A/N: Bad author. Very bad, to be late. Alright, so, Bad Author has Stupid Cold (and so does beta)—so cut her some slack, pleeease? –kicked puppy-dog eyes- (And here you thought I was running low on excuses…) You guys are awesome, on the other hand, despite my extreme un-awesomeness of late. 300 reviews! My goodness, who woulda thunk it? Thank you!

Chapter 35: A Matter of Perspective

One of these days, one of these days… One of these days, Heolstor was going to get what he deserved. The first objective Morwen had once she had her son back was to wipe that smug look off Heolstor's face once and for all.

"Just sign here, my Lord."

Expressionlessly, Thengel was reading the piece of parchment laid out for his viewing on the table. Heolstor positioned the quill and ink well at an accommodatingly accessible position next to Thengel's arm.

"Just sign here, and your country will be in capable hands in the case of your unfortunate demise. Only think, Eru forbid, should anything happen to your Majesties, the prince would be without guidance or help. Leaving the entire country in the hands of a child… Unthinkable." When Thengel still didn't make a move to sign the decree, Heolstor dipped the quill for him and held it out. "Once you sign your name, Rohan will be in safe hands, should such a tragedy occur. A horrible thought, but we must make precautions, mustn't we? "

Thengel took the quill from Heolstor, signing the decree which entitled Heolstor to more power than he'd trust most good men with. Thengel thought of the message he'd received and felt hope. But still, even despite Ecthelion's help, what was he to do here, now? Théoden's life was still just as much at stake as before. He was between a rock and a hard place. Family or country. Selfishness or integrity, and he chose…selfishness. Certainly, he hoped to undo the consequences of his decision soon, now that he was assured Ecthelion's help, but still…

"A good choice, Sire." Heolstor dripped some wax from a nearby candle beneath the signature, let it harden just slightly, and pressed the king's signet ring into it. After it was dry, he gazed at the document contentedly before folding it and concealing it in his tunic. "A very good choice. If you will excuse me, my Lord—my Lady—I have some business to attend to."

Morwen fell into rather than sat down in her chair. They were home, or at least they were where home should have been. This place, once comforting and restful after a journey, had turned into their prison. There was hope because of Ecthelion's message. Much hope. But there were still so many "how"s and "when"s to be solved. In his message, Ecthelion had told them to take heart, he knew everything, and that he would be following with his men right in their footsteps. That was enough to encourage her, more than a little. The next part, however—the getting him inside the city part—that was the dilemma.

"My Lord, my Lady, may I have a word with you?" Feorh stood in the doorway. "It's about the cellar."

Confused as to why Feorh would be concerned herself over something so trivial, but glad to have something to take her mind off everything else, Morwen nodded for her to come in. "What about the cellar?" She noticed the bottle of wine in Feorh's hand. "Something to do with the wine?"

Feorh came closer, setting the bottle down on the table, and speaking in an undertone. "No, that was just an excuse, in case there were some of those buffoons guarding the door."

The old woman's face was aglow with some inexplicable inner happiness that Morwen, at the moment, couldn't comprehend.

Thengel had come closer now as well, viewing Feorh's obvious delight with as much bafflement as his wife. He raised an eyebrow by way of inquiry, inviting her to continue.

"I have the best of news. Your son, and Captain Thorongil, have both been rescued."

Morwen was glad she'd taken a seat.

Thengel promptly took one himself. "Rescued…" he repeated dazedly.

"Yes," Feorh whispered with adamant enthusiasm. "Rescued, by Lieutenant Araedhelm. I've seen them both, at the lieutenant's home. The captain was a little worse for wear, a bit bruised, but he was upright—always a good sign, that." She smiled fondly. "And the prince, he wasn't awake, but he looked so peaceful sleeping there…" She trailed off as she realized she was getting no immediate response. Morwen looked like someone had knocked the breath out of her. "My Lady?"

