Chapter 86
The Unconventional Way
War is a never-ending sequence of risks and difficult decisions. At times it seems as if there is no choice that can ever lead back to safety again. At least that was the way of it in this particular war, where there was danger everywhere and no land could at all be presumed to be safe. Sauron had spread his net far and wide. Fear travelled before the armies he commanded into the fields.
He had a terrible reputation to build on. The elves had never forgotten what he had done in the Second Age and how close it had all come to the utter defeat of the Free Folk. Dwarves as a rule are excellent record keepers. You have to be if you want to hold a grudge against another for thousands of years.
The race of men are often different in this. Men are less inclined to stick to the facts and tend to either forget their history or rewrite it to suit some political or ideological agenda. Much as I would love to protest that this only happened in Middle Earth, where societies are not so far advanced, that is not a claim I can make in good conscience. Experience of years of having to correct the ignorant on matters they mindlessly parroted from someone they deemed wiser than themselves – for whatever reason – has taught me that much.
And saying that societies in Middle Earth are not as advanced as I was used to is only partially true, I should admit. They have almost none of the technological advantages that I enjoyed in England, that is true, but the people are by no means backwards. They live in a different world and have different priorities, but I have found the wise, the brave and the clever among them.
But back to the matter in hand. Men tend to forget their history. In Dale and Esgaroth they had the benefits of longer memories than theirs to rely upon. In Rohan the danger was clear from the threats at their borders and Gondor could not have ignored the problem if they tried.
Still attitudes towards Sauron were different depending on how well folk remembered their history. Thoren discovered this for himself, mostly with the men of Esgaroth. Resentment had been stirred up with the traitors and how that whole disaster had played out. None of the remaining men of that town would now make the same mistake, but still the sentiment that this could all have been avoided was felt far and wide. They genuinely believed that if Thoren had just played nice with Sauron's messenger, none of this would have ever happened. No one who knew their history could ever have made such a mistake.
But the time to learn was over. The only way lessons were learned that winter was the hard way…
Thoren
Thoren felt the resentment simmer in the air when he walked around the mannish section of the camp, especially the part that contained the men of Esgaroth. They were sullen and taciturn when he passed them by. Conversations fell silent, heads were averted. If folk looked at him at all, they did it from the corners of their eyes. When they saw that he had noticed their gaze, they looked away.
This is what we have come to.
This alliance of his, that he had been so hopeful about at first, had deteriorated into distrust and resentment. None now trusted these men and they in turn knew it. He still spoke of unity, but the words were hollow. There was no unity to be found, not when the trust had been so thoroughly broken.
They will break and run upon the field of battle. Men who are so broken cannot stand.
And yet he'd had little choice but to take them with him when he marched. If he had left them behind they would have stirred up trouble in Erebor, they might have broken faith completely. As it was, he still clung to the fragile hope that they remembered that it was their own they defended as well as their allies, that they would find a hidden reserve of courage and hold their ground.
'The courage has left them,' Elvaethor, who walked next to him, observed. 'They have little taste for battle.'
'I know,' said Thoren.
The mood was not much lighter in other parts of the camp. Fear and nervous anticipation permeated everything. The mood was kindlier, but that was all. He was greeted here, with words and nods. These people yet had faith in him. They still believed in their own cause, which counted immeasurably. They knew that there was nothing between the Enemy's armies and their loved ones should they fall.
'I've seen more cheer at a funeral, to tell you the truth,' Flói commented when Elvaethor and Thoren found themselves at a campfire that was not yet so crowded. 'Stew?'
Thoren nodded. 'Of your own making?'
'Alas, our uncle's making.' He pointed to Dori who was indeed stirring a pot with the kind of single-minded concentration that blocked out everything else. 'So at least we shouldn't spend the night writhing with agony.'
'Would that have been the case if you had prepared it?' Halnor asked, showing up on the other side of the fire with bowl in hand. 'I'll know to be prepared next time.'
'There's no telling what my cookery would do to your stomach,' Flói informed them sunnily. 'As I always tell Jack: I'll catch the food. I'll leave the preparation to hands who've more skill for it.'
Elvaethor smiled. 'Aye, but what to do when there is no wildlife to be caught?'
