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Stirrings of Shadow  by Fiondil

56: Over the Wall

With the sunset, Aragorn, Gilhael, Wídfara and Denethor took leave of Thengel and headed north and west into that part of the camp that was still seething with movement as the last of the troops that had been to the south were making their way to their new campsite. Aragorn surmised that if any were watching on the walls they would not take note of their movements, masked as they were by the constant movement of the troops (on Thengel’s orders). That the four of them were garbed as though common soldiers themselves made it possible to hide in plain sight. The glare of the westering sun also helped to confuse the eyes of anyone watching until they were well away from the camp, crossing the Snowbourn and making their way up Harrowdale from the other side where the trees lining the river masked them even further. Aragorn planned to recross to the east once it was full dark. There was a place about a mile upstream where the river made a wide bend, shallowing out enough that they might easily ford it. From there they would travel halfway to Upbourn before doubling back. They would have to lie low for most of the next day, but once the sun started slipping to the west they would resume their journey, timing their arrival at the base of the tor just as it was growing dark.

The journey was done in silence for the most part, save for whispered instructions on Aragorn’s part, for he was the one leading them to where they would set up camp far away from any prying eyes. "Fortunate we are that Upbourn lies empty," he whispered at one point as they made their way along the Snowbourn. "We need not fear attack from that direction."

"Why is Upbourn empty and what of Underharrow?" Denethor asked quietly.

As they continued their journey Aragorn told Denethor what had happened to the two towns. At the mention of Gandalf, Denethor hissed. "Mithrandir! Father always welcomed him to his councils but I sometimes have had my doubts as to his good intentions. It is dangerous to meddle in the affairs of Wizards they say."

"He has ever been a friend to the Dúnedain and the Elves of Imladris," Aragorn replied somewhat coldly.

Denethor did not respond and the rest of the journey continued in silence while the heir to the Steward’s Chair mulled over the Dúnadan’s words.

****

They made camp beside the Snowbourn, hidden from prying eyes by a grove of beeches and willows, but they lit no fire.

"It’s going to be a cold night," Wídfara sighed and the other three smiled.

"In the morning we will light a small fire," Aragorn assured him, "one that cannot be seen, but in the night there is too much danger of the light of the flames being seen from a distance."

"Who could possibly be out here besides us?" Wídfara asked in surprise. "Surely you do not expect to find a band of rebels lurking about?"

"We do not know where the captain of the troops stationed at Upbourn led his men," Gilhael pointed out. "We assume they made their way to Edoras, but that is not an assumption on which I wish to base my life or the lives of others."

Wídfara nodded, suitably chastened and feeling incredibly young for all that he was only a few years Thorongil’s junior. Only Gilhael was actually old by the Rider’s standards.

Denethor, feeling sorry for the younger man, cleared his throat. "Perhaps, Wídfara, you could give us a tale or two. The night will seem less chilled and long for the entertainment."

"That is an excellent idea," Aragorn said, grateful for the Gondorian’s suggestion. "Why don’t we all share a tale and then we will draw lots for the watches."

They all agreed to this and soon Wídfara was entertaining them with a tale of the gifting of the Mearas to the ancestors of the Rohirrim by Lord Béma himself.

****

With morning came a small fire, much to everyone’s relief and breakfast was merry if quiet, for they were still wary of their surroundings.

"We will set out as the sun begins to slip into the west," Aragorn told them. "I wish to reach Edoras while it is still twilight, for we must see what we are to climb and decide our course. So, let us spend the day resting and making contingency plans."

"Contingency plans?" Denethor asked. "I thought the plan was to open the gates of the city to Thengel King."

"And that is our main objective," Gilhael answered, smiling somewhat superiorly at the younger man. "But as anyone who’s ever been in a battle knows, all plans go by the wayside the moment they are put into execution. We have no idea what we will encounter once we are over the wall."

"And so, we must make plans in case things go wrong...." Aragorn interjected.

"And they will," Gilhael added with a grim nod.

Denethor also nodded, well aware of the truth of what they were saying. "So what do you suggest? I have never been to Edoras so I do not even know its layout."

"In that case, let us draw you a map," Aragorn said with a smile and reached for a stick, drawing a map of the city on the ground with Wídfara and Gilhael pointing out errors of execution until they had an accurate representation. Aragorn pointed to the southern wall. "Here is where we will climb just to the east of Meduseld. As I recall when I was exploring Meduseld and Edoras while recovering from Grimbold's attack" — Denethor gave him a surprised look but did not interrupt — "there is a blind spot where the outer wall meets with this corner of Meduseld. I think we should...."

