Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, and we are for the Dark. - Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch
Chapter 13
Lundar was not having a very pleasant day. Well, afternoon, really, and considering the crawling pace of the merchant caravan, soon they'd have to make camp and settle down for the night.
That was one reason for his displeasure on the moment. It was already afternoon and yet they had made such slow travel today, and at this rate it would take at least two days to reach the camp of the great host of the west. That tied closely with their delay, for the word on the road was that the host was about to pick up themselves and head back north. With them, they would take all the promising business prospects Lundar and his friend Hashat had hoped to pursue.
"... I told you we should have left days – no, weeks – ago already, Hashat. How do you propose we'll sell our goods to them when they're busy marching, I wonder? But no! You had to natter about the pirates and war and other nonsense. Do you see any pirates here?" he grumbled at his friend and brother-in-law, who was also his business partner. Years ago, they had decided to build a caravan of their own, because travelling with numbers was safer on the deserts. And Lundar had thought partnership with Hashat would be a good idea... well, for the most parts it was. But sometimes the old fellow was paranoid like the sand mice. That was the reason they had only left for the road when a word had come that the pirates on the coast were mostly destroyed.
"How was I supposed to know these northmen would be so victorious? And even if they were, you can never trust pirates, like you very well know yourself", Hashat answered, sounding frustrated.
"Hmph. I still say this all will turn out nothing but a complete waste of time", Lundar grumbled. "I'm just surprised those tribesmen we saw before didn't decide to attack us. It would have been quite the fitting end for this sad campaign."
"They were obviously in a hurry and there weren't enough of them to attack us, no matter how out of practice our guards are", his friend argued.
Lundar wasn't sure what to say about that, considering Hashat was probably right. He had been a fine fighter in his time, and still had an eye for that sort of thing. Hashat's experience at war was partly the reason Lundar had entered their agreement.
"Well, if we can't do business with those northmen, then we could always make for Umbar and make sure this travel isn't completely in vain. Though I wonder how enthusiastic they will be for our goods after the war. Certainly they will have better uses for their coin", he said doubtfully. One could never really tell beforehand how wars affected the markets, and what goods would be on demand.
"Would you stop complaining already? I've listened to it all the way from our home, and it's getting to my nerves", Hashat grunted, speaking in the tones of someone who has suffered great and unjust abuse.
"I've quite earned my right to natter after having to listen to your complaints", Lundar shot back.
The bickering would probably have continued, but then Lundar's son Laukan came running from behind. He was only thirteen summers and the boy's mother didn't approve of Lundar taking him along on a business trip, but he had decided it was a high time his son started to learn their family's trade. Laukan looked much like his father but he had the tendency of a wandering mind – a trait not too favourable in a merchant, and he was hoping to weed it out one of these days.
"Father! Father!" he called for Lundar, looking distraught and shaken.
"What is it, son? You look like you've seen phantom riders passing by", said his father, lifting his head in curiosity.
"There are bodies, Father! Dead bodies of men and horses! I saw them, there has been a great battle-" Laukan blathered quickly.
"Calm down, my boy! What is this talk about dead bodies?" Lundar asked quickly. Beside him, Hashat had tensed, ever the old warrior.
"It's a little way behind, in that rocky valley road you said we wouldn't take – we went to explore there with Ari, and we found the bodies! There's so many of them and they're all dressed in these green cloaks! And there are pirates too!" said his son, still sounding frantic and anxious.
"Didn't I tell you to not go and wander about with Ari?" Lundar asked sternly, though this matter of green-cloaked men was starting to intrigue him.
"I know, Father, we didn't mean to go too far, but then we saw those bodies, and Ari said we should have left them there, but then I heard a moan and I think someone there is still alive!" Laukan answered quickly. His dark eyes were wide and he was so overwrought that he barely remembered to take a breath between his words.
"Sounds like horselords. I can't think of any other green-cloaked, horse-riding folks who might be travelling in these parts", Hashat grumbled.
"Well, I suppose we will be seeing that in a moment. We should go and investigate", Lundar said.
"I don't think that's too good idea. There might still be pirates around. And even there's none here now, the northmen might think we did it", argued his friend.
"Nonsense, Hashat. Or do you actually try to claim we look like people who could kill a bunch of those fierce and fell horselords?" Lundar pointed out. Hashat thought about it and then shook his head.
"No", he allowed. "Not really."
"Precisely. Now, let us get going!" Lundar said, nodding emphatically. "If you ask me, it might buy us some favour with the northmen - they might be more inclined to buy our goods after all..."