'Then, Master Elvaethor, I reckon I'll starve.'
'How about vegetables?'
'I would not pin my hopes of his survival on that, if I were you, my friend,' Thoren said. The lighter mood that Flói provided without fail wherever he went was catching. It was beyond the shadow of a doubt the very thing that made him such a good companion for Jack, whose dark moods were unequalled. It did not therefore sit easy with him that Flói was here and not in Erebor. 'He persistently refuses to eat vegetables. One time, when he was a child, he was not allowed to leave his chair until he had eaten his vegetables and he still sat there the next morning, plate in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and not a single bite eaten. Aunt Thora rather gave up after that.'
'It is well known that dwarves are stubborn to a fault,' Elvaethor said.
'True enough, Master Elvaethor,' Halnor nodded. 'But the elves are not much different in that way. You especially. Else why would you have chosen kinship with us, eh? Flói, will you feed me before morning or would you like me to stand here holding my bowl in pleading until that time?'
'It's my uncle who does the cooking.'
'But you who did the offering. I heard you loud and clear.'
The conversation descended rapidly into good-natured bickering – no doubt exactly as Flói had intended – but Thoren's attention wandered. 'You look deep in thought, my friend,' he said to Elvaethor.
'I am,' he replied. His gaze was fixed on Halnor who, wholly unaware of this, tried to wrestle the ladle out of Flói's quick hands. 'Your friend's words… confound me.'
This he did not understand. 'Confound you? How?'
'He said that I chose kinship with you.'
Thoren did not see the problem. 'Well, you did, didn't you? You said yourself that you had no way back after you pledged yourself before the Gates of Erebor. You chose your kinship in the same way that my mother once did.' He looked at his friend's face. 'How could you possibly think otherwise?'
Elvaethor was lost for words for a whole minute. 'I believed I chose allegiance and friendship,' he spoke at last. 'And that would have sustained me. This is beyond what I expected.'
'Well, then you are a fool,' Thoren told him frankly. 'It may be true that no official documents have been signed to this effect, but I reckon we'll get round to that when the war's fought. Might be that Uncle Ori's already made a start on that in secret.' He grinned up at Elvaethor. 'That's how my mother was adopted into his family, you see. My uncles made the decision and had Glóin draw up the relevant documents, so it was all signed and sealed before my mother ever even learned of it. Might be that the same has already happened to you.'
The elf-turned-dwarf pondered this for a few moments, before he smiled at last. 'Such a fate would not be unwelcome to me.'
'We know,' Thoren said. 'Believe it or not, some folk had a fair bit of money riding on you declaring your allegiance to us at some stage.' Of course he himself had only learned of it after the whole thing had been done, so that he could not tamper with the proceedings by apprising Elvaethor of these goings-on. 'It will not surprise you that my Uncle Nori was among their number and that he has since come into some riches.' It seemed to him that Uncle Nori, for all his foolish behaviour, had a very observant nature that enabled him to anticipate what folk were about to do.
Elvaethor chuckled. 'Indeed it does not surprise me, my friend.'
'There you go, Master Elvaethor!' Halnor announced, pushing a bowl with hot stew into Elvaethor's hands, which effectively ended the conversation. 'I have done battle with this menace here and have extracted food for you at extreme peril to both my life and my sanity. Please accept this humble offering.'
Elvaethor made a bow. 'With great pleasure, Master Halnor. You have my gratitude.'
'I shall throw myself back into the fray in search of more so that we may all eat before this night is through,' Halnor said and did as he promised. 'Your supper's coming as soon as I've dealt with your cousin, Thoren. Give me a moment.'
'Shout if you need my aid.'
'Will do, but I reckon I'll be up to it.'
'Oi, I'm right here, you know.'
Thoren smiled. His folk at least were able to jest among themselves and find some joy still in the small things. At times his mind was so weighed down that he became almost as morose as Jack, but these moments lightened his heart and allowed him to smile. A short distance away a few of his people raised their voice in song.
This is defiance of the Enemy almost as much as fighting. The battle must be fought, but what good was winning if they lost themselves in the process? What good did victory do them if they lost everything they held dear, everything that made them what they had been? We must not just survive, we must thrive again. Therein lies true victory.