They spent the better part of the morning instructing Denethor as to the layout of Edoras and coming up with alternative plans for reaching the gates. After a quick lunch they settled down to rest, for the night would be long and they needed to be alert.

Only Aragorn remained awake, tending the fire, softly singing an ancient lay attributed to Maglor, his thoughts far away to the north where lay his heart.

****

They set out about two hours before dusk, keeping to a steady pace. Aragorn intended for them to come nigh to Edoras at a time when the shadows would be long and eyes would be uncertain as to what they saw as the light shifted towards darkness. They also intended to approach Edoras in such a way that the middens were between them and the city, keeping low to the ground where the grass was already beginning to spring up from winter’s sleep, affording them additional cover. As they had hoped, they saw no sentries manning the southern wall, but they still remained cautious as they made their way closer.

"There is the drain," Aragorn whispered to Denethor who was crouched on his left, pointing it out. "The cliffs at this point are indeed less sheer as Thengel promised."

"I have climbed cliffs that were more sheer than these," Denethor assured him confidently, "though I admit never at night." He cast the Ranger a wry smile.

"If it makes you feel better, neither have I," Aragorn responded with his own smile.

"That makes three of us," Gilhael said on Denethor’s other side, causing the other two to chuckle.

They looked expectantly at Wídfara who was crouched on Aragorn’s right, waiting for him to speak. The Rider just shrugged. "Sheep don’t care if it’s night or day," he said nonchalantly.

Aragorn gave Denethor and Gilhael an amused look, rolling his eyes, and the other two smothered their laughter while Wídfara merely smirked.

"We must wait until the sun has truly set before we climb," Aragorn whispered. "Yet, I think we can move closer to where we wish to start the climb and ready ourselves." He cast a knowing look to the west. "The sun will be gone in a quarter of an hour."

The others nodded and they slowly set out, keeping low and using the piles of refuse as cover. Soon, though, they reached the drain. A quick check by Gilhael confirmed that the grate had been reinforced so that none could squeeze through it, nor could it be removed. So they dismissed it from their minds though they kept a wary watch on it as they set about to climb above it to the wall.

Stars were blossoming forth from the twilight, though Eärendil’s Star was not visible, having actually set just before the sun, when they began the climb. Wídfara went first, being the lightest of the four. They had managed to trace out a possible route up with their eyes but only in the doing would they know if their guesses were correct. While the cliff face above the drain was indeed not as sheer as elsewhere, this was the tallest side of the entire mount. Wídfara estimated that it would take at least an hour to make the climb.

"Closer to two would be my guess," Denethor said, giving the cliff a practiced eye and the Dúnedain agreed.

It was nerve-wrackingly slow going, for each fingerhold and foothold had to be tested and they had no climbing gear. Aragorn followed after Wídfara, not wanting to be too far behind his friend in case the younger man encountered trouble. Denethor came next with Gilhael following. The older Dúnadan thought it ironic that they were making the climb by age rather than by experience, but he kept that observation to himself.

The trickiest part was where the tor ended and the wall began. It was here where their strength would be sorely tested. The space between the cliff’s edge and the wall was so narrow that there was nowhere where one could safely stand and throw a grappling hook. It was Thengel who had given them a solution.

"Use these to climb the wall," the king had said, handing them a set of four knives. "You should find enough cracks in the wood to plant these so they do not slip out. Then, pull yourselves up."

Thus, when the time came for them to assay the wall, the order of their climb changed. Gilhael went first, armed with the knives. He thrust two knives into the wood as far above his head as he could reach and pulled himself up so that Aragorn could slip underneath him and take his cousin’s weight onto his shoulders, both of them hugging the wall. Once he was steady, the older Dúnadan took the other two knives and did the same thing. Then came the most dangerous part. Gilhael grabbed the handles of the knives above him and pulled himself up, but only so far as to allow Aragorn to do the same with the first set of knives, thus letting Denethor slip underneath Aragorn’s feet to take the Dúnadan’s weight. A soft signal from Aragorn alerted Gilhael that his cousin was now settled enough on Denethor’s shoulders so he could lower his feet onto Aragorn’s shoulders.

