not move me too soon, nor would Damrod risk sending word to Minas Tirith in case the Haradrim were still out there somewhere. It was nearly a week before I had regained sufficient strength to mount a horse and by then our scouts assured us that there were no Haradrim or even orcs anywhere. So we made our way back to Minas Tirith."

Fréawine picked up the narrative. "Lord Ecthelion, all this time, was assembling an army to go to his son’s rescue or to at least retrieve his body if that were his fate, when outriders appeared at the gates with news that Lord Denethor’s troop had been sighted and that Lord Denethor was alive."

"Father was both relieved and furious at the same time," Denethor said with a wry grin.

Thengel smiled as well. "I can well imagine. I’m sure he was torn between hugging you to death and flaying you alive."

The Steward’s heir laughed gaily. "Indeed, those were his very words when we finally met. Once he was assured of my continued health, he began his plan to come to Rohan’s aid. He had already decided that I would lead the army, so we waited through the winter months while I healed. Lord Fréawine insisted we should go first to Aldburg before continuing to Edoras, only when we got there we were snowed in from a blizzard, else I believe we would have gotten here a few days ago."

Denethor looked at Erkenbard for confirmation and the older Rider nodded. "It was just bad timing or Lord Béma’s will that the blizzard appeared just before Lord Denethor’s army came to the gates of Aldburg."

Denethor grimaced. "We had good weather all the way through Anórien but as soon as we crossed the Mering Stream it was as if some inimical force was trying to prevent us from reaching our goal."

"Oh?" Thengel asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I am not a superstitious man, Thengel King," the Steward’s son said, "but I swear that something or someone was trying to slow our progress if not necessarily stop us altogether. Horses would suddenly lose a shoe for no reason, forcing us to stop. And it wouldn’t be just one horse but several all at the same time. Then a dense fog arose without warning from the Entwash and swept down upon us so none could see his hand before his face. We were forced to stop for nearly two days at one point because we feared getting lost in the fog. It was unnatural to my mind and so it went. By the time we approached Aldburg, none of us were all that surprised by the sudden appearance of the blizzard, only grateful that we made it to Aldburg’s gates without loss of life."

"It took us longer than planned to dig our way out once the storm passed," Erkenbard took up the tale, shaking his head.

The others in the group exchanged uneasy glances, wondering silently if there was more to this than bad luck or mere happenstance, but none came to any ready conclusions. "Well, the important thing is that you are here now," Thengel said, "and for that I am forever grateful."

Denethor nodded, his expression becoming almost feral. "So, what’s our next move?"

The expressions on the faces of the others in the tent were nearly as feral. "Twice they caught us off-guard," Thengel explained to Erkenbard and Denethor. "They have ignored all the protocols of war, denying us an answer to our challenges." He went on to explain the situation to Denethor and Erkenbard.

"They must either be desperate," Denethor offered once Thengel's tale was done, "or they believe they have the upper hand."

"Either way, it doesn’t get us into Edoras," Hildebrand said sourly.

"No, it doesn’t," Denethor admitted with a graceful nod, his grey eyes darkening and his brow furrowing in thought. "You’ve found no other way into the city save the drainage pipe leading to the middens and the... what did you call it... leechway?"

Thengel nodded, his expression grim as were the expressions on the faces of all the Rohirrim sitting in the king’s tent. Only Aragorn’s and Gilhael’s expressions were unreadable.

Denethor smiled thinly. "Rather poor planning on the part of your ancestors, lord king. When you must someday travel the final road to the Halls of your Fathers, you should tell them so."

There was a stunned silence at the Gondorian’s words and then Thengel threw back his head and laughed. "Indeed," he said as he calmed down, giving the younger man a warm smile, "I will make it a point to do so. Thank you, Denethor. I had quite forgotten about your odd sense of humor."

Denethor smiled back. "Father says I get it from Mother and Mother insists that I get it from Father."