He received his portion of stew from Halnor's triumphant hands and ate. Elvaethor had been dragged into the playful teasing and bickering. He looked at home among them, even though he looked nothing like them at all. So Thoren was content to let him be and let him enjoy what little light-heartedness he still may.
His own thoughts wandered other paths. He finished his food and made to go for another round through the camp. The moment he rose he did not find himself short of volunteers to accompany him, but he turned them away.
'I shall be safe enough here,' he told them. He had no intention of striding unaccompanied through the mannish segment again. That would have been unwise. 'Stay and finish your food. I insist.'
There was little enough they could do about that; he was their King. And they knew him all well; they were familiar with his restless spells. So he stood up and walked. The act of moving, as always, had a calming effect on him. His mother had always claimed that this was because he had been conceived while his parents had still been on the quest and that even after, while she still carried him, she'd had to traipse all over the Mountain to sort out folks' problems for them, because his father could not yet walk well enough. According to her, walking around had calmed him down even when in the womb, so it stood to reason that the act of moving about should calm him even after.
Thoren personally liked to think that he felt better because he felt like he was actually doing something instead of sitting around idly when there was so much to be done. It couldn't be done now, he knew, but the restlessness remained. His fellows might shake it off for the duration of the night, but he found himself unable.
His feet carried him to the southeast, until he reached the edge of the camp and could look along the stretch of land in the direction of the Easterling army. It could not yet be seen, not with his eyes. The elves' keen sight might detect signs of them in the distance, but that was beyond his skill.
It was then perhaps fortunate that when he looked to his left, he found one of that race standing beside him. He had not heard her approach, which was not unexpected; elves were very quiet on their feet, unheard unless they chose so.
'My lady,' he acknowledged. They had not spoken since the night of her arrival. 'What brings you here?'
'The same purpose that directed your feet,' Galadriel replied. 'My mind is not quiet tonight.'
'They cannot be far from us now,' Thoren said. He squinted, but saw no more than he had already seen. 'The battle cannot be long either.'
He had believed that he would dread it, that despair would grip him tight and not let go. He knew he was about a fool's errand, a doomed attempt to turn back the tide of evil that now rose against them. He only felt calm. The choice had been made. He had done what he could. Now he could only stand and fight and pray that they may last long enough for Thráin to do what he must.
Maker keep you, brother. May your errand succeed and may he lead your footsteps home once more. He missed him here tonight. He'd never had a more steadfast friend than Thráin. But his place was not here, not now. Thoren would never trust another with the task Thráin now faced.
'Can you see them?' he asked Galadriel.
'I can see the smoke of their campfires,' she said. 'They are too far away yet to see more.'
Thoren nodded, resigned. 'We will know more tomorrow.'
She looked at him then. 'You do not fear this battle.' It was not a question.
He corrected her: 'I do not fear facing the consequences of the choices I have made. And I do not fear death.' All true. He feared for his people and their survival, but he had known that his own life had little value from the moment he first defied Sauron's messenger. It was the risk he took. To shy away from the consequences was not something any dwarf could do in good conscience.
'The courage of the dwarves is legendary,' she said.
'So is our stubbornness,' Thoren remarked wryly. 'And this is not courage.' He looked southeast again. 'And it is not this army that unnerves me. Or you.' He studied her face. It was hard to read – any elf's was – but prolonged exposure to Elvaethor and Tauriel had taught him much. 'This army is only flesh and blood. The one we both dread is built with magic and trickery.'
'And more so than you yet know, Thoren son of Thorin.' She looked at him. 'Three of his wraiths fly with the forces that now march north.'
He did not ask her how she knew. It was well-known that Lady Galadriel had a way of knowing things that she had not seen with her own eyes and that she had not been told either. He expected no less from one who could converse in thought and do many other magical things besides. If she said it was so, Thoren was prepared to take her word for it.
'We will face them as we did before,' he said. What other choice had they?
Galadriel nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. 'And yet there is hope even now.'
She did not tell him anything that he did not already know. 'My brother's mission. Aye, I know. And it is in that I place my hope.' So he had told his kin and so he had told Thranduil and Tauriel. He stood by that still.