The caravan was brought to a stop then, and most of the travelling merchants would stay behind. Lundar and Hashat along with several guards went along, guided by Laukan. The boy still looked rather shaken but also excited. This was probably the most thrilling thing that had happened ever since they had started for the road.
The opening for the valley road wasn't far behind, and as soon as they had crossed what looked like a landslide, they came across the site of the battle. Quite a fight had indeed taken place there, and now bodies of men and horses lay scattered on the ground. Like Laukan had said, there were those green-cloaked men and closer inspection indeed verified they were of Rohan. There were twenty, and all appeared to be dead. There were horses as well, and the businessman inside Lundar very much grieved to see all these magnificent steeds so cruelly slain. You didn't see animals that fine in these parts.
Of pirates there was only fifteen, but all of them bore the marks of a fierce fight. Lundar heard Hashat muttering under his breath there had probably been more casualties to the pirates – there was enough traces of blood to suggest so – and he thought they had taken most of their dead when they had gone. But it didn't really matter what had truly happened, for none of these men would ever rise up again.
"What do you reckon happened here?" he asked Hashat as they gazed about the ruin of the battle. His friend pondered on it for a while before speaking.
"It can't have been too long since the fight ended. The signs of struggle seem fresh still. The horsemen were riding this way, and were ambushed by the pirates. 'Tis a good place for attacking riders, though it looks like the Rohirrim gave them hell... there must have been quite a force of pirates to achieve this. Nevertheless none of the northmen survived to tell the tale... the pirates must have left in haste, and I wonder how many of them made it alive", Hashat answered at length.
"But why would they attack a band of riders?" Lundar wondered out loud.
"I don't know. Perhaps they just thought this retaliation was as good as any", said his friend and shrugged.
"And they paid for it dearly. It seems mad to me, to just attack this random group of riders. Their Lord and the King of Gondor will not be weakened by it and they'll come back for pirates as long as any remain", said the other man.
"Have pirates ever made any sense? I've said it before and I'll say it again. The sea makes them insane", Hashat remarked.
"Well, that is something I can't argue with", Lundar said. He had never liked pirates; business with them was risky, because they loved nothing like they loved to cheat in their transactions. And they also had an unfortunate way of sticking their blades into their business partners for smallest reasons. Perhaps it was a good thing that those northmen had come hunting for pirates.
"Father!" shouted Laukan then, distracting Lundar from his thoughts. He looked up to see his son kneeling by one body.
"What is it, son?" he asked.
"This man is still alive!" said his boy, and quickly he and Hashat made their way to the man Laukan was hovering over.
He was of similar build and height as the rest of the Rohirrim that now lay dead, and his long hair was matted with blood. An arrow protruded from a spot just above his right collarbone, his left leg was twisted into an unnatural angle, and he was not fully conscious; eyes closed, he was mumbling to himself so quietly that Lundar could not make out any of the words.
"Hardy folk, these horselords", Lundar commented. "Laukan, do run back to the caravan and send more men. Tell them to bring some canvas for a bier."
"We're going to take him in?" Hashat asked doubtfully when Laukan got up on his feet and started back to where the rest of their company was waiting.
"Of course we are. Weren't you just worried we'd be blamed for this mess? Surely the northmen won't have any reason to think so if we save at least this one fellow. And anyway, it's not decent to let a man just die if there's any way to help him", Lundar answered decidedly.
"Fine", said his friend. Lundar was happy to see at least in this one thing they could agree.
But then, just when he was about stand up, the horsemaster spoke, louder than his muttering of before.
"What did he say?" Lundar asked his more keen-eared friend, who was still kneeling beside the injured man.
"I think he's calling a name", said Hashat, frowning as he leaned closer to listen. The golden-haired man uttered again: "Éomer... Éomer..."
Hashat's looked up sharply at Lundar, his eyes widening.
"Do you know that name?" he asked sounding startled.
"No, of course not. Why should I?" the other man wondered out loud.
"Because that is the name of the King of Rohan", he said very solemnly. Of course the old warrior would remember things like that. Be it as may, Lundar blinked in surprise. This was certainly an interesting development.
"Do you think he's their king?" he asked, barely noticing how breathless his voice came out.
"I don't know. But he could be, and if there's even smallest chance that this here is the King of the horselords, and we save his life..." Hashat said, his voice trailing off.
"I see", Lundar said, nodding emphatically. "It is of utmost importance that we do whatever we can for him."
At that point Laukan returned with two men; they brought canvas just as ordered. A quick glance about confirmed there were plenty of tall spears around, and they could be used to build a bier to carry the injured man. Thankfully, they had a healer along, as Hashat had insisted. Hopefully, he'd be able to help the poor bugger and keep him alive.