"You saw him, you actually saw him?" Morwen looked up, breathless surprise replaced by breathless wonder and joy. "They are here, in the city? Théoden is safe, and Thorongil too? Heolstor doesn't know where they are?"

"Yes on all four counts, as far as I know at this point in time, my dear. And from the looks of it, Cwén was doing a fine job taking care of them both."

Thengel was recovering as well, and grinning at the unexpected relief from all the fears and responsibilities that had been all but crushing him under their weight. "Can we see…" he stopped himself, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Stupid question. Of course we cannot go see them. Not yet."

"But I can bring a message for you," Feorh offered. "I'm sure they'd both be glad to hear something from you, about how you're doing. All the while you've been worrying about them, I'm sure they've been equally worried about all of us."

Morwen smiled ruefully, thinking through what she might say if Théoden were standing right there before her. No words alone would suffice. "Give him a hug for me, Feorh, and tell him we both love him very much. And will see him soon."

Thengel thought of his son, and he also thought of the two men protecting him. Two men he knew would be, first of all, focused intently on protecting their prince, and second of all, on putting their heads together to devise some incredibly, incredibly insane scheme. "Feorh, did Captain Thorongil mention plans of any kind?"

"Plans?" Feorh had a thoughtful look on her face. "He didn't speak of any, not specifically, no… But I did rather get the feeling he had something in mind, and was waiting to hear from you."

That had been rather what he'd been expecting to hear. Thorongil came up with good strategies, some of them could definitely be called brilliant, but more often then not they could also be called vague. Thorongil had this theory about keeping plans "flexible," which inevitably meant half the time he couldn't define exactly what he had in mind to anyone else, at least in its earlier stages. Or so he'd heard Thorongil tell an impatient Araedhelm on more than one occasion.

"Alright…" Thengel said, and decided it was time to play a small surprise of his own. "I'll give you a message for Thorongil, then. Tell the captain that Ecthelion, along with some fifty men, is on his way to Edoras. Tell Captain Thorongil his first assignment is to find a way in for the Steward."

"He's coming…" Feorh gaped, remembering just in time to keep her voice lowered. "The Steward is coming here? I thought…"

"So did we." Thengel smiled. Springing surprises people on people like Feorh was always gratifying. Despite her advanced age, Feorh looked ready to bounce out the door to deliver the information he'd just given her. "But yes, the Steward is even now approaching. Tell Thorongil to be ready for him."

---o—oOo—o---

Mehdal was a patient man. Or so he had thought a couple of days ago.

Watching six perfectly warm, dry, and contented "prisoners," all cozy and happy together, for days on end, wasn't the worst duty he'd ever been assigned. Sometimes the glimpses of simple, domestic life he caught through the windows even brought a smile to his face. The children had become friends quickly. Their mouths were constantly in motion every time he saw them, which was usually only briefly as they shot by in a blur through his limited line of vision. The adults were doing a good job of keeping the young prince out of sight to outside observers.

He had to confess, it was actually very pleasant to watch, especially from the perspective an adult whose childhood had been an undesirable and dreary window of time in his life. Thinking back, he remembered wishing he had grown up a lot sooner than he had, which had of need been faster than most children as it was. Being a man and doing a man's work in a man's world, was a whole lot easier than being a child just entering his teens, and trying to be even older.

There were plenty of other reasons why being the primary man on look-out duty might not have been so unattractive a job. One major reason it was unattractive was that in order to watch the house, half the time he was left standing out in the rain. The elements weren't cooperating, and the situation was less than ideal, since the house was in a residential quarter. The nearest inns and taverns were too far away to see Araedhelm's house from, and he couldn't just knock on the nearest door and ask if he could rent out one of their rooms. "One facing the road, please. Oh, and I won't be leaving my room much at all for the next week or so, so don't mind me. Oh, and don't mind the rather unsavory men coming in and out, either…They're friends of mine."