She did not contradict him, but neither did she agree. She had turned towards the east and looked at the horizon there. Evidently she had seen something that Thoren had not, because a knowing and pleased smile was on her face. 'Dwarves are remarkable creatures.'
This took him somewhat by surprise; it was not a thing often remarked by either men or elves. 'In what way, my lady?'
'One may find them foolhardy and unkind, but they are loyal beyond anything the other races could ever achieve,' she replied and well, now he knew at whose feet Elvaethor had learned to be so enigmatical. 'Look to the east, Thoren son of Thorin, and tell me what you see.'
He did as he was bid. At first there was nothing. The land stretched out before him, dark and endless. Yet Galadriel would have a reason for telling him – she was not quite like other elves who played games on the unwary for the sake of their own amusement – and so he looked and squinted some more until he saw what she meant. 'I see a dark speck on the horizon, moving west towards us,' he answered. 'What is it that you see?'
'I see your kinsmen from the Iron Hills,' she said, smiling still. 'They have come to join you.'
Beth
Beth was no natural horsewoman; by the end of the march she was sure she had no backside left. Her legs and lower back were not much better off. Despite the fact that Folca was indeed a very well-behaved horse, the movements of him were still so unfamiliar that her body didn't know what to do with them. So naturally by the end of the day she felt aches in places she had not previously known existed. It had been bad enough during the ride to Edoras, but this somehow felt worse or perhaps she had simply forgotten how uncomfortable it was.
But nobody else was moaning or complaining. They swung from the saddle with ease, the same way they had mounted up that morning. They clearly had none of the issues that Beth experienced.
Not for the first time she felt absolutely useless here.
Boromir saw her and took pity on her. He dismounted himself before he came to her and helped her back to the ground. Folca looked back at them to see what she was doing. His eyes studied her and found her wanting.
'Quit looking. I'm still learning,' she admonished the beast.
Boromir chuckled.
'Come, there is a fire ready,' he said.
Beth nodded and to her surprise found that the fire Boromir intended was one they were to share with Théodred and Éomer. Gandalf and Aragorn also arrived soon after. Content that at least for now she was among friends, Beth sat down and accepted a drink from Théodred. Thank goodness that it was only water. Ale was something she had not quite got used to, despite several attempts to learn to like it.
Éomer was in an odd sort of mood. He kept watching her and had done that for most of the day. He rode somewhat ahead of her and at times had looked over his shoulder at her with bewilderment, disbelief or even sometimes amazement. Beth couldn't think why he'd do that. She hadn't done much of consequence and he had only met her once before he made it to Helm's Deep in the nick of time.
'We have some hours yet to ride tomorrow,' Théodred said when they were all seated. 'And then we must hold Saruman to account.' He looked at Beth. 'I have told Éomer of you, because I believe that if I should fall in days to come, the King of Rohan should heed the words that you speak, Beth.'
That would explain the odd looks. 'Oh.'
'You may speak freely in this company,' he continued. 'And I would have your advice, if you are of a mind to give it to me.'
For a moment she was speechless. Folk did not often ask for her advice. They hadn't before the Fellowship broke – because Aragorn often turned to Thráin for words of wisdom then – and they hadn't after either. Boromir had taken on much of the actual advising, especially at the time when she was still recuperating.
'Well, Saruman has been locked into Orthanc with Gríma,' she began, recalling the details. 'If it has all gone as the book would have it, mind, and that is by no means guaranteed. But if the book is right, then the Ents have taken control of Isengard and Saruman can't leave Orthanc without their say-so.' She looked at Aragorn. 'Merry and Pippin are supposed to be there.'
Aragorn nodded, seemingly pleased to hear that. 'It gladdens my heart to hear it.'
'Is he a danger still?' Théodred asked.
'Hard to say,' Beth responded. 'Not to us, according to the book, but that's all been turned on its head, because you were not written to be there. Neither were Boromir and I.' Legolas and Gimli were meant to come this way, Théoden was supposed to ride to Orthanc. In their places now three others rode, two of whom were supposed to be dead and the last one had never been intended for this world at all. What a bloody mess.
'How so?' Éomer asked. For one newly initiated in the mysteries of the book he was remarkably quick on the uptake.