Hashat got up on his feet, resting his hands on his hips. He had that look on his face, the one Lundar had named "the General has arrived".
"You two, start building a bier for this injured fellow here. Laukan, you should run again back to the others and order here as many men as can be spared. The rest may go and find some proper place for a camp", he commanded. The two men who had brought canvas got up to their task readily enough, but Laukan seemed annoyed for having to run back and forth like this. But he had never dared to argue with Hashat, and so he once again turned to return to the caravan.
"What do you mean to do with those men?" asked Lundar.
"We'll see rest of these poor devils buried", his friend said in a voice that did not stand arguments.
"Really?" asked the younger man.
"Yes. For one, I spent too many years as a warrior to let others of my trade to lay like this as food to the vultures. We'll see them into their grave, even if that delays us. Secondly, if that injured man there indeed is the King of Rohan, he should appreciate his men taken care of properly", Hashat answered determinedly.
Seeing that his friend had made up his mind, Lundar nodded, though he spared himself a little sigh.
He sensed they had ahead of them a very hot and sweaty afternoon and evening.
Aragorn, King Elessar Telcontar of Reunited Kingdoms, fancied himself someone with nerves of steel. During his long life he had faced many dangers, some smaller some larger, and some the kind it was a wonder he still lived today. Such a life had given him strength of character that in most cases allowed him to make quick decisions, and to continue the fight even in most desperate situations.
But when he saw his dear friend's horsetail helmet and the blood-stained royal standard of Rohan, he froze in shock and horror. For the longest time all he could do was to stare at these objects, knowing what it meant... as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, the only logical answer was that somewhere beyond his help, his friend Éomer King of Rohan was either dead or dying.
He only vaguely registered noises around him, not making any connections as to what they meant and to whom the voices even belonged to. He was lost in this one moment that felt long like an Age, and felt despair and grief strike him more poignant than he had ever experienced before.
Yet at last he was able to move, and in a brisk command he ordered the messenger arrested; as soon as the grinning man had been taken captive, Aragorn hurried outside. Interrogations could wait for later, for though the "message" spoke in a clear language, he had to at least try and help his friend. There was speed and urgency about his stride that made guards practically run after him. He was dressed in nothing but his night shirt and a robe, but there was no time to waste.
Marshal Elfhelm was talking with his captain when Aragorn arrived, and being of keen eye and perception, the man immediately took note of the look on the King's face. His body tensed, like a bow drawn and ready to release an arrow.
"My lord", he called, "is something amiss?"
"I need you to send your fastest riders after Éomer King", Aragorn blurted out. There was no time for courtesies or explanations.
"Of course, but what for?" Elfhelm asked, though it seemed to King Elessar that he already suspected something very bad had happened.
"I believe he has been attacked. I'll explain the details later, but the speediness of your men could very well mean life and death. He needs help now", Aragorn said quickly, so desperate for things to happen that he nearly reached to shake the Marshal into action.
Thankfully, Elfhelm asked no more questions. His expression turned stern and intent, and with his captain on his heels he went along to send riders.
As a testimony to the efficiency of the Rohirrim – though Elessar expected nothing less of them, these being men who had ridden to Minas Tirith in less than a week – a band of riders was ready in less than fifteen minutes. They set for the same road Éomer had taken, and anxiously Aragorn watched them go. Perhaps the so called message did not mean that his friend had fallen? The pirate who had brought him the helmet and the royal standard could have acquired them in some other way... maybe they only wanted him to think that Éomer was dead...
"Now, my lord, could you perhaps tell me what this is about?" asked Elfhelm. He had returned to Aragorn's side and was now looking concerned rather than determined.
The King of Gondor and Arnor hesitated. How do you bring news like these? He knew Elfhelm greatly loved the Lord of the Mark. They were not only brothers in arms, but also friends. They had both trained in Edoras to become Riders, and having spent some time among the Rohirrim, Aragorn knew how strong were the bonds between warriors of the Mark.
Aragorn had seen much of respect and reverence among his own men and people ever since he had become the king. But never had he seen anyone love their liege-lord like the Rohirrim loved the Lion of Rohan.
If he really is dead... then Eorlingas will mourn him a hundred years.
"Perhaps it would be better if we spoke of this in private."
The rider arrived after a couple of hours had passed since Elfhelm had sent men to look for his king. He was not a Rohirric man, however. When Aragorn saw him, he recognised this newly arrived stranger as a man of Harad. He was dressed in light blue clothing, designed for the sun-heated days of this southern land. The horse he rode was small, very unlike the northern breed Rohirrim raised on their vast green plains. But then, Aragorn knew the horses of the North were unlike any other breed in the lands of Men. Strengthened by the blood of the mearas, Rohirric horses were strong and intelligent and brave.