Gilhael’s head was now only two feet below the top of the wall. Listening carefully for any sound on the other side, and detecting none, he slowly reached up and grabbed hold of the edge and carefully pulled himself up, feeling Aragorn releasing his legs as he did so. He swung his left leg over the parapet, pausing again for any sign that he’d been detected and then pushed himself the rest of the way over until he was firmly standing on the walkway. Not taking time to breathe a sigh of relief, he slipped off the rope he’d wrapped around his waist and lowered one end while tying the other end to a nearby post.

Aragorn grabbed the rope and when he felt the tug that was Gilhael’s signal, he simply climbed up the wall with the aid of the rope and was soon over the top. Denethor then climbed as well. Once the Gondorian was safely over the wall, Wídfara tied the end of the rope around him and, giving a pull as the signal, allowed himself to be drawn up, stopping along the way to retrieve the knives.

"We don’t want anyone else to use the same method against us," Thengel had told them when he presented them with the knives along with the admonishment not to leave them behind. "Let them guess as to how you managed it."

Thus, they were all over the wall before the first glow of the moon made its appearance on the horizon to the east. They huddled against the parapet to catch their breaths, easing the aches in their muscles from the climb as they kept a wary eye out for sentries.

To their left loomed the bulk of Meduseld, its steep-roofed gable blocking the view to the west. Only about three feet separated the back of Meduseld from the parapet and there were no windows facing south. The wall, in fact, continued on past the king’s house for a few more feet before angling to the north. This was the least vulnerable spot for attack in all of Edoras, or so the Rohirrim had always believed. Tonight four men (one of them of Rohan) had just proved them wrong.

They ignored the wall running to the east, for their goal was the alley that ran between the wall and Meduseld. There was no chance of anyone spying them descending into it. Once down though, it was decided that they would split up rather than remain together as originally planned, with Gilhael and Wídfara going west and Aragorn and Denethor east. They reasoned that they doubled their chances of at least one team reaching the gates undetected.

Wídfara was none too pleased to be separated from Aragorn, and felt slighted by what he saw as condescension on the part of the three older men. Gilhael salvaged the Rider’s pride somewhat by pointing out that he (Gilhael) was less familiar with the city than Aragorn, having left to serve in the Westfold soon after arriving in Rohan.

"And much of the city has changed since last I was here when Fengel ruled," he reminded the young Rider, "so your knowledge will save me from getting into trouble and ruining everything."

"I trust you to look after my cousin, Sweordbroðor," Aragorn then said in all seriousness. "Gilhael has a tendency to attract trouble without half trying."

Wídfara thought about it for a moment before addressing Aragorn. "My word that no harm shall come to your cousin, Sweordbroðor. I will see it done."

Aragorn nodded. "My thanks, Sweordbroðor. Lord Béma guide you. We will meet at the gates." With that, Wídfara set off towards the southwest corner of Meduseld to check to see if the way was clear. Aragorn gave Gilhael a knowing look and the older Dúnadan nodded once before following the Rider. It was clear to Denethor, watching the exchange, that in truth Gilhael would be the one doing the protecting and smiled in approval, though Aragorn did not notice.

"Nicely done," he whispered to Aragorn as they set off towards the southeastern corner of Meduseld. "Young Wídfara is... well, young," he said, and Aragorn could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yet for all that, he is a true warrior and I would trust him with my life," Aragorn replied. "Indeed, I have done so on several occasions."

"It is well to have a gwador watching your back," the Gondorian said, switching to Sindarin.

Aragorn gave him a nod but did not speak for they had now reached the corner. This side of Meduseld opened up into the city proper. Before them the alley entered a street lined with houses. Most of them were already dark; only one or two of them showing any light through the cracks in the shutters or under their doorways.

"The barracks lie further north and along this side of the street," Aragorn whispered. "Getting past them unseen will be tricky."

"Must we use this street at all?" Denethor whispered back. "Is there no other way?"

Aragorn thought about it for a moment. "If we continue further east until we reach the wall again we could make our way down to the gates that way. We will still have to be careful though in case the walls are manned."

"It seems odd to me that there are no sentries," Denethor stated.

"None that are visible at least," Aragorn said in agreement. "That is why I deem using the wall as a guide to be trickier than using this main street, yet, I, too, would prefer not to chance the barracks. We do not know how well guarded they are."

"Or how well patrolled the streets are," Denethor added.

"True," Aragorn sighed. "I only hope that my cousin and Wídfara do not encounter any difficulties along the way."

"Wídfara has the advantage of being one of the Rohirrim," Denethor pointed out. "In the darkness, his identity will not be discerned by unsuspecting eyes."