She took a leaf out of Thráin's book and gave it to him as bluntly as she could: 'The book would have both Théodred and Boromir dead by this point. I am not written to be there for the more obvious reason.' She shot a glance at Gandalf. 'It shouldn't matter too much.' She hoped. 'Saruman tries to convince us to be friends again. Nobody is even remotely interested in that, of course. Gandalf breaks his staff, Gríma chucks a palantír out of the window and then they retreat back inside. And we leave.'
Théodred frowned. 'We are content to leave him there?'
'Guarded by the Ents, yes.' But it didn't sit well with Beth either. 'I must admit I don't like it much either. According to the book he'll talk the Ents into letting him leave eventually. His voice has some hypnotic quality to it apparently.'
'His voice is the source of his power,' Gandalf said. 'It does not serve to underestimate it.'
'Anyhow, he'll get out with Gríma and he spends his time terrorising the hobbits of the Shire as a bit of a small-time thug before that eventually blows up in his face. But I'd rather he never made it out of Orthanc at all.'
There, she'd said it. Well, she hadn't said outright that she thought it'd be a much better idea to kill the guy where he stood – honestly, it would solve so many problems – but she definitely implied it. The truth was that it didn't satisfy her sense of justice one bit that someone as treacherous and evil as Saruman could walk out of his tower as he pleased and still manage to turn the Shire into hell for the hobbits. Yes, his power was as good as gone by then, but that shouldn't make a difference. When there had been a crime, there should be punishment. She reckoned that Théodred perhaps understood that.
Silence fell when they digested her words. Gandalf looked worried and preoccupied. Aragorn was thoughtful. Théodred and Éomer wore twin looks of displeasure; it was not so hard to see that they were related. Boromir looked at her.
'You agree, don't you?' she asked softly, not quite sure how he would take her suggestion to kill the traitor.
He nodded. 'I do. It seems to me poor repayment to our hobbit friends to allow one so evil in their homeland when we may yet have the power to prevent it.' He spoke loudly enough that the others could hear. He looked at Aragorn first until the other man nodded. Then he turned to Gandalf. 'He was a friend of you once, I know, but he must be stopped. This treason cannot stand.'
Théodred was the one who responded. 'You are right. It was Rohan that he betrayed and so it is Rohan's responsibility to see him dealt with. I would not see his evil inflicted on another people.'
'Yet we should not be too hasty in our actions,' Gandalf counselled. 'Saruman was deep in our Enemy's counsel. He knows much that may be of value to us in the days to come. We would do well to reason with him before we attempt aught else.'
'Lady Beth knows much that may be of value to us,' Théodred countered. 'And Boromir does likewise. I would sooner heed them whom I trust than put my faith in the words of a wizard who has proven false.'
It was a compliment and Beth certainly took it as such. 'The book is not always as reliable as we'd like,' she reminded him. 'Saruman might be more up to date with the current events than it is.' By this point she might have given her right arm – she could always learn to write with her left – for some actual decent information regarding the state of the world. What was Sauron doing right now? Was Gondor still safe? Was the war in the north still going their way?
It was news of Thráin and the Fellowship that she wanted most. It was also the kind of news she hoped that Saruman was unable to give. The less he knew about the Ring and the quest, the better she'd like it.
'We shall see,' Théodred said, unconvinced. 'He may have news to offer us, but I would not allow myself to trust it, nor should anyone who would call himself wise.' He stared Gandalf down. 'I shall rely on the honest counsel of my friends, not the deceitful words of a proven traitor.'
That ended the discussion, which suited Beth well enough. She ate the stew she was offered and then tried to find a comfortable position to lie down and get some sleep. The air was still very chilly, but there was little wind. That small consolation would have to suffice for the time being.
Boromir was not far behind.
There were moments when she was not sure what to make of it, when she remembered all the good reasons why this should not be, but then she also remembered that she had nowhere left to go to, that this world was her world now and that there was no good reason to turn down a man she so… Like was not the right word and admire, though the truth, didn't do justice to the depth of feeling she had for him. But her mind hesitated to call it love. It shied away from that, because without fail it reminded her that was what she had felt for Alex. What she felt now was not the same in ways that she did not yet have the words to describe.