It happened that Aragorn was presently outside. Prince Amrothos had agreed to a sparring session, because nothing else seemed to be helpful in distracting him from the fear and anxiety that were gnawing at his heart. Though he knew the men sent after Éomer were the fastest riders in the camp and that the young Rohirric king was more than capable of looking after himself, he could not help the growing concern. The pirate who had brought the blood-stained standard and the helmet had not spoken a word since his arrival; Elfhelm's face had been dark when he had told Aragorn that some of his more merciless men were muttering about making the messenger speak. At least so far Elfhelm had been able to prevent the word from spreading among the Rohirrim. There was no sense in letting the news spread before it had even been confirmed.
"My lords! You must let me pass, for I have important message for the King Elessar!" called the voice of Haradrim messenger, who was being held back by two guards. The urgency in the voice of the rider piqued Aragorn's interest, and lowering his sword he turned to look at the stranger.
"Guards", he raised his voice, "I would hear what this man has on his mind."
They allowed the messenger to pass, and carefully the man approached Aragorn. Arms spread and the palms of his hand opened in an universal gesture of good will, he asked: "Do I have the honour of speaking to the King of Gondor?"
"That is me, yes. What brings you here, friend?" Aragorn inquired, offering a smile to the man. The messenger bowed deep before he started to speak.
"Your Majesty, I bring word from Masters Lundar and Hashat of Harad, two travelling merchants, whom I serve. Please, accept this letter and read it quickly, my lord, for the matter is very important", replied the rider. He reached for the leather satchel he carried by his side and took out a sealed scroll. He offered it towards Aragorn and made yet another bow, and one of the two guards took the message from him. It was then given to the King of Reunited Kingdoms.
Wasting no time, he broke the seal and opened the message, his eyes eager for the words of the two merchants.
To His Majesty, King Elessar of Gondor -
It is with great humbleness and respect that we approach you, O King, as we were not certain which authority should be informed of our findings at the mouth of Stone Pass. Great One, we know not much of your northern ways, but we have learned that you are friends with King of Rohan, and thus we took the liberty of addressing directly to you.
On this sixth day of the Fifth Month we were on our way towards south with the purpose of finding your great camp and doing business with the men of the north. You see, O King, that we are but simple merchants, and we must make living where we can.
On our way we came across a battle-field near the mouth of Stone Pass road. There we found slain many northern riders, who we believe to be the men of your friend, King Éomer of Rohan. These unhappy warriors we have buried in a cairn as is right and proper, for dead bodies do not stand the heat of the southern sun for long. Only one man we found alive, but he is gravely injured and he has yet to regain consciousness. However, at the event of finding him he was murmuring the name of your friend the Rohirric King. We do not know the Lord of the Rohirrim by face, but we hope and believe that the man in our care could be the King himself.
Our camp is close to the bridge of Harnen, not a day's journey from where we found your friend, and we will remain there waiting for your most royal answer, O Great King, and do whatever we can to save the life of your friend.
Respectfully,
Master Lundar and Master Hashat
The riders Elfhelm had sent returned early next morning with news that confirmed what the two merchants had written. Grim-faced and silent, they came from their bitter road, and said they had not found a living man or a horse... but a great cairn of stone they had discovered, surrounded by tall spears that could only be the very weapons carried by the King's Riders. It was indeed as Lundar and Hashat had written: there had been a battle that had most likely claimed the lives of all men who had left with the King. Even as these news turned dark Aragorn's heart, he still had one small hope... that at least perhaps Éomer was alive.
"Did you delve into this cairn?" he asked the riders once they had delivered their news.
"We did not, Lord. It's not right, disturbing the peace of a grave. Only orcs and beasts do that", said the leader of riders, a fellow named Hafoc.
"Were there any witnesses there? Did you come across anyone who might have seen the battle?" Elfhelm asked, but Hafoc shook his head.
"No, my lord. We searched the immediate area but found nothing, and decided to come back for more orders", he replied. After all, he hadn't known about the injured man Lundar and Hashat had rescued from the ruin, and so they hadn't known to look for him... or find out if he were Éomer or one of his men. Hafoc glanced from his Marshal to Aragorn, "My lords, is it true then? Is Éomer King dead?"
The two exchanged a wary glance.
"We don't know yet. After your departure a word was brought that a caravan of merchants had happened on that scene of battle and found an injured man there. They believe it is our King", Elfhelm said quietly. Hafoc's eyes widened and wild hope dawned in them.