And that left him out in the foul weather, switching positions occasionally to avoid drawing attention by "lurking" too much in one area, but mostly just whiling his time away in the alley adjacent to Araedhelm's home. Now that the rain had turned the ground beneath him into about three inches of mud, sitting down wasn't a comfortable option, never mind his dignity. Every inch of him ached, and every inch of him was drenched. Watching the fire-lit rooms of Araedhelm's house was turning into pure torture.

He could even see the table, set alternately with breakfast, then lunch, than dinner. Every time one of his oh-so-helpful and ever-punctual men forgot to bring him his meal, he got to stand there and watch Thorongil and the rest enjoy their meal. Which always looked ten times more hot and inviting than anything he was brought, when he was brought anything. He didn't even have someone else to complain with over the injustice of it all.

"Heolstor has returned and is requesting your presence."

Mehdal came close to skewering the mercenary where he stood—which was directly behind him in the shadowed alley, far closer to him than any man should be able to covertly come. "For the last time, do not do that," he hissed. There were definitely disadvantages to having men so well-trained.

The mercenary raised an imperious eyebrow in a superior expression that never failed to annoy Mehdal, but maintained every semblance of decorum in his speech. "Forgive me. I shall warn you of my presence next time." He rolled smoothly on to the purpose of his being there. Certainly not the conversational type. "I will take your place while you respond to Heolstor's summons. He is at the usual place."

This was one order Mehdal was not loath to obey. Well, not entirely loath to obey. It did mean he got to go somewhere warm and sit for a change, but there was the other…small matter. He secretly hoped one of the other men had let it slip that the prisoners had escaped—and already been cornered again—but he doubted it. He couldn't skirt around the problem, but he'd have to look for the favorable moment, and hope Heolstor was in a forgiving mood.

As if Heolstor's presence alone brought an aura of luxury with it, the room seemed transformed just by his being there. The transformation probably was caused by Heolstor's presence—and, naturally, a whole lot of hasty work by some servants, prompted by the sound of a full purse. The roaring fire was the first thing that Mehdal noticed, and the only thing he really cared about, but after he'd had time to initially thaw, he did become aware of the newfound spotlessness of the room. Heolstor, enthroned on a cushioned chair on the other side of the fire, smiled benignly at his attempts to regain feeling in his limbs.

"Thank the gods we're not sleeping under the stars anymore."

You're not, Mehdal thought, feeling uncharacteristically rebellious at seeing Heolstor enjoying every comfort. And this was just a brief stop for him. Heolstor was probably, literally, living royally by now in Meduseld. He kept the sentiments to himself. At least Heolstor was in a good mood, which meant his news might go over even better than he'd expected. He smiled politely, and nodded in agreement. "I am sorry I could not get a message through, my Lord. Some…children scared the messengers away."

"Children." Heolstor scowled. "I suppose it couldn't be helped. You can report in a minute. First, I have some bad news for you."

"Yes?" Mehdal responded distractedly, still intent on thawing his fingers. He'd be lucky if he didn't lose a few…

"Your brother has betrayed us."

Mehdal was instantly stuck to the core with a different kind of cold. "What?"

"Yes…" Heolstor still sounded as bored as he himself had just a second ago. "Ceryn betrayed us. All this time, he's been harboring feelings for our enemies, but only recently did he work up the courage to show them. He tried to warn Ecthelion, who thankfully got the right impression of the man—that he was fool."

"Was?" Mehdal tried to sound as unaffected as Heolstor, and kept his face turned away towards the fire so his expression of increasing fear wouldn't be seen.

"Yes. Fortunately he was no better at betrayal than he was at anything else he did, and it got him killed."

Mehdal nearly choked in the middle of swallowing the lump in his throat. Killed. Betrayed. Heolstor couldn't be saying those words about Ceryn, and not like that, not as if his death didn't even matter. Not as if Ceryn had never mattered.

"I am sorry, Mehdal." Heolstor mouth curved in a wry smile that came close to looking uncharacteristically apologetic. "I know you liked him more than Rador."

