Chapter Two: The Wise Steward
The disheveled Dwarf Lord paused in consternation and confusion as the scene in the Seeing Stone suddenly shifted. Incredibly, it looked as if the Keeper was handing the Palantir to someone else. Gimli did not recognize the wizened face that abruptly filled his view. To him, the eyes of the man seemed incongruous in their setting, like gemstones intentionally set in a contrasting background. He was shot through by their intent gaze as surely as if his old friend Legolas, still abiding in Osgiliath with Elessar, had loosed two Elf arrows straight into his soul. And it strangely reminded him of how Gandalf used to sometimes make him feel.
"Where is the Balrog?" the unfamiliar form forcefully demanded.
So amazed was he at what had just happened moments before, the Dwarf Lord managed to take in stride the fact that the questioner apparently already knew about the Fire Demon, as he replied, "As unbelievable as I'm sure this sounds, a cloud of Great Eagles descended upon us just as we were leaving Moria. I thought we were all about to become bird food. But they swept right over us, attacking the Balrog instead. They kept trying to circle around behind it and tear at its wings. The monster was forced to retreat toward the mountains so it could keep the rocks close behind its back. It's now moving southward, right along the base of the mountain range."
"Do you still have Grond?" the interrogator insisted.
"If we didn't, this conversation wouldn't be happening!" Gimli said angrily, beginning to wonder how someone could seemingly know so much and yet have no grasp of the obvious. He then demanded, "Who are you? And how do you know what we found?"
"I am Radagast the Brown," the voice replied, softening. The harsh intensity of the man's visage also lessened somewhat as he continued, "I was an associate of Gandalf the Grey, who became Gandalf the White. I am on my way eastward with the hobbits right now. They asked me to help them with their Palantir. Using it, we saw you fleeing with Grond before the Balrog. If you'll accept my counsel, there are two things that urgently need to happen."
"If you were really a friend of Gandalf," said Gimli, pausing for effect, "you have but to name them."
The Dwarf Lord recognized the face of Samwise as the hobbit leaned over the Palantir and said, "He helped us when we passed through the Old Forest before with Frodo and the One Ring. In fact, after that he saved all four of us in the Barrow Downs, sending us safely on our way. And he even knew all about what Frodo was carrying."
"Very well, Radagast the Brown. I hereby formally recognize you as a Friend of the Fellowship," Gimli said with as much ceremony as his fatigue allowed to the figure that again filled the oracular orb, "What would you have us do, Wizard?"
"First, I need you to place your Palantir on the ground and step well away from it," Radagast replied. "I need to use it to communicate with the Great Eagles. After that, I need you to take both it and Grond southwards as fast as possible. I'm going to send one of the Eagles to Isengard. I'm hoping it will get the attention of Faramir or Eowyn and they'll understand that it's a signal to get them to look into their Palantir. When they do, we can tell them what's happening. I'm told by the hobbits that you and Faramir were both given special horns with which to signal Treebeard. With you coming from the north and the Steward coming from the south, one should hopefully get to him in time."
"In time for what?" asked Gimli intently.
"In time for you to get him to the north side of Fangorn and arm him with Grond," answered the Wizard. "He may be able to use it to hold back the Balrog. But we haven't been able to reach High King Elessar to tell him what's happening. The Steward must find a way to get a message to Gondor. The Eagle will have to return to help keep the enemy grounded. And it's a very long journey from Isengard to Minas Tirith, even by horseback. But some kind of warning must be given. Gondor and Rohan must act together to delay the Balrog's approach while the hobbits and I acquire the necessary materials to construct the means of his defeat."
"Keep the enemy grounded? Delay his approach?" Gimli echoed in confusion. "Why is it so important to keep the Balrog on the ground? Where is he trying to go? What's he trying to do?"
"He's trying to get to Mordor," Radagast replied heavily. "He intends to remake the One Ring."
Gimli immediately sat the Seeing Stone on the ground and backed away. But it was as much to keep Radagast and the hobbits from seeing the horror written on his face as it was to comply with the Wizard's request.
The Dwarf Lord had faced the fierce weapons of ten thousand enemies at Helm's Deep and not flinched. He had marched against the Black Gate of Mordor, which had opened to reveal the Eye of Sauron himself, and had not quailed. But the shriek that unexpectedly issued from within the Palantir actually brought him to his knees with his gloved hands instinctively and abruptly placed over his ears.
He elected to stay in that position as he observed the Great Eagle that quickly wheeled and descended in response to the auditory assault. It landed, almost without a sound, directly next to the Palantir. Gimli watched in rapt fascination as it communicated with the Wizard, cocking its enormous head to the side as it chirped and squeaked. At the end of the discourse, it mounted into the heavens and disappeared quickly to the south.
Gimli rushed to retrieve the Palantir, inquiring, as he scooped it up, "You say you're headed eastward? Where are you bound?"
"We're still a couple of days west of Weathertop," Radagast replied. "We're headed towards the High Pass beyond Rivendell. Our plan is to come down the River Anduin. We need to retrieve all of the Rings over which the One had mastery. We are going to use them to make the Weapon that can destroy its wielder. So, the hobbits are going with me to Mordor so they can retrieve the other Rings from the pits into which they fell."
"That's a bold plan," said the Dwarf Lord carefully so as not to alarm the Halflings. "And it may be that your route is the fastest. But be warned; Mirkwood has become a dangerous place. Many of the evil things that left Mordor after Sauron was destroyed fled directly northward. The ruins of Dol Guldur, his old stronghold, are not that far from the Anduin. And my people no longer maintain a presence in those woods. The way may not be as open as you think. Use your Palantir. Be vigilant. I'll not be pleased with you at all if any of my friends should come to harm while under your guidance, Friend of the Fellowship."
It was with a curiously whimsical smile that the person in the Palantir replied, "The reports I've heard about you, both of your wisdom and your devotion to the Fellowship, are apparently not exaggerations. This pleases me greatly. You may count on me, Lord Gimli. May I also count upon you?"
"Aye, Wizard," Gimli huffed. "That you may."