"Then riders should be sent there! If the King is alive-" he started heatedly, but Aragorn lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Peace, Rider. That is precisely what we will do. In fact, I intend to go myself and find out if it is King Éomer who is in the care of these merchants", he said solemnly. Then he offered a smile to the rider, though he did not know how he was even able to conjure such an expression at a time like this. "Have hope, Hafoc. He may yet live."
It was a hopeful thought, but there was a good chance it was not true. The very idea of the Lion of Rohan dead filled his heart with dread and grief, for the young king was closest thing to a brother he had ever had. But it went far beyond his own loss and sorrow. What of the peaceful future they had dreamt of together, for both Gondor and Rohan, if Éomer was not there to lead the Rohirrim? The ending of the line of Eorl would not leave the Mark undisturbed.
For the moment, he pushed aside those thoughts, for there was still a chance that Éomer was alive. After receiving news that the man who had brought the King's helmet and standard was not speaking, Aragorn sent one of his guards to request for the presence of Prince Amrothos; the King of Reunited Kingdoms was already thinking he'd take along the young prince. No matter what they would find in the camp of the merchants, word would have to be sent to Gondor... not only to Éowyn and Faramir, but also to Princess Lothíriel. If Éomer was injured she'd want to know of it, and she would raise hell if she was kept in shadow while her betrothed lay on a sickbed. The mere thought made Aragorn wince. Sometimes it was hard to believe that a man so mild-mannered as Imrahil would have such a dragon for a daughter.
Amrothos arrived quickly after summons. The frown on his face revealed he already suspected something was afoot, and he was so anxious that he just barely remembered to bow at his king.
"You wanted to speak with me, my lord?" he asked, but so restless he was that he didn't stop to wait for an answer. Instead, he continued right away, "And please tell me what is going on in here! My king, both you and Marshal Elfhelm look like someone has died."
"Prince Amrothos, I..." began Aragorn, but he found himself loss at words. The prince was quick to interpret this as a bad sign.
"So someone has died? Is it Lady Éowyn? My cousin-" he said fast, but the older man lifted a hand, and Amrothos fell silent in the middle of the sentence, though his eyes remained bright and anxious. Gathering his calm, Aragorn quickly explained what was the matter.
There was no describing the expression on the face of Imrahil's youngest son. How could one so carefree assume a look of such horrible dread?
"That's very bad", he said in a faint voice, and even though the southern sun had given him a rich tan, he looked to have lost some of his colour. Then, true to the bold blood of the Amrothian house, he asked, "When do we leave?"
After what had happened to the escort that had departed with Éomer, Aragorn was not willing to take any chances. The guard he took with him was numerous and heavily armed. Of course, what they won in security they would lose in speed, but if Éomer was dead it would have been madness for Aragorn too get himself killed. The western lands needed their kings.
Moreover, there was also the chance that the message sent by Master Lundar and Master Hashat was but ruse, designed to lure him into same fate as his fellow king. Though Elfhelm's riders had found the cairn and thus confirmed Lundar and Hashat's story at least partly, it didn't mean that the message was altogether true.
The journey was mostly made in grave silence, and as they made camp that night there was no light, friendly chatter to be heard. About half of the men were Aragorn's own troops, and the rest were Rohirrim under the command of Captain Feran, a distant relative of Éomer. Though Elessar had done all he could to prevent the news from spreading, it was apparently already known among the company what this journey was about. Thinking of what might happen if Éomer was dead unsettled him not only as the young man's friend, but also as a king: how would the Rohirrim react, to have their king killed in this faraway land, and without an heir to claim the throne?
These dark thoughts were endlessly growing in his mind when Prince Amrothos came to join him by the camp fire, which was fuelled by what withered little bushes they had found here and there during their journey. He still bore that same worried look had been on his face ever since hearing the news. On the road, he had often looked like he just wanted to race ahead and find out what he could about Éomer's fate.
They exchanged no words, not at first. It was obvious how anxious the Amrothian prince was, however. He wouldn't stop fingering the hilt of his sword or twisting the hem of his light cloak in his hands.
Eventually Amrothos spoke up, his expression betraying he could not bear the silence any longer.
"Do you think everything will be fine back in the camp?" he asked at last, and Aragorn was even able to conjure something that resembled a smile.
"Of course. Marshal Elfhelm knows how to handle his riders. And Lord Húrin of the Keys is there as well to command my men – they are both good lieutenants and capable of managing everything while we're gone", he said in calm tones. To be honest, he was slightly worried as to what would happen to the pirate messenger while he was gone, as he had witnessed the anger and anxiety of some men rising as the rumour of King Éomer's fate started to spread. He had left orders to guard the man well, but that might not be enough.