'You did well,' he told her when he sat down beside her.
'As well as I could,' Beth corrected. 'We don't even know if what we'll find is what is written in the book.' It seemed likely, what with the trees appearing at Helm's Deep, but there had been no confirmation of any kind. This made her nervous.
Boromir was unperturbed. 'Théodred knows this.'
She had not held anything back, that was true enough. 'It will have to do,' she agreed. Théodred at least took this seriously; there were considerably more men in his retinue than the book would have it. He wasn't being a fool about this.
The camp was quieting down around them. It seemed wise to do the same, but at the same time it was also foolish to waste the opportunity to actually have a proper chat with the man she had more or less agreed to marry. Nothing more or less about it, girl, she reminded herself. That kiss had declared her intentions for all to see. And I mean it.
Beth was reasonably sure of that. Boromir was a good man. She held him in high esteem and yet clearly defining her feelings for him remained a struggle. She valued his company, she valued his conversation and his touches, rare and brief though they were, woke butterflies in her stomach, which hadn't happened since Alex. That sensation at least was familiar.
It was everything else that was such a mess.
And we may both still die.
Every time she came close to letting the barriers come down, that thought wriggled its way in and it terrified the hell out of Beth. How did Kate do that? How could she ever abandon those reserves and throw herself into a relationship with someone who still had wars to fight, who may yet die in battle?
How can I do that?
She did not have the answer. Neither did Boromir, who took her hand in his and simply held it. It was warm and steady, a strong reminder that he was very much alive.
'I don't know how to do this,' she confessed, blurting out the words before she could check herself. 'I don't know how to do relationships.' Not anymore. Once it had come to her as natural as breathing, but the world had been a simpler place then and not nearly as dangerous. 'It doesn't help that it feels as though we're all building it on shifting sands and so many lies and…' She took a deep breath. 'I want to do this.' She had chosen that and if she dared to let herself want, this was what she wanted. 'But I do not know how.'
He must have spent some time thinking about this as well. 'Then we take away the lie,' he said. The flames of the campfires reflected in his eyes.
'I… don't understand.'
So he clarified. 'Wed me.' In the dumbstruck silence that followed, he elaborated: 'We are to return to Edoras when our business at Orthanc is concluded. We have a little time.' He looked into her eyes; there was no chance that he didn't mean every word he spoke. 'Wed me.'
Some old, hurt and irrational part of Beth was already bolting. She reined it in and brought it to heel. No, Boromir was not Alex. In fact, he offered her the certainty Alex never had. Alex had always dismissed the idea of marriage as old-fashioned and out-dated. Later it occurred to her that he had done so because it made leaving her so much easier. She should have read the signs long before he left her.
Boromir was not Alex and neither was she. 'Yes,' she said before she could change her mind. Why can I not let myself want this without reservations? 'Yes.'
Her words put a smile on his face and the expression on it was open, his wishes plain for all too see. For reasons that she could not quite comprehend, he wanted her and this answer was the one he wanted to hear.
She had no warning before he kissed her. He had kissed her forehead before and that had dislodged something within her. A kiss full on the mouth was even more powerful than that. It was a shock to the system, a blast against her reservations from which they could not recover. They were left in the dust and finally, finally she wanted this.
It was as though a dam of emotion had broken and the waves of it crashed over her. It was all she could do to hold on to Boromir in the hopes of not drowning in it. The first damage to the dam had been done when she believed him dead. It had perhaps only been a matter of time before something came along and knocked the whole thing down entirely.
She responded in kind to the kiss. In some way it anchored her. Everything else had been turned on its head, but here was one promise of a special kind of certainty that she had never known before. It only made sense to hold on tight to it.
This was nothing like Alex and she understood why now. I was in love with Alex, but Boromir is someone I can love for all my days. He was steadfast in a way Alex hadn't known how to be and reliable in much the same manner. And for reasons beyond her comprehension he loved her.
They broke the kiss eventually.
'Yes,' Beth said again. 'Yes.' This time her heart was fully in it.
Next time: How to Kidnap a Mûmak, a Simple Plan, by Thráin son of Thorin.
Thank you all so much for reading. Reviews, as always, would be very, very welcome.