As contact was broken, the shapes in the Palantir faded into darkness. It was an unsettling image. So many things had changed in the last few days, during which there had been no time at all to rest, that Gimli was having trouble absorbing it all. His people had loosed yet another Balrog in Moria. The threat of the One Ring had been renewed. There was still a Wizard in Middle-earth. And hobbits were once again going into Mordor in a desperate attempt to save the world. It made his tired mind ache to consider such things.
He understood however the wisdom of the counsel he had been given. Gimli had once met the Shepherd of the Forest at Isengard. And if there was a creature in all of Middle-earth, besides the Balrog, that could wield Grond, it was definitely Treebeard or one of the other Ents. The mere possibility of witnessing such a clash of the titans made the Dwarf Lord's pulse quicken, restoring some of his strength. He turned to his waiting band and shared the contents of his communication with Radagast; then, and with their fearsome burden still in tow, they followed the Great Eagle southward, albeit moving far more slowly.
The Great Eagle swept above the rolling, green expanse of Fangorn Forest. Sailing across the wood-scented winds, it flew forcefully and fearlessly forward. Its eyesight, sharper than that of any Elf, pierced the enshrouding canopy of tree limbs below, taking careful note of the many scurrying creatures upon which it could not pause to dine. Like the projectile view of the Palantir under the controlling power of Radagast, it shot across the shimmering sky like a streak of feathered fury.
The sun had long since crossed its zenith and the late afternoon light was quickly wearing away as it finally espied the proud pinnacle of Isengard yet in the barely discernable distance. It gathered still more speed as it began the long descent towards its target. It flew a spiral course all the way up and down the tower before alighting on its top, pausing between pants to screech.
Tottering in its fatigue on the edge of its lofty perch, it anxiously watched for any sign that its arrival had drawn the intended attention of the tower's occupants. As it continued to call, it looked longingly towards the River Isen where it hoped to soon slake its thirst and fill its empty belly with fish. A movement on a balcony, near the center of the tower's skyward stretch, caught the Eagle's attention. It launched into a controlled dive, pulling up just in time to hand on the balcony's railing.
The two people, who had stepped out onto the landing to investigate the ruckus, instinctively backed away from the arriving avian apparition. But one of them was the Steward, Faramir, and he knew the Great Eagles to have been allies of King Elessar in the War of the Ring And his wife, Eowyn, did not retreat far either. Cautioning her to remain in place, by putting a hand on her shoulder, he carefully stepped away and moved towards the peculiar, ponderous presence.
Understanding that its intentions were unknown, the Great Eagle was careful not to alarm its welcoming committee. It waited until Faramir had drawn quiet close. Then it slowly leaned toward him, placing its massive face just in front of his. It turned its head to the side, placing them nearly eyeball-to-eyeball. And then it blinked several times, very deliberately. Faramir's reaction reminded the Great Eagle of how a member of its own kind might have responded as the Steward frowned and cocked his head to the side in confusion. But as it continued to show Faramir its great far-seeing eye, the winged emissary gratefully watched the comprehension dawn in the mind of the Steward.
"The Palantir!" yelled Faramir, voicing his insight. "I think it wants us to look in the Palantir!"
The Great Eagle loudly screeched its agreement, abruptly turning and launching itself into a power dive in the direction of the waiting river. The couple paused long enough to watch it depart. It had been more than a month of summers since the Winged Guardians of Gondor had brought Frodo and Samwise to the infirmary in Minas Tirith where he and Eowyn were also being treated. At the time, he had thought it to be just a dream. But the real dream had been waking to full recovery, learning that Sauron had been destroyed, finding that a High King sat again on the Throne of Gondor, and walking straight into the arms of the love of his life, Eowyn.
At the time, he believed his days as a Steward were ended. But King Elessar had soon offered him a different commission. He strongly suspected that the royal couple had observed the blossoming of the romance between the Steward and the Lady of Rohan and that it had figured into their decision. And after he had served as Prince of Ithilien and Lord of Emyn Arnen, they asked him, as a Steward of Gondor, to become the caretaker of Isengard, also known by the Elves as Orthanc. Since the Numenoreans originally built it, it was actually a possession of the High King of Gondor even though it lay conveniently in the land of Rohan. Some time after Aragorn ascended to the throne and formally adopted his Elven designation as the title by which he would rule; King Eomer finally asked High King Elessar what would become of it, indicating that he wished no responsibility for cleaning up the mess of Saruman. As the new King of Rohan, he said, he had to look to the future of his people.
King Eomer also wanted nothing to do with a Seeing Stone since he knew one had been instrumental in the Wizard's downfall. But the royal couple had made it clear that they wanted to use Isengard as a watching post over the Gap of Rohan since it was located much further west than the capital city of Edoras. And a Palantir was really the only way to fully utilize such an advantageous position. One had been discovered in the White Tower, indicating the possible source of Denethor's madness. And the High King quickly found that Faramir was anxious to redeem his family's honor, even to the point of facing his own father's bane. The opportunity was graciously extended and gratefully accepted. Except for brief trips to Gondor, such as for the wedding of their son, he and Eowyn had remained at Orthanc with an assigned contingent of the King's Guard.
The High King and Queen had three children. The first of these was a son. And they named him Telperion Eldarion, after the eldest of the Two Trees of Valinor. The others were daughters, one of whom died in childhood. The survivor was Laurelin Hirilin. She married Faramir and Eowyn's eldest son, Thengel. This name had belonged most recently to Eowyn's grandfather. But it was a Westron version of an older name. The first Thingol was a mighty Elf King who ruled over the Hidden Realm and was wed to one of the Maiar. It seemed more than chance to Eowyn that a son so named had taken a wife of mixed Dunedain and Elven descent.
Gondor had reclaimed Minas Morgul, restoring it to its original ancient designation of Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon. Prince Telperion had occupied its throne while High King Elessar reigned from Minas Tirith until Thengel was installed as its Steward after his marriage to High Princess Laurelin Hirilin, whose last name meant Lady of Song. The High Prince had wanted to be free to rebuild Osgiliath, the Fortress of the Stars, once the chief city of ancient Gondor. And because of their Seeing Stone, the Stewards of Isengard knew that the High Prince had recently completed this auspicious objective.