"What do you reckon would happen if Éomer... if he is..." Amrothos tried, but he wasn't able to finish the sentence. His hands became fists and he looked at his liege-lord anxiously, as though Aragorn somehow had a way to fix all this.
"I do not know", the older man said, shaking his head. "And to be honest, I dare not think of it."
The prince nodded and made a vague sound of agreement. He stared down into flames and seemed even more worried now. Oddly enough, it made him look more like his father.
"Really, it does terrify me to think that I may have to tell Lothíriel her betrothed is dead. She's not going to be able to deal with it - she loves him too much", he muttered quietly.
"Let's not abandon our hope yet, Amrothos", said Elessar, and the young man attempted to smile. However, the expression quickly became a frown again. They didn't speak much after that, and eventually Aragorn told Imrahil's son to go and catch some sleep.
But though he knew rest would have served him well too, Aragorn did not seek sleep that night except for couple hours before dawn. Even then, when he briefly visited the land of dreams, all he could see was the royal standard of the Mark and bloodstains on it. Was it Éomer's own blood, or his standard-bearer's? He couldn't imagine them letting the White Horse go down, not unless there were not a single man standing.
The dread was ever-present now. Éomer dead so soon when his life's work had not even started... at first, he had thought what a loss it would be for Rohan... but he had refused to let it close to his own heart. Now it was starting to dawn to him just what a grief it would be to him. He can't die, not like this.
They started for the road at first light. They made haste, as Aragorn was anxious to reach the place where the merchants were camping. Like yesterday, the company travelled in silence. The Rohirric riders scouted ahead but the land was quiet and empty, and only cries of vultures echoed in the high heavens. As the day grew and the sun climbed higher, the heat also became more unbearable. But Aragorn barely noticed. His mind was fully concentrated on reaching the camp that awaited ahead and the man who was waiting there.
It wasn't before afternoon that Captain Feran, the leader of Rohirric riders, lead his horse closer to Aragorn. He was a pleasant-looking man, blond in the fashion of his people, and Aragorn had seen him doing some very courageous deeds on the battle-field. Now Feran's eyes were bright but anxious.
"My lord", called the captain, "the scouts say the camp is less than a league away now. We will be arriving soon."
"Good. I was starting to think whether this rocky valley would ever end", said Elessar. He suppressed the urge to gallop wildly towards the merchant camp, as there yet remained the possibility that this was a trap. They needed to proceed carefully.
Feran frowned and spoke then in softer tones, "They say they saw the cairn as well."
Aragorn didn't answer right away. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he suppressed a heavy sigh. A thought was growing in his mind and he didn't like it at all. But he knew it had to be discussed.
"Captain Feran", he spoke quietly, as to not raise anyone else's attention. "I should ask you something you will probably not like very well."
"King, you may ask anything at all", said the Rohir evenly, though a flash of curiosity appeared in his eyes as he glanced at the King of Arnor and Gondor.
"If it is revealed that the man in the care of those merchants is not your king, we may have to open the cairn. I know it is not respectful towards the deceased, and I would not suggest this in any other situation. However, we have to be sure if he's... if he's gone", Aragorn said softly. "Would your men be opposed to this?"
Feran looked away and considered his words for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was very serious.
"My lord, I can't ask my men to do that. They will not agree to open the grave of King's Riders – especially if our liege-lord lies there as well", he answered reluctantly. "However, you must do as you deem necessary, King. I merely ask that you don't request our help in that task. We can't do it."
"Of course. I wouldn't ask you to do it, Captain... I simply want the blessing of a Rohirric authority, which is you for the moment", Elessar replied. The rider nodded solemnly and they spoke no more. Quietly, Aragorn hoped what he had asked of Feran would not have to be done.
The camp was located close to the bridge of river Harnen, the ancient crossing place which had been built in the days of Númenor. The stonework of Sea Kings had lasted through the long years and was one of the few places where one could cross the river safely; Harnen was wide and deep and in the middle of it the stream grew strong and perilous. Merchant tents were like a splash of colour and life against the stunted vegetation that drew vitality from Harnen. It was not a large settlement and Captain Feran's scouts had confirmed there was no sight of possible ambush on the hills nearby. Altogether it was starting to look like Master Lundar and Master Hashat were men of their word.
As Aragorn and the escort started to approach the camp the quiet and calm of it made way for sudden excitement, and it wasn't long before a small group came to receive them - obviously, these merchants had been waiting for Aragorn's arrival very impatiently. With his standard bearer, few guards, Prince Amrothos and Captain Feran, Aragorn rode to meet the merchants. Two of them stepped forward to make deep bows before him.