Mehdal gritted his teeth to keep from saying anything. Heolstor didn't sound sorry at all—except maybe for the inconvenience. Oh yes, he "liked" Ceryn. Ceryn had been the better, kinder, gentler of the two of them. Just as Rador was crueler than he, so he was so comparably cruel in comparison to Ceryn. He'd loved his little brother so much. Loved. Was he slipping so easily already into using the past tense?

The ache of abrupt loss was terrible, and suddenly the only thing in the world Mehdal wanted was to be out of Heolstor's suddenly intolerable presence. Right now, nothing but the swelling grief in his chest mattered; not Heolstor, nor Heolstor's plans, nor riches, nor power. After all, those were all things he'd always sought not just for himself, but even more for Ceryn's sake. The cruel irony of it. All of it, for both of them.For himself, but just as much for Ceryn.Who was dead now.

Mehdal held the tears back, his throat becoming tight and beginning to ache from the effort. Whatever he was going to do next did not involve breaking down in front of Heolstor. He was glad to be turned towards the fire now, since he never would have been able to keep the pain off his features. "That is bad news." It took everything he possessed to say it so calmly, but he did.

"Yes…yes, it is."

"How did he die?"

"Oh, that's all very…dismal to be talking about right now, don't you think? I'm sure you'd rather not think about that right now. You'll be glad to know no permanent damage was done. As I said, Ecthelion didn't believe him, so that part of the plan went as smoothly as expected. We're almost done, my friend."

My friend. Mehdal wanted shove the words back down Heolstor's throat. Any man who could talk so casually of his brother's death was no friend of his. He could have easily killed Heolstor at that moment—just grabbed him and throttled him, or shook him to death, or gutted him with his knife, or hung him from the rafters and—

"Are you alright, Mehdal?"

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"You should come with me, tonight. Now that I've emptied Meduseld of the King and Queen's more stubborn followers and deposited them in the dungeons, there are plenty of rooms available."

"I'm very tired. I think I'll just stay here, if that is alright."

"Of course, of course. I assume the rest of the men are in Meduseld, or somewhere here in the city?"

Mehdal nodded. Heolstor was in such a cheerful mood, his own mood went unnoticed.

"Good. Stay here tonight if you want, but be there yourself early. Next, we must arrange some tragic accident for one or both of their Majesties. Thengel must go first, I think."

Mehdal gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Ah, that's right, you said you were tired. We can make these decisions tomorrow." Heolstor stood, picking his cloak up off the arm of his chair, taking his time about putting it on. "I am sorry for your loss, Mehdal."

Your loss. Loss. Mehdal was left with the words ringing in his ears. In any and every worst-case scenario he'd ever imaged, none of them had included Ceryn's death. His, maybe, considering how deeply entwined he was in Heolstor's plot. Rador he'd never seen as living long, given his love for violence. Ceryn, with his love for books, and quiet, and normal life…never.

"Why, Ceryn? Why did you do it?" he whispered brokenly into the loneliness of the room, which felt all the lonelier for knowing there was now no one without who cared enough to enter and comfort him. "If you'd just given me a little more time…"

"I am sorry for your loss, Mehdal." Heolstor had sounded as emotionally devoid of empathy as ever. Why had he never noticed that lack of feeling, that utter lack of care for any being besides himself? The truth was, he had. But he'd ignored it, served Heolstor out of a misplaced sense of duty, and followed the part of himself that had desired everything Heolstor promised. And Ceryn, who had never wanted any of it, had paid the price for it.

Guilt, and anger, and shocked pain finally brought the first tear-drop trailing down his face.

"It's not my loss you should be sorry for, Heolstor. If I were you, I would start worrying about what you might stand to lose." Not to mention, what he'd already lost and was unaware of.