The eldest son of Faramir and Eowyn, now the husband of the daughter of the High King himself, was actually already serving as the Steward of Minas Ithil. It was a glorious legacy. They had two other children, both were now grown and living in Edoras. Their second child had been a daughter: Calenardhon, an ancient name for the realm of Rohan. She was now engaged to wed the son of Prince Imrahil, Prince Ithmirel. Their third and youngest was another son. His name was Eorl. He reportedly spent most of his time in the company of King Eomer's son, Prince Elfwine. It was commonly known that Prince Elfwine had a nearly insatiable appetite for the lore of other cultures and spent much of his time with the Dwarves at the Glittering Caves of Aglarond behind Helm's Deep.
Faramir could scarcely believe how richly blessed were the lives that he and his family enjoyed. He still remembered riding, at his father's insane insistence, into what should easily have been certain death. It was like he had awakened from a nightmare and into some kind of fairy tale. It was at his great peril that he had chosen to release the Ring Bearer. His unwavering devotion had then carried him back out onto the battlefield, fully expecting to die. And his unforeseen reward had been a long and very happy life.
As one person, Faramir and Eowyn turned and left the balcony. Despite having successfully interpreted the message, neither one of them could even begin to guess at just who might have dispatched such an emissary. The only person Faramir could even think of whom he had known to possess such ability was Mithrandir, also called Gandalf. And that Wizard had taken a ship into the West many decades ago. It was therefore with understandable trepidation that they entered the room where the Palantir was kept.
They soon found themselves enmeshed in a conference call. Faramir remembered his father making a reference to Radagast the Brown, one of the Wizards who were part of the White Council. The Steward was not aware however of any of that order having remained in Middle-earth. When he heard that a second Balrog had been released in Moria and what the Fire Demon intended to do, he was glad that some remnant of the Powers of the West was still present to contend with it. But the challenge, with which he was presented, seemed almost insurmountable.
Radagast was quite insistent that news of this threat be relayed to Gondor with all possible speed, and Faramir was nearer to the realm of the High King igh Hthan anyone else. The Steward questioned why one of the Great Eagles could not be used to accomplish the task, and the Wizard explained the manner in which they were otherwise employed. Despite the enormous distance involved, Radagast soundly charged him with the task. He also urged Faramir to take whatever contingent of the King's Guard was not used in relaying the message and ride northwestward around Fangorn Forest.
Neither Faramir nor Eowyn had ever heard of the dreadful ancient weapon to which Radagast made reference, although it was assuredly heartening to know that such a fell instrument, one to which even the Balrog was not impervious, still actually existed. They were familiar however with the series of trumpet blasts that had been worked out for signaling Treebeard. But Fangorn Forest was immense. And they would have to ride slowly, giving the Tree-herder time in which to respond to the signal; yet, they needed to arrive at the north end of the huge woodlands ahead of the Fire Demon. Faramir was uncertain which of the errands that were being entrusted to him was actually the more impossible. But Radagast was as difficult to dissuade as had been his predecessor, and there clearly was no one else to whom he could allocate such needful assignments.
As the images in the Palantir faded, Faramir turned to his wife. He could see the deep concern written in the expression on her face. He pursed his lips and sighed in anticipation of her query.
"How in the world are we going to do this?" Eowyn asked. "If only Elessar or Arwen would look in their Palantir; we wouldn't have to figure out how to get word to Gondor."
"We would still need to get word to Eomer," he observed. "The Rohirrim may not be able to seriously injure the Balrog with arrows and spears, but they might be able to give us the time we need. If they ride hard directly northward, they might reach the north side of Fangorn before us."
"Yes," she agreed, reconsidering. "Even if the High King knew what was happening and lit the Beacons, my brother would misunderstand. He would think Gondor was in danger, and he would ride the wrong way."
"The Beacons," mused Faramir out loud as he met her gaze. "They were actually created to warn the people of Gondor, and to even carry word of need form Gondor to Rohan. But why couldn't they work in reverse? If the Watchers saw that the Beacons to the west of them were being lit, they would almost surely follow suit. And when they see that the Beacon of Amon Din above Minas Tirith is lit, the royal couple will have to look in their Seeing Stone to find out why!"
"But that means the errand of the messenger doesn't even end at Edoras," Eowyn objected. "For such a bold plan to be set in motion, word must be carried much further east, all the way to the Watchers on Halifirien."
"That is precisely what it means," Faramir carefully agreed. "But the plan could work, and it's the quickest way by far to send a signal to Gondor."
"And just who would you send, my lord?" she asked suspiciously, her sarcasm indicating that she already knew the answer.
"I would of course have no choice but to send the fastest horse and rider under my command," he said cautiously.
Eowyn inclined her head as she said accusingly, "You are doing this just to send me out of danger."
"I will not deny that I embrace the benefit," he replied, trying hard to suppress a smile. "But surely you agree. It's the most prudent course of action."
"Going into such danger without your shield maiden at your side could hardly be referred to as prudent, my liege," she said with icy disapproval.
"We must all make sacrifices in such times of dire need, my dear," he responded, barely able to contain his amusement at their repartee.
She snorted and flashed her eyes at him as if she were about to attack before laughing out loud and then smiling. But the deep concern quickly returned as she nestled up against him and quietly asked, "Then I should depart with all possible haste?"
"I wish it were otherwise, my lady," he said as he kissed her softly. "I certainly do. But at the very least, we should make sure you are properly equipped."
The sword, with which she dealt the killing blow to the Lord of the Ring Wraiths, had suffered damage in the process. But unlike the other blade, which Merry had wielded, it had not disintegrated altogether. It was weakened however almost as if a lightning bolt had passed through it. As their wedding present to Faramir and Eowyn, Gimli and the Dwarves had forged the blade anew, reinforcing it with Mithril. It was now deemed both unbreakable and as close in power to any other sword in all of Middle-earth, Elven or otherwise, that only the Flame of the West, the sword of the High King of Gondor, was considered superior.