They appeared to be of about same age, nearing perhaps their sixth decade, but in look the two men were rather different. One was dressed in green, extravagant silks that did not quite flatter his stout build. His hair was midnight black and adorned with golden jewellery, and his face was wide and friendly. The other had the build and the posture of a soldier, though he didn't seem like he practised warrior's trade actively anymore. His hair was steel grey, simply tied at the nape of his neck, and he looked far more reserved than his friend.
"Do I have the honour of speaking with Master Lundar and Master Hashat?" asked Aragorn as he studied the two men before him. The green-clad man gave him a brilliant smile and bowed again, and his friend rigidly followed the example.
"The honour is all ours, Your Majesty! We are indeed the men who contacted you. I am Lundar, and this quiet fellow here is Hashat, my long time friend and brother-in-law", he replied. "Welcome to our little camp, great King of the Reunited Kingdom!"
At that Aragorn lifted his eyebrows in slight surprise. He hadn't really expected anyone this far south to remember the ancient realm of Arnor.
"I see you know much of our northern ways", he commented. Master Lundar seemed pleased at this remark towards his knowledge.
"A good merchant makes it his business to know the affairs of the world, if he wants to do well in his trade", he said and let out a light laugh, "And that is why there are two of us, as one man can't possibly remember everything."
If the situation had been any other, Aragorn might have spent more time in the middle of some pleasantries. However, he was too restless to find out the truth about the man these two had rescued.
"How is the man you saved from the battle-field? Is he still..." he asked, not even trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. His question made the merchant's cheerful expression turn sober.
"He continues to fight for his life, but he has not awakened. My lord, it is my duty to inform you that we were forced to remove his leg... it was too badly hurt and our healer judged it would have poisoned his blood", Lundar said, looking worried now as though he expected they would be somehow punished for this deed. From the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw Amrothos twitch. Perhaps for a horseman losing a leg was not as bad, but it was still an ill thing for anyone who made war and fighting their trade. For a man as energetic as Éomer it would take a long time to come in terms with.
"It is all right. I am thankful for your help", Aragorn said, which appeared to relieve the merchant. "I would like to see him."
"Of course. Please, follow me!" said Master Lundar. He bowed one more time and then, as soon as Aragorn and Amrothos had dismounted, they started for the camp. As they walked and passed by tents and members of the caravan, Aragorn's heart picked up speed; he'd have liked nothing more than just push past the merchant and go running to find the tent where the injured man lay... and find out if his friend was alive. However, he forced himself to remain calm and adjust his pace to that of the merchants who walked before him and the Prince.
The tent was near the centre of the small camp, and reaching it Master Hashat quietly lifted up the veil that served as a doorway. He nodded at Aragorn and the King of Gondor and Arnor stepped in. All the while his heart continued its mad race; hope gave it wings and still it was heavy with dread of what ifs.
He stepped in and in the dim of the tent he saw a healer hovering over a figure on the ground. The Rohir lay uncovered and it was as Lundar had said: they had amputated his leg. Around the stump of his knee there was heavy layer of linen. Aragorn rejected the feeling of defeat, though. He can still ride.
The healer turned and bowed his head at the newly arrived king and prince... but Aragorn did not notice. His eyes were on the face of the man who lay before him, unconscious but still alive, for his strong chest rose and fell steadily with his breathing.
And even through his despair and grief, Aragorn knew that if he'd recover, Captain Éothain would never forgive himself living after failing to save the life of his friend and King.
The cairn stood on a hilltop, not far from the place where the battle had taken place. As far as Aragorn could see, it had taken some effort to get the bodies of the dead up there. Master Lundar had said his friend Hashat had insisted on it.
"It is a good place for the long sleep of death. They can feel the wind, the sun. You can see the river too. It is a restful bed for brave men", Hashat had muttered when he had lead Aragorn and Amrothos there. Then without a further word he had bowed and turned, leaving the prince and the king alone as he made way down the hill again. Evidently he was a man of keen sight, as he had understood the two men from Gondor wished to do this alone.
Now the King of Gondor and Arnor stood there with the Prince of Dol Amroth. Some men remained down in the valley, but their task was just to keep watch. What he was about to do was not something Aragorn wished to ask help for, and he hadn't even meant to bring Amrothos, but the young prince had insisted.
"You don't need to do this alone, my lord", he had said gravely. "Besides, he was my friend too."