"Well, whomever you get it from, it is most welcome," Thengel said. "I fear these last few days have been rather demoralizing for us all. So, let us see what our options are. Your coming may well have tipped the scales in our favor. We need to exploit that sooner rather than later before the rebels are able to regroup."

As battle plans were being discussed, Aragorn surreptitiously studied the Steward’s heir with interest as he interacted with Thengel and the other Rohirrim. It was uncanny how very similar Denethor’s features were to his own. With their dark hair and grey eyes, they could almost be mistaken for brothers. Denethor was nearly as tall as Aragorn and it was clear that the blood of Númenor flowed strongly in him, for all that the men of the House of Húrin had wedded at times with women from the lesser folk of Gondor. Aragorn was equally pleased at the man’s sharp mind and martial abilities. That Ecthelion was allowing his only son and heir to lead the Gondorian contingent rather than staying behind in Minas Tirith, which actually would make better sense politically, spoke well of him in Aragorn’s eyes. It had always been the Dúnadan’s intention to journey to Gondor and take service with Ecthelion and he looked forward to being able to work side-by-side with one who could very well be his own Steward should fate permit him to retake the throne of Gondor.

"What do you think, Lord Thorongil?"

Aragorn blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to focus on what was being discussed by the others, and gave Thengel a thin smile. "Forgive me, lord. I fear my mind was elsewhere for a moment."

Gilhael sighed dramatically. "Letting your mind wander when it shouldn’t is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Cousin," he said with a shake of his head. "You need to pay more attention to your present surroundings or you’re going to end up dead."

Aragorn took the reprimand in good grace, for he knew that he had been remiss in this. "You are correct, Cousin. I will endeavor to be more attentive from now on. My apologies." This last was addressed to the rest of the men who merely nodded in acceptance of the Dúnadan’s expression of regret.

Wídfara, though, was less pleased with Gilhael’s reprimand of his beloved sweordbroðor and gave the older Dúnadan a scowl. "Thorongil’s musings oft lead to sound ideas, Tungolfród. You should not dismiss them out of hand."

"Peace, Sweordbroðor," Aragorn said with a smile for the young Rider. "In this instance, my cousin was right to berate me. My thoughts were not on war."

Wídfara seemed only slightly mollified by Aragorn’s words as the others looked on with indulgent smiles. Denethor gave both Aragorn and Wídfara a measuring look.

"At any rate, son," Thengel said, bringing everyone’s attention back to the business at hand, "Lord Denethor was suggesting a midnight sortie over the walls and I wondered what you thought of the idea."

Aragorn nodded, giving Denethor a respectful bow. "I had entertained that very thought some time before, but dismissed it as impractical, for the enemy does not seem to post sentries on the walls and there is no way to tell if any sentries are about though hidden from our view. If there were guards making rounds we could estimate the amount of time needed to get over the wall unseen, but so far they have not accommodated us with that information."

"Hmm..." Denethor said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Is there one place along the walls where, due to an architectural flaw or the natural lie of the land, it is less likely that sentries would be posted?"

"To the south," Hildebrand answered. "That way leads to Harrowdale. No enemy can approach from that way."

"Move the men now surrounding the tor so that all are before the gates," Denethor suggested. "Let them think we mean to give them a frontal assault."

"Keep their eyes looking north," Aragorn said and Denethor nodded.

"Would they not become suspicious if we move everyone, though?" Wídfara asked and several of the older men shook their heads.

"It would make more sense strategically," Thengel explained. "They know that we have suffered grave losses in the two sorties. Lord Denethor’s men and those of Aldburg barely replace those whom we lost. Our forces are too stretched as it is. Bringing everyone together would make more sense in the long run anyway."

"And while those behind the walls of Edoras are watching as your men move north around the tor, they will not be watching for any to scale the southern wall," Denethor added.