Faramir had left the christening to Eowyn. She called it Gurthang, Iron of Death, a name that she also took from history. Originally, the name of that ancient sword was Anglachel. It had been made from meteoric iron and given to Thingol, Elf King of the Hidden Realm, by the Dark Elf, Eol. It was forged anew after Thingol gave it to Beleg and renamed Gurthang. Only one other sword was ever forged from that source, and both were said to be able to cleave any earth-delved iron.
Faramir insisted that Eowyn take both Gurthang and the Palantir. He reasoned that, once he had joined the Dwarves, he would then be able to use Gimli's Seeing Stone to contact her. They would in fact be able to keep constantly updated on each other's progress in this way. He would be able to keep her advised of the situation with the Balrog, and she would be able to inform him when she reached both Edoras and Halifirien. She said that he would probably have more need of the sword; but he pointed out that even such a blade, if wielded by a mere mortal, would not be of much use against such an enemy. He wondered out loud if the Weapon, which Radagast was proposing to fashion, would actually be that much more formidable.
After helping to pack provisions for her trip, he escorted her down to the stables at the base of the tower. He took the opportunity to explain to a number of soldiers, who happened to be on hand, what had transpired. Each expressed encouragement for his plan. Arabel was easily the fastest horse in the stable and, with the light frame of her owner on her back, no other horse and rider could run either faster or farther. Quickly saddling and bridling the spirited mare, Eowyn lithely leapt upon her back. Faramir helped to secure the items that she was taking along. She leaned over, gave him a prolonged goodbye kiss and, with a gentle kick, sent Arabel galloping out of the corral.
Long ago, the Steward had decided that the Fords of Isen were simply located too far to the south. Since he had the manpower, and many of the King's Guard serving under him were expert builders, they had constructed a new crossing much closer to Isengard. Saruman's army had taken a very similar course in its march towards Helm's Deep, although at that time the mighty River Isen had been dammed up and they had marched across a dry riverbed. The evidence of their fateful passage across the plains had remained for many years until the vigorous growths, which thrived in the realm of the Horse Lords, finally reclaimed the disturbed earth. It had looked almost like the damage path of a tornado. The inhabitants of Rohan had called it the Trail of Tears.
Saruman's army however had not been responsible for all of the evident passage. Part of the trail led all the way up and into the denseness of Fangorn Forest. It was something she had elected never to actually ask Eomer about. But she had overheard whispers between some of the survivors of the battle at Helm's Deep. And she was not the only one. The women of Rohan had finally forbidden the telling of the terrifying tale to their children, and so it had been squelched. If there was really truth to it, even she preferred not to know. The survivors referred to the makers of those additional marks as the Wandering Woods. To her, it was more than unsettling enough to know that such incredible creatures as Treebeard and the Ents actually existed without also implying animation to an already frightening forest that lay just at the edge of their realm. Such a secret, if it were true, was one that she would rather just let her brother simply keep to himself.
Eowyn carefully marked the terrain over which she was passing as she initially selected the same route southeastward. They were now overgrown with plant life; but the fretting furrows, which had been tragically trodden into the face of her beloved homeland, were still visible to her observant eyes. It seemed curious to her that her desperate mission now took her along the same path that the servants of Saruman had once used, although their agendas were so very different. They had been coming to destroy the world of men, beginning with the inhabitants of Rohan. And she was racing to save them. She was glad when it was finally expeditious to angle eastward and abandon that lamented lane.
The evening sun was swiftly sinking into the west as they raced across the Westfold. The nearly horizontal rays caught the white socks of her charging chestnut steed, causing flecks of light to swirl on the ground around the rushing form. Had one of the Great Eagles been in the sky overhead, it might easily have thought that some mighty Elf Queen had returned out of the West and was galloping into the gathering darkness. As she sat high up on the horse's withers, Eowyn matched her breathing to the cadence of the muscles that surged beneath her. She enjoyed the play of the mane about her face as she leaned forward and became invisible to the wind. A few moments later, the twilight rendered them indiscernible.
As the leagues swept swiftly by, she carefully reined in Arabel. It was essential that she not tire herself too quickly, even though the youthful mare was surefooted enough to gallop at almost full speed through total, starless darkness. The sprawling plains were altogether accommodating to their equine inhabitants. But it was rumored that this ability had originally been imparted to the horses of Rohan by either the Elves or perhaps even the mysterious Mearas, of whom Gandalf's mount, Shadowfax, had been the chieftain.
It was further rumored, by both the occupants of Edoras and Dunharrow, that the great white stallion could sometimes still be seen cantering along the River Snowbourne under the light of a full moon. Even her own brother, Eomer, said that he had seen the Spectral Stallion, despite the decades that had elapsed since the Lord of all Horses had carried the White Rider into combat. And the way Arabel was running, Eowyn could only wonder if her mare had perhaps caught the stray scent of Shadowfax drifting out of the darkness. Eomer, whose gift she had been, claimed that Shadowfax was Arabel's sire.
As the rays of the morning sun first began to creep over the horizon in the east, she slowed Arabel to a fast trot. In order to better survey her surroundings, and from force of habit since she had been an equestrian all her life, Eowyn posted the mare's unusually smooth gait, bobbing up and down as she looked all around. She was passing through the middle of the rolling expanse comprising the Gap of Rohan, a spectacle to behold in the early morning light. It was remarkably easy to imagine lines of travelers of many different races passing through the yawning, mountain-rimmed corridor and stretching back to the dawn of time itself.
Tossing her flowing blonde hair out of the way, she looked back over her right shoulder. She could not actually see Helm's Deep across the extreme, mist-enshrouded distance. But she could just make out the peaks beneath which it was situated. Already, it had passed to the southwest of her position. Returning her gaze to the direction of their desperate dash, she found that she could also see the tops of the mountains that lay just beyond Edoras. She could only hope she would find her brother occupying his throne in the golden hall of Meduseld and not off gallivanting about the countryside. If she had to search him out, it would greatly delay the final leg of her journey to Halifirien.