---o—oOo—o---

The greeting for Feorh that Cwén had on her lips died when she saw the stranger standing on her doorstep. Hospitality was something she tried to show indiscriminately, but between the surprise of it not being Feorh, or anyone else she might have expected, and the fearful voice within her whispering doubtfully: "He has a sword, he looks like a soldier—why would a strange soldier be knocking on your door?" she only stood there, frozen, staring at him. He could have been sent by Aeron. Or he could be one of Heolstor's men. She didn't see any other soldiers, though, and if he was from Heolstor, wouldn't he have brought others with?

The man was smiling a stiff, polite smile, while the miserable rain drizzled on, cascading off the slanted roof above him, showering him while he shifted uncomfortably on the doorstep. He didn't ask to come in, but offered hesitantly, "I...mean you no harm, my Lady."

"My Lady," was it? That was rather courtly. Cwén still felt uneasy, but he looked so miserable, and wet, and apologetic. "Who are you?"

"You would not know my name, but I am a friend. Please…may I come in?"

The rain and cold were blowing in, and there was such a sense of both physical discomfort and sorrow surrounding the man, she couldn't help but step aside. Cwén hardly had enough time to think, "What will Araedhelm say?" before Araedhelm spoke from the hall, voice booming with displeasure.

"You."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. A very angry one.

The wet figure in the doorway stood awkwardly just within the doorway, trying to be inconspicuous—a difficult thing to do when you're dripping all over the floor. He looked uncomfortable, sodden, sad, and weary, among other things, but not even slightly surprised by Araedhelm's greeting.

Araedhelm loomed, rigidly pulling himself upright to block the hallway. "You let him in?" he asked Cwén disbelievingly. Then a second thought occurred to him, and he amended, aiming his gaze once again at their visitor, "He didn't use force, did he?"

The man was still unperturbed, but not unapologetic. He seemed prepared for just such a reception, speaking with so much intrinsic rationality it even had an effect on Araedhelm's easily-aroused temper. "I did not use force. As I told your wife, I am here as a friend."

Araedhelm's temper, even partially assuaged, was impressive. "Did you really expect me not to recognize you? You may not have seen me, but I saw you many times while I was watching that camp. I don't suppose you had anything to do with the way Captain Thorongil was treated as a prisoner—maybe you just sat back and watched it all happen?"

"Yes, I did watch."

"You—"

"And that is something I will regret for the rest of my life. Not that my regret makes it any more forgivable, I'm sure, but I do regret it. That is why I mean to make restitution, at least as much as I can."

Araedhelm continued to glare daggers at the man regardless.

Cwén considered for a moment suggesting they at least offer the man a seat while he explained, but she thought better of it quickly. She might need all the favor she could get in a moment, if she was to keep Araedhelm from killing the man right there in the hallway.

The man sighed deeply, and said quietly, as if to himself, "I knew the hardest part would be convincing you to let me help…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Araedhelm demanded.

"Exactly what I said. I want to help. I know that can't be easy to believe, considering my record, but I am in earnest, and will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I am your ally. I only hope my initiation doesn't include something suicidal, as I can assure you I could be a valuable asset. If you accept my offer, I give you my word, I would die in your cause to ensure its success."

"Your word," Araedhelm scoffed. "And how do I know your 'word' means anything at all? If you would stand silently by while a child is kidnapped, and a man beaten and tortured for no reason other than entertainment, then I hardly think you're the kind of man I'd want as an ally."

"I—"

"No, wait, don't tell me," Araedhelm interrupted mockingly. "You had a change of heart. You woke up one morning and, for no apparent reason, decided to do something decent for once in your life. Being cruel and heartless become a bit tiring after doing it on a daily basis for so long?"

"Yes, actually, it does. But I did not make this decision lightly, or for no reason."

"I don't know what kind of game Heolstor is trying to play by sending you here, but we're not as gullible as you, or he, seem to think."

"Araedhelm, why don't you give the man a chance to explain himself?"

"Captain," Araedhelm protested at Thorongil's sudden appearance. "I thought you were going to say hidden until—"

"Lieutenant, if you're going to kill the man, it hardly matters whether he sees me or not, now does it?" Thorongil studied the stranger evenly. "Mehdal. That is your name, is it not?"