"The question is when do we do this and who goes?" Hilderic interjected. "The moon rises later every night and I estimate that tomorrow night there will be almost three hours between sunset and moonrise."

"If we wait one night more, though," Ragnawulf suggested, "there should be almost five hours of darkness before the moon rises. That will give those who will attempt this more time to circle the tor and find the most suitable place for the climbing."

"Is there one spot that is better than another?" Aragorn asked.

Thengel nodded, pulling forth a map of the tor. "Here," he said, pointing to an area along the southeast corner. "There is a shelf of rock that raises the ground somewhat higher at this point. At best it will only lessen the climb by a foot but it’s your best option."

"I think delaying our move another day may prove risky," Denethor put in, "yet is three hours enough time to get us over the wall?"

Aragorn noticed with amusement how Denethor casually included himself in the party that would attempt the wall when none had been selected as yet. He himself intended to be of that party and no doubt Gilhael and Wídfara would insist on coming. He had his doubts as to how many they could safely include in the party.

"I think it will be sufficient," Thengel said. "See here. The tor rises at its highest point along the southern flank. You will need to start your climb where the sewers open up, for that will be the lowest point and the climb will not be as strenuous. Still, care will need to be taken and only those skilled in climbing should attempt it, especially when it will be done in total darkness."

"Unless there is starlight," Aragorn replied, "though it would serve us better if the skies were clouded over."

"Just so long as those clouds bring no snow or rain," Wídfara muttered darkly and everyone chuckled.

"Who goes then?" Gilhael asked the fatal question. "My cousin and I are both skilled in climbing, having scaled some of the sheer cliffs of the Misty Mountains in our time."

"I, too, have done similarly in the White Mountains," Denethor replied.

"I will not be left behind," Wídfara said then. "My family’s dale lies hard against the White Mountains, as well, and ever was I climbing the steep cliffs surrounding us in search of loss sheep."

"We should keep the number to a minimum," Aragorn stated. "I would advise no more than four of us should attempt it. Any more than that and we might call attention to ourselves."

"And what would our objective be, once we are within Edoras?" Denethor asked, looking at Thengel.

"Beyond staying alive, you mean?" the king asked with a humorous glint and everyone laughed. "Well, your objective is to make for the gates and remove the guards there and then at dawn open them so that we may enter and put an end to this siege."

"That will be a long time in waiting," Gilhael stated, making swift calculations. "At least an additional five hours before sunrise, assuming it is nearly midnight before we are inside."

"Yet, it may take us some time to reach the gates, avoiding any who may still be about," Aragorn pointed out.

"And in the meantime we might be able to do some damage along the way," Wídfara added, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, "or even to find allies. Not all who are within Edoras are traitors, I deem."

"You speak truly, young Wídfara," Thengel said gravely. "Yet, heed: do not go looking for allies among the people who are there. Their fear of those who hold power over them may betray you. Concentrate on the gates. We’ll deal with the rest later."

"Then let us put this plan into action," Hildebrand said.

Thengel nodded. "Let us see to the dead today. Tonight, let it be us who sing songs of victory, then in the morning we will begin ordering the troops surrounding the tor to break camp and come hither. Tell the captains to make a great show of it so all eyes in Edoras are on them."

"In the meantime, we four will make our way south by a circuitous route," Aragorn said, "so that we are in place before nightfall tomorrow. I suggest we leave after sunset tonight. Even with the moonlight we will not be visible to those manning the walls of Edoras, for I mean to be far up Harrowdale before we turn again to come to Edoras directly from the south."

So they were agreed and they spent some time fine-tuning their plans before Thengel dismissed them so he might go to view the dead and see to their proper burial. Aragorn, with Gilhael and Wídfara in tow, went among the wounded and helped as they could. Denethor followed them, quietly impressed by the healing skills of the Dúnedain, especially those manifested by Aragorn. Denethor’s thoughts strayed to legends among the people of Gondor that spoke of the healing hands of the king and pondered.