Knowing that they would not sleep long under the swiftly rising springtime sun, she elected to give both horse and rider a brief rest. There was a possibility that she would encounter a patrol, especially the closer she got to the capital city of Rohan. King Eomer would often send someone out to check on the Steward and Lady of Isengard after the snows began to melt. So far that year, no delegation had come to call. They were certain to come by approximately the same path. And they would easily espy Arabel over a distance even if the mare were resting. Whether they would be able to aid her in any real way, even if she did encounter such embassy, was doubtful. But it could not hurt to have an escort. She and her mount stretched out upon the newly growing grass and softly slumbered. Although thrown headlong into such an urgent errand, her dreams passed as lightly as did the gentle breeze.
Around noon, they were underway again. Nothing moved in the vast landscape that rushed around them. Only an occasional bird punctuated their passage, sweeping soundlessly overhead. Aside from that and the circuit of the sun, the rest of the world seemed frozen in time. It was as if winter, which had long since disappeared from the fertile fields, was refusing to relinquish its final paralyzing hold on the inhabitants themselves. She wished that such an immobilizing spell would fall on the Balrog whom, she was certain, was not being so accommodatingly inactive. Loosening the reins and giving Arabel her head, they resumed their relentless race across the rolling realm of Rohan.
In late afternoon, they stopped and rested again, consuming meager quantities of both food and water. Eowyn wanted to make sure they kept up their strength without Arabel possibly being slowed by a bellyful of barley broth. Her plan was for them to eat their fill and slake the long day's thirst when they finally rested for the night.
She had made the trip from Isengard to the capital city of Rohan on many occasions, and the journey back as well. But to the best of her knowledge, no one had ever tried to see just how quickly that formidable distance could actually be crossed. The previous passages had all been unhurried affairs that had taken nearly a week to complete. She hoped to arrive at Edoras in less than half that time. But unless she intended to change mounts, which she preferred not to do, she had to make certain that Arabel still had the strength to carry her on to Halifirien. And that would be another journey of almost identical distance.
After riding deep into the twilight, Eowyn finally elected to stop for the night. As she lay in her bedroll, trying to go to sleep, her mind was racing with estimates of distance and speed. She had never been to the north side of Fangorn Forest. Her understanding was that the distance between Moria and that mighty woodland was about the same as that between Isengard and Edoras. The Balrog was moving on foot and was being made to hug the crags between the mountain roots in order to avoid having the Great Eagles rip its wings to shreds. On horseback, she reasoned, she should be able to move at least two or three times faster than even something that large.
What she was uncertain of was whether the Balrog would have to stop and rest as did she and Arabel. She needed to reach Edoras in time for Eomer and the Rohirrim to arrive at the north side of Fangorn ahead of the Fire Demon. And she believed the distance to be in excess of that between either Isengard and Edoras or Edoras and Halifirien. If her calculations were correct, she thought, there was really no chance of that happening unless she somehow were to increase her rate of passage; so, when she awoke just after midnight and found that the clouds had retreated and the way was illuminated by a waxing quarter moon, she roused Arabel and sent them on their way again.
After the moon set, they navigated by starlight like the Elves of Middle-earth had done prior to the placement of the sun and moon back in an earlier age before the Two Trees of Valinor were slain by the Great Enemy, Morgoth, and his Maia accomplice, Ungoliant. But as the morning sun crept over the horizon, blinding both horse and rider, she finally stayed their journey, resting again until just after noon. After breaking fast with yet another meager meal, they were quickly on their way again.
With only a few short breaks, they traveled all day. But Eowyn was careful to slow Arabel to a fast walk for several prolonged periods to keep her from wearing out. With her heart for running and an intuitive sense of her rider's urgency, Eowyn knew that the mare would push herself until muscle cramps or exhaustion brought her down. But the snowcapped mountain peaks above and behind Edoras grew steadily closer. Once again, they ran deeply into the night.
The monotony of their mission was beginning to tell on both horse and rider, causing them to sleep until just before dawn. Had it been colder, they might have had difficulty getting started. But Rohan was much further to the south than was the Shire and they were moving constantly to the southeast, so it was steadily becoming warmer as they progressed. Eowyn optimistically hoped to actually reach Edoras by nightfall. And she carefully measured the strength of her mount as the miles slipped swiftly by.
As the sunset's last light was languishing in the west, they noisily splashed across the River Snowbourne and came within sight of her ancestral home. She could see the frantic gestures of the lookouts as they were silhouetted against the watch fires. And she knew they had spotted her.
The city's gates obediently opened as Arabel lowered her head and resolutely raced across the last few furlongs. A gathering crowd of well-wishers welcomed them both as she and Arabel crossed into the confines of the fenced compound. The expressions on the faces of the onlookers quickly changed from joy to apprehension however as they got close enough for the firelight to reveal the exhausted condition of the unexpected embassy.
Eowyn gave instructions for Arabel to be taken to the stable and then she turned and ran up the long hill. Seeing the obvious urgency of her errand, many of the guards accompanied her; so, by the time she reached the stone steps which led up into the Golden Hall of Meduseld, she had already determined that Eomer was at home in the royal residence. Unceremoniously shoving the huge wooden doors aside, she breathlessly burst into her brother's puzzled presence. He stood as he recognized the fatigued form of his sister.
"A Balrog has escaped from Moria!" Eowyn gasped as she nearly fell before the concerned countenance of Eomer. "You must take the Rohirrim and ride with all possible speed to the north side of Fangorn Forest. Faramir and the King's Guard are already headed there. They are trying to find Treebeard. The Dwarves are bringing an ancient weapon, which they hope he will be able to use against the Fire Demon. As soon as Arabel and I have rested, we must continue on to the Beacon of Halifirien. Faramir is hoping we can use the Beacons to get the High King to look into his Palantir, so he can be told what's happening. But you must depart immediately!"
Eomer's brow furrowed as confusion compounded his concern and he asked, "How do you know what direction this Balrog will take? What if it turns aside? Why would it be headed towards Fangorn?"