Aragorn nodded, though it was doubtful if Denethor could actually see him. "Come. Let us follow the wall to the east and see what happens. It will be interesting to see which party makes it to the gates first."

Denethor chuckled. "We should have laid bets between us."

"We’ll have to remember to do so the next time we do something like this again," Aragorn replied with his own chuckle and then all levity was put aside as the two men hugged the shadows and made their way east through the dark streets and alleys of Edoras.

****

Wídfara and Gilhael were having their own discussion about bets as they made their way towards the gates. There was not much here in the way of buildings, for this was the steepest part of the tor. The single street that ran down between the bulk of Meduseld and the west wall consisted mainly of storehouses with stables further down closer to the gates. The two were making their way along the wall where the shadows were deepest when their discussion was cut short by the sound of several men approaching from further along the wall. They froze, suddenly indecisive, and then Wídfara spied an alley nearly opposite them.

It was more a wide space between two warehouses and he could not see how far back it went but it was their only chance. He quickly pointed the opening out to the Dúnadan, who had noticed it as well, and together they flitted across the street and into what turned out to be a cavity formed by a spur of rock that had made it impossible for the two buildings to be built with a common wall. The gap was actually too narrow and too shallow for them both to face outward, so Gilhael shoved Wídfara down so he was crouching against the rock spur, his hood and cloak covering as much of him as possible. Gilhael plastered himself against the north wall. With his darker features he would not be readily noticed in the shadows should anyone bother to look into the gap. Since the men were approaching from the north though, it was unlikely that any would bother to crane their necks to check. As the sound of their footsteps became louder, Gilhael moved as far back from the opening as he could without stepping on Wídfara and held himself ready, his hand on his sword hilt just in case.

It was either coincidence or just bad luck that the troop of about twenty men stopped directly before the gap. Gilhael lowered his head so his eyes would not reflect the torchlight that now illumined the area, for several of the men were carrying brands.

"Spread out," one of the men said in a gravelly voice, apparently the leader of the troop. "Check all the storehouses and the wall."

"Do you really believe there are intruders, Waldamer?" one of the other men asked sarcastically.

"Silence!" the first man hissed. "Whether I believe it or not is unimportant. What is important is that they believe it," here he gestured upward towards where the dark bulk of Meduseld, now limned with moonlight, sat brooding over them all. "Now enough jabbering. Do as you’re told."

The men shifted about and began to break up into groups of two or three, each group with a torch. They moved up and down the street, some to check the various buildings, others to man the wall. Gilhael risked a small movement to lay a hand on Wídfara’s head, as much to comfort him as to keep him in place, and wondered how long they had before they were discovered.

****

Aragorn and Denethor never made it to the wall. They had crossed the main street, flitting from shadow to shadow, heading towards an alley. Aragorn admired the near soundless steps of the Gondorian and realized that Denethor had probably been trained as an Ithilien Ranger, of whom even he had heard. He was not to know that Denethor was entertaining similar thoughts about him as the Steward’s heir watched the Dúnadan slip like a ghost into the alley that was their goal.

Once in the alley the two of them easily skirted the refuse littering the ground as the moon rose higher in the sky and gave them some measure of light by which to see. It was not a long alley and it debouched onto a very narrow cobblestoned street lined with houses. They could see the east wall before them rising towards the heavens, but they could not find a suitable alley that cut across to the east.

"What about going back up to the south wall?" Denethor suggested in a whisper. "There is bound to be a way along to the east wall."

Aragorn agreed, but here their plan turned awry for when they set off up the hill they discovered the street dead-ended, not at the wall as they had expected, but before a house, somewhat larger than the ones on either side of it. There was no other choice but to turn back and hope that they would either find a way eastward or the street would prove empty of patrols and they would be able to get to the bottom of the tor and thence to the gates.

It was not to be.

They passed the alley that had brought them onto the street and were several houses further along when torchlight appeared around a bend showing what they feared most: a patrol of about twenty or so men. Immediately, Aragorn and Denethor hugged the wall of the house before which they were standing, trying to gauge distances.

"We’ll never make it back to the alley before they spy us," Denethor hissed at Aragorn who merely nodded, knowing the truth of the Gondorian’s words.

He looked around in hopes of finding somewhere for them to hide, but there was nothing. He felt a momentary despair, for they were only minutes from being discovered, and sent a fervent prayer to the Valar, hoping that Wídfara and his cousin were faring better than they.





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