"Aye, it is." Mehdal looked back just as evenly, but shame colored his words. "I was not sure you would remember me, considering the condition you were for most of the time during our brief…acquaintance."

"So you really didn't expect either of us to recognize you? You thought we would just—"

Thorongil shot Araedhelm a quelling look. "You had better explain yourself quickly, before my lieutenant stops displaying so much restraint."

Mehdal's mouth quirked in amusement briefly, an expression not lost on Araedhelm, and one which did nothing to undo his dislike for the man. The smile was quick to slide from Mehdal's face, though, as he thought of the explanation he had to offer. The camaraderie between these two men told him it would not be too difficult for him to explain.

"I trusted Heolstor. I trusted him, because he was the only one who'd ever trusted me with such responsibility, and because I have a younger brother I would do anything for…or, rather, I had a brother I would have done anything for." Mehdal paused, both because his own emotions felt like they were about to make an undignified escape by means of tears, and in order to let his words sink in. He cleared his throat. "Now, I have no brother, and no further reason to put blind faith in a man I once followed."

Araedhelm was looking down at the floor, expression unreadable.

Thorongil's face was full of empathy and dawning comprehension. "Your brother died—by Heolstor's order?"

"I don't know," Mehdal said, voice low with undisguised anguish. All his dreams and aspirations that had seemed so solid but hours ago had been dashed, and he felt too worn out emotionally and physically to convince these men, whom he knew he had no right to be believed by. He'd never felt like he entirely belong to anyone, or belonged in anyplace, but Heolstor had given him a cause to be a part of. Never had he felt more isolated or insignificant then at that moment. His grief manifested itself in the form of a torrent of desperate words.

"I don't know why my brother decided to betray Heolstor's cause now, when he could have done it hundreds of times before, but he did. I do not know if his death was ordered by Heolstor, but I am not so blind that I will willingly close my eyes to the possibility. I trusted Heolstor with my life, and Ceryn's, and that is what I regret more than anything. In doing so, I killed my brother. Whether it was by Heolstor's orders, or someone else's, I am responsible for involving him on the wrong side in the first place. I would be lying if I said none of my motives for helping you were about revenge, but I am not lying to you when I tell you I have motivation to fight against Heolstor. I will not follow a man with so little concern for anyone but himself any longer. To Heolstor, my brother's death was not only unworthy of more than a moment of his attention, but in his opinion, Ceryn was a fool for what he did. I see Heolstor for what he is."

Even if he did still harbor resentment of Mehdal's part, Araedhelm looked at least grudgingly sympathetic by the end of the heart-felt confession. Still, he wasn't one to allow his suspicions and anger to be assuaged so easily. "Yes, it's all very sad, and may very well be enough motive to turn against Heolstor for a man of any sense. If it's true. For all we know, you could be a fine actor sent here by Heolstor to win our trust."

Mehdal sighed. "I can offer you little proof as to my sincerity. But I ask you this—if Heolstor knew where you were, why would he go to the trouble of deceiving you? Why come up with some complex story when he could simply send some of his men to take you and have you safely under his control again? He wouldn't have any need to know your plans or future actions if you were once again his prisoners and incapable of acting against him. Even if you have others ready to act with you, what could they do without their leaders, and with you once again hostage against their co-operation?"

"That may make sense, but Heolstor has already proven himself beyond my comprehension." Araedhelm growled. "For all I know, sending you to play with us brings him some kind of entertainment. He's already shown quite well that his ideas of amusement—"

"Araedhelm," Thorongil spoke the single word quietly, but with an authority that cut his lieutenant off immediately.

Thorongil and Araedhelm made eye-contact for a moment, and came to a silent decision. Thorongil gestured towards the other room. "Come, I think we should talk."

To be continued…

See, Heolstor? That's what you get for being a major-class jerk. Next time, buddy, work on expressing a little more genuine sorrow over having to kill your faithful lieutenant's little bro… XD