Eowyn paused and took several gulps of air before replying, "There is yet a Wizard dwelling in Middle-earth. He is Radagast the Brown, one of Gandalf's order. He and our hobbit friends are headed eastward for the High Pass above Rivendell. He has seen the mind of this enemy. They are trying to get to Mordor first, to retrieve the lost Rings of Men and use them to make a weapon. He is using the Great Eagles to keep the Balrog from taking to the air. But we must do everything within our power to help slow it down. You must ride northward now!"
"Trying to get to Mordor first?" Eomer echoed, looking as if he had just seen a ghost. "Why in the world would it be going to the Black Land?"
Eowyn paused as her voice unexpectedly caught in her throat. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears as she finally answered, "It is capable of entering the fiery chasm within Mount Doom and remaking the One Ring."
Eomer suddenly reminded her of their uncle, the late King Theoden, as his fear was replaced with resolve and he abruptly leapt to his feet. He cried out to the Guards of the Golden Hall, saying, "Summon the Rohirrim! Sound the alarm! We ride northward within the hour! Open the armory; we will need all the spears and arrows we can carry!"
As uniformed figures rushed to respond to his urgent orders, Eomer approached his sister. Her shoulders slouched as she understood that the first part of her task had now been accomplished. He took her by the hand and steadied her as he gently implored her to take some rest.
"We ride to the aid of your husband, the Steward," he said with quiet intensity. "We will give you the time you need. Your errand to the High King can wait until the morning. You must recover from your journey. But I would further advise you to wait at Halifirien and come northward with the army of Gondor. If the Balrog breaks through, it would be most unwise to meet it in the open on a wearied mount."
"I will do as you ask, my brother" she replied with a tired voice. "I also bear the Seeing Stone of the Steward. Once he meets up with Gimli's group, he'll be able to use their Palantir to keep in touch with me. And I cannot risk allowing such a tool to fall into the hands of the enemy. Don't be concerned. I'm no longer the reckless young woman who disguised herself as a Rider of Rohan and defied the crown to own a place on the battlefield. I'm wiser than to expect such foolishness to work to my advantage again."
"Your wisdom has never been in question, my sister," Eomer replied with a gentle half-smile, thoroughly surprising her. "Neither has that of the Steward, who has clearly sent his fastest horse and rider on this errand and reasoned out the only way that we might quickly send a message to Gondor."
"I only hope the wisdom of the Steward and of this Wizard can really to turn back this dark tide," Eowyn replied. "And I will stay the night here. In fact, Arabel has already been stabled. But I will see you and the Rohirrim on your way before I retire. I may have just enough breath left to sound your charge."
"We ride forth at your request," he appropriately responded. "The honor of sounding our advance belongs to you."
She watched as the soldiers suited up and equipped themselves with as much armament as they could speedily carry. She attached Eomer's armor herself, fastidiously strapping each piece in place. The squire, for whom she stood in, took no offense but happily yielded his place to her. Her skills as a shield maiden were well known, as were her prowess on the battlefield, although many decades had elapsed since she bested the Lord of the Ring Wraiths. At the last moment, she unfastened Eomer's sword and exchanged it for Gurthang.
"I would further advise you not to get close enough to use this," she laughed, gently mocking him. When it seemed clear that he was about to refuse the gift, she continued, "Just the sight of it may give the Fire Demon pause if its senses can somehow identify this weapon's history. It's not the Flame of the West. But if things go ill and you find yourself in the place of Isildur, this blade may serve you just as well."
"This was a wedding gift to you and the Steward," Eomer carefully observed. "It would not be proper for me to keep it, but I thank you for the loan of such a powerful heirloom. And I shall look forward to returning it."
Eowyn quickly hugged and then released him. And Eomer's wife, Queen Lothiriel, took her place. She was the daughter of Prince Imrahil, ruler of Belfalas. His castle, Dol Amroth, lay by the sea.
"I too will look forward to the time of that returning," she assured him, "as will our children."
Eomer hugged her, being careful not to bruise her with his armor. Then he turned and strode purposefully out of the Golden Hall. The Rohirrim surged all around him. Their weapons glinted in the firelight, bristling like the metallic stingers of some multi-segmented creature. The two women hoped that their enemy would be effectively stung by every one of them.
The night had turned just cold enough that the excited exhalations of the horses produced clouds of vapor. The torchlight made them look red, as if the mounts were actually breathing fire. It was clear that they could sense what was happening and were as anxious as their riders to be on their way. Parade-stepping his steed to stand at her side, Eomer's squire handed her a horn. She sounded the charge, continuing to blow repeatedly until the entire group had all cleared the gate and she finally ran out of breath. As the bobbing torchlight and the thunder of the hooves slowly dwindled into the distance, she retired to her childhood home.
Queen Lothiriel led Eowyn to one of the large guest rooms. One of her two nieces now occupied the bedroom that once had belonged to her. Eomer's son and heir to the throne of Rohan, Elfwine, had taken the room where Theodred had finally succumbed to his Orc-inflicted wounds. She was escorted to what had once been a study back in the days when she lived at Meduseld. Shelves of loosely bound books still adorned the walls. Since Eomer had been using the room earlier that evening, there was still a fire in the hearth. Of the many rooms in the palace, this one still felt the most like home to Eowyn. Queen Lothiriel turned back the bed and wished her guest goodnight.
Eowyn passed the night peacefully. If there were any imagery to her dreams, she could not recall. Whether it was due to the days and nights spent upon the rushing form of Arabel or just her knowledge of the groups of riders now headed north, her sleep seemed filled with the noise of horse hooves. It was a sound she had known since childhood. And it was reassuring, rather than disturbing. To her, it signified either pleasure or progress. She awoke refreshed.
She had thought to see her nephew and nieces before she left. But seeing that she needed the rest, Lothiriel had allowed her to sleep late into the morning. Given the developments of the previous evening, there were many errands to be accomplished. Everyone else had departed to perform various needful duties long before she came down for breakfast. Lothiriel relayed her children's well wishes and said that everyone hoped to see her after the terrible business was over.