The cairn was large – enough for the nineteen men who lay under it. Around it the merchants had raised their tall spears to stand there until weathers and time consumed them. Being here with the intention they had felt utterly wrong, these men had earned a peaceful grave, and what they were about to do was something only horrid beasts like orcs did.
We have to be sure. We have to...
Aragorn glanced at Amrothos, who stood by his side. The young man seemed pale but his face was set, and he knew trying to talk Imrahil's son out of this would only be a waste of time for them both.
He sighed and pushed aside his regret and grief. If they meant to do this they should start while they still had daylight left.
"Let us begin", he said softly, and without exchanging any more words the two men wrapped cloths around their mouths, and started with their morbid task. Slowly in silence they moved the heavy rocks of the cairn, and with each lifted stone Aragorn felt the weight on his heart grow more difficult to bear. He breathed deep when he uncovered the face of a dead man, whom he recognised; his name had been Hæthcyn. He had no family other than the Guard, but he had always been cheerful, and Aragorn remembered the sound of his laughter. In death Hæthcyn did not laugh. Instead, a grimace was frozen on his face.
The stench of death and decomposing bodies filled the air as Aragorn continued lifting the rocks; the cloth on his mouth and nose could not completely block the horrid smell. More corpses were uncovered and even then, seeing all these brave and good men so slain far away from their homes, he only felt numb.
"Aragorn."
Amrothos' voice distracted him and he looked up to where the prince was. Poor young man looked profoundly disturbed and Aragorn regretted letting his friend's son accompany him... most like this morbid deed would leave Amrothos with great many nightmares. For now he put aside that thought and stumbled over to where the younger man stood.
The prince said no more. Instead, he gestured towards what he had found, and at the sight of his discovery Aragorn felt the final, terrifying certitude that hope had failed. He recognised the red-brown chest-plate right away. Even if he had not seen it so many times, it's distinctive look was not something one forgot.
It was proof enough, even with the head missing. What those monsters had done with it he couldn't tell, and he wasn't so sure if he wanted to know.
It is true, then. He is gone.
The two men stood quiet for a long moment. The King of Gondor and Arnor might have uttered that they should cover again these unhappy men and let them have their rest, but he wasn't certain if he did. In silence, they rebuilt the cairn. When it was done and the rocks were again on their places, he staggered away from it until at last his feet gave in under him, and he fell on the ground. Amrothos remained by the tomb, head bowed and shoulders shaking as a testimony to his sorrow.
As Aragorn sat there watching the Sun make her descent towards west, he finally became aware of the tears that were running down his face, and he grieved for Éomer King of Rohan his brother, whom he had lost.
A/N: And we continue on a heavy note. Do I now get flogged?
No Lothíriel or Éomer in this chapter, as I decided things needed to happen neither of them could witness. It seemed to me that the best way was to follow Aragorn through this chapter and regard the story from his point of view. I suppose he's now really regretting that he didn't leave with Éomer in the last chapter... I promise we'll get to Lothíriel in the next chapter.
I know it very much seems now that Éomer is indeed dead, and how his armour is in that cairn is not a mistake on my part. This will be discussed as the story progresses. As for how Éothain is alive shouldn't in my opinion be too unclear: he indeed took an arrow but it wasn't enough to kill him right away. I can say I do have my reason for sparing his life so far.
I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter. I do have it in the works already, but with the holidays approaching I don't think I'll be able to write much. I was thinking of writing something small and perhaps lighter - it is Christmas time, after all. In case I'm not able to upload anything before Christmas, I hope you all have happy holidays!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare in "Antony and Cleopatra".
solar1 - It was kind of difficult to write as well, as was this chapter. Well, I did mark this as an angst story, so I suppose it's high time I revealed why... fortunately there's a bit of life in Éothain yet!
Morgoth – Well, I'm sad that you've decided to judge the rest of the story without even reading it – and I'd have loved to hear why you thought last chapter was contrived. As I've stated before, it's very frustrating from the writer's point of view when the reader doesn't elaborate, because that way I don't get to improve my skills.
I must say I shuddered at the mention of "girlpower". Not only is that a completely belittling conception, it's also misogynistic. Also, what greatly troubles and saddens me about this attitude in general is that somehow extraordinary deeds and determination are allowed and praised in male characters like Aragorn, but when female character is portrayed as similarly active and brave, it is somehow unbelievable.
Talia119 - All I can really say: it must get worse before it can get better...
In-story reason for Aragorn not accompanying Éomer would of course be that they can't be in the same place at that time. That would very much ruin my plans for the story. He is indeed a great healer, but he trusts the healers in Houses of Healing, and so didn't think his presence was necessary.
Wondereye - Wait and see! :)