At the conclusion of breakfast, Eowyn took the time to visit her favorite bathtub in the world. It felt like more than the few days, which is all it had really been, since she had enjoyed hot water. After that, Queen Lothiriel provided her with changes of riding clothes and a pack of fresh provisions and then walked with her down to the stables. Many of the townsfolk came up to greet them as the two royal women leisurely made their way.
Arabel actually appeared frisky. Eowyn was uncertain if the mare mistakenly was anxious to head home or if she somehow understood that their journey was really only about half over. But she gladly accepted the saddle and bridle and seemed not the least bit surprised when her rider reined her eastward, instead of northwestward, upon passing through the city gate. People were cheering as the pair galloped out onto the Great North-South Road and headed into the Eastfold.
Being the kingdom's major highway, the thoroughfare was not entirely without traffic. Travel was not heavy enough to cause any concern, and it was nice to see an occasional countryman as she rushed along the well-worn way. But as the road angled southward, she elected to abandon it and proceed across the Eastfold proper, directly toward the Firien Wood below Halifirien. Arabel obviously agreed with the decision, accelerating appreciably as they veered off the stony way and swept across the sprawling grasslands to the south of the River Snowbourne.
Queen Lothiriel had offered to send one or two of the remaining esquires with her. But Eowyn had correctly surmised that they would only slow her down. Arabel was running as if the several days, which she had spent crossing the Westfold, had merely conditioned her. Eowyn knew it had to be an illusion, but she thought her mare might actually be trying to outrace the wind that was blowing over the grasses.
It was still far too early in the spring for the various types of ground cover to have grown up enough to hinder visibility, so the immediate terrain and the general lay of the land were both very easily discernible. She knew that her mount had been both birthed and raised in this part of their country, and it showed in the way Arabel navigated over the familiar ground. As difficult as it was to believe, Eowyn thought they were actually traveling faster now than they had during any part of the previous leg of their journey. But she knew better than to take a chance on her zealous mare possibly winding herself. Around mid-afternoon, she gave them both a rest.
She had been too tired the night before to attempt passing along a progress report. And she also knew that many of the people of Rohan, including Eomer's family, were uneasy around the Seeing Stones; so, she had thought it better not to produce the one in her keeping anyway. But now that the opportunity presented itself, she thought it might be heartening to let whoever might be available know that the Rohirrim had ridden northward the previous evening.
She had seen neither Gimli nor any of the hobbits since wedding the Steward. Their familiar faces were quite reassuring, although she noted that the Halflings seemed to have aged hardly at all. Gimli's visage was wizened, but whether it was from time or merely fatigue she could not tell.
"My lady!" she heard Merry exclaim as he excitedly looked over Pippin's right shoulder and into the Seeing Stone.
"Greetings Esquire!" she replied, smiling broadly. "I bring you good news from the Mark. The Rohirrim rode northward late last night. They may in fact be able to overtake the Steward's group before they reach the north side of Fangorn Forest. They have spears and arrows aplenty, and I have also armed Eomer with Gurthang."
"The sound of your voice is pleasant news enough," said Merry, "but these other tidings are also welcome indeed."
"The Sword of Rohan may give that Fire Demon something to think about," interjected Gimli. "And it looks like the Great Eagles are doing a good job of slowing it down. Every once in a while we can see one or two of them circling in the sky to our northwest. Apparently, they're keeping it from moving south as quickly as we are. It looks like we'll easily reach Fangorn Forest first, if only we can find Treebeard and get this weapon into his hands in time."
Over the hobbit's shoulder, Eowyn could see the back of the large man who was driving their cart, but he continued to face down the road ahead as she asked, "Has there been any contact with the High King?"
"Nay, my lady," Merry took the opportunity to respond. "He and Legolas are the only remaining members of the Fellowship who aren't involved in this conflict yet."
"I left Edoras around noon and I'm hoping to reach the Beacon of Halifirien by nightfall, the day after tomorrow," Eowyn volunteered. "If Faramir's idea works, the Army of Gondor should be headed northwestward the following day."
"The Sword of Rohan may just get his attention, and Grond may even make an impression," Gimli observed. "But I've seen this monster, and I'm not sure even an army is going to make the least bit of difference."
"Take heart, Master Dwarf," Eowyn replied, still trying to get a rise from the driver of the cart. "We have only been charged with slowing the enemy down. Someone else has authored a plan for stopping it. We need only do our part. And we should remember that the Fellowship vanquished a far more fearsome foe than this!"
"That's true," Samwise involuntarily agreed aloud from his position to the left side of Pippin.
"Indeed it is, Ring Bearer!" she laughingly replied. "And it is pleasant to hear your voice too! But I must get underway now. I will look forward to speaking with you all again soon. Perhaps my husband will even be part of that conversation."
"I'll be looking for him," Gimli replied, "and your brother, too. Farewell for now, my lady."
"Good day, my friends," she said softly.
The hobbits each said goodbye to her in turn, and then the Palantir darkened. So much was riding on the plan of Radagast; she had been hoping that her good news would earn some mutual reassurance. But the Wizard had elected not to enter into the conversation. Since the elements of his plan seemed beyond her understanding anyway, she chose not to be disheartened by his lack of encouragement. The ways of Wizards were well known to often surpass the comprehension of kings. She had to simply trust that this Power from the West would come through for them even as Gandalf had done. But she seemed to remember the Grey Pilgrim being far more talkative, so she hoped this Wizard's silence was not due to a lack of faith in his own abilities.
Getting back underway, a seemingly perpetual prairie passed promptly beneath her surging steed. Arabel appeared to virtually fly over a sea of short-bladed grass. The terrain behind was so similar to the vistas opening before her; the only real indication of how rapidly they were changing location was the view of the mountains to her south. But as the afternoon turned to evening, there was an even more telling development. The wind, which Arabel had been trying to outrun, shifted. No longer did it come out of the west, pushing them along their way. It turned to come out of the north. Not only did this help to cool the sweating mare, but it also revealed something about their position.
A sound began to be evident as it was swept along that breeze. It took awhile for Eowyn to notice it over the thunder of Arabel's hooves. And even after she did, it took several more minutes for her to correctly identify what she was hearing. It was the noise erupting from the place where the River Snowbourne joined the River Entwash. And since it was already well after suppertime, she elected to stop again and enjoy the distant cacophony while she and her mount slaked their thirst.
With the wind coming out of the north, the evening quickly cooled. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, the fact that it was still early spring was easily evidenced by the bite of the air. The cold was unseasonable for the Eastfold. Rather than risk Arabel's health by letting the mare get chilled after running all day, Eowyn slowed her and walked her until the sweat had nearly all evaporated. After that, they stopped and made camp for the night. She was grateful that Queen Lothiriel had thought to equip her with a small amount of kindling. She fell asleep listening to the crackle of the fire.
The next day passed by like a green blur. Every time she stopped she consulted the Seeing Stone. She still held out hope that one of the royal couple would chance to look into their Palantir, and her journey would be foreshortened. But each time she was disappointed to learn that there had still been no contact with Gondor and the urgency of her mission remained unabated.
It just felt wrong to be rushing away from the coming conflict. Nor would she feel obligated to wait for the Army of Gondor at Halifirien if she discovered it was already coming northward before she even reached that destination. In such a case, Eomer would simply have to understand. But as she made camp the second night, knowing she was only about one more day's ride from her intended goal, she disappointedly realized there was no chance that she would be released from her obligation.
The morning of the third day warmed quickly. And she was very glad about the change in the weather. The Beacon was situated on the top of a mountain. And there was certain to be a drastic temperature change with the extreme elevation. Since the last few nights had been cold, and she did not expect to arrive at the mountain's base until evening, she had been dreading the freezing climb at the end of what was sure to be another very long day.
Around noon, she began to see what looked like a shadow in the extreme distance ahead. A little while later, she realized that it was the Firien Wood. Angling southward, she headed towards a perceptible gap where she knew that the Great North-South Road passed through it. When lit, the Beacon could be seen all the way from Dunharrow and Edoras. She was delighted to realize that she was already close enough to actually distinguish the place on the mountain where it was situated.
Returning to the road, Arabel hardly slowed at all. It seemed that the mare somehow sensed Eowyn's anticipation. Consequently, they covered a considerable distance during the afternoon. It was just evening when they crossed the Mering Stream. Eowyn invisibly instructed Arabel to leave the road again, angling southeastward towards the base of Halifirien. They came to the foot of the mountain before sunset. A well-wrought road, used for maintenance and provisions, wound up to the Beacon. Arabel quickly climbed the course as if she had not already been running all day.
Eowyn was not unfamiliar to the Watchers, who greeted her as both the Lady of Rohan and a Steward of Gondor. They were openly aghast at the tale she told but completely compliant with her request. In fact, after pouring on the oil to aid ignition, they passed the torch and allowed her to set the blaze. With the accelerant, the wind quickly whipped her fire into an inferno.
She stepped back, warming herself before the furiously flickering flames and gazing intently into the east. She knew that the Beacon of Calenhad was nearer in elevation to that of Amon Din than any other. So it was critical for the Watchers at the next outpost to respond to her signal. If they did not, she would have to undertake a decidedly more difficult journey. And she questioned Arabel's ability to attack that altitude without a considerable amount of recuperation beforehand. But after anxiously observing those precipitous peaks for several very uneasy minutes, she was thankfully relieved by the response.
In her haste to complete her journey by the end of the day, she had not been consulting the Palantir. Knowing that a response from the High King could now be only a few minutes away, she hurriedly unpacked it. She was even more elated by the picture it produced than she had been by the response of the Watchers down the way. Faramir was smiling as he noticed the Beacon fire blazing behind her.
"Calenhad has responded already," she said excitedly. "It won't be long now. And where are you?"
"We crossed the River Limlight this morning," he replied, grinning. "We intercepted Gimli and his group just as Eomer and the Rohirrim overtook us earlier this evening. Apparently, Treebeard was able to tell from the changing positions of our horn blasts that we were traveling north around Fangorn Forest. He met us at the river. He already has Grond. And I also approve of your loan to Eomer. It doesn't look like we're going to be able to stop for the night though. Gimli says that the Great Eagles have been changing position rapidly the last few days. And although they're really hard to see at this distance, I'm afraid the Balrog is already dangerously close to the forest. If we are going to head him off, we must journey westward immediately. Fortunately, I don't think our friend, Treebeard, is as worn out as the rest of us. We've been riding hard. And so, I would think, have you!"
"Arabel and I could both use a rest," she agreed. "It's hard to believe that, after all that riding, we're still only just at the edge of Rohan. But we'll lodge with the Watchers tonight. And I'm sure Eomer already told you that he's suggested I stay here and wait to come north with the Armies of Gondor. That seems like a prudent plan, unless you have different ideas."
"I didn't like sending you alone to begin with," Faramir admitted. "I'd prefer for you to have an escort with which to return. There's no way you could get back here in time for the initial skirmish anyway. And since we have the Seeing Stones, I'll be able to relay events as they unfold without you having to be endangered by them. If we actually do engage the Balrog during the night, there should be a very interesting report for you in the morning. I'm sure it'll have to be nothing short of spectacular to see the Ents go up against this monster. Treebeard is not alone. He is the only one with an ancient weapon to aid him. But these things are like walking catapults! If we can reach the base of the mountains ahead of it, I'm sure there'll be lots of big rocks for them to throw. It should be the kind of battle of which songs are made!"
"Just make sure you're still around to sing them with me!" Eowyn insisted, cocking a brow as the tilting of her head sent her strawberry-blonde hair spilling over one shoulder.
"We're only supposed to try and slow this monster down," Faramir laughingly replied, smiling at her banter. "We're really just backing up the Ents anyway. I'm not expecting any loss of life."
"Alright," she said with mock disbelief. "I hope you know I'm going to hold you to that."
