Chapter 11: T.A. 2790 – Deep roots are not reached by the frost
It was on a late summer's day when an increasing murmur of running waters told the lonely traveller that the fords of River Isen were close.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and he drove his horse on, enlived by the prospectives to reach the opposite shore before nightfall.
Just a few more days and he would leave the Gap of Rohan behind, while the hills of Dunland would finally lay ahead – which meant, he would reach his aim before the last days of summer and possibly even succeed in returning home before the first snow would block the Great East Road and the High Pass.
The fords were broad and shallow in this place; that shallow that even a cart would easily make it to the other side without running into danger of canting over, and so he didn't worry for neither the safety of his horse nor for his own.
Having reached the river banks, he dismounted and patted his horse's cheek and shoulder, while he leaned his forehead against his companion's.
"Mae carnen, mellon nin! Manen le? Im penorven!"
He smiled, when his trusted four legged fellow nudged him, and he hurried to remove his bags, the saddle and his bedroll from the horse's back for the night. It was not sleep, he longed for, but to rest his body and mind before he'd have to continue his journey the next morning.
Weeks of travelling lay behind him, as did the wide landscapes of Wilderland and Rohan, and he hadn't received any news from his kin nor had he been able to let them know where he dwelt.
His plan had envisaged to reach the fords of River Isen much earlier, but he had forgotten about counting in an involuntary stay with the Rohirrim and their king Fréalaf at the Golden Hall of Edoras.
They caught him shortly after he had crossed the Anduin, when he was on his way through the Wold, and if he wanted to keep his cover up, he had to follow them to justify himself to the king.
Thankfully, they decided to let him go after a couple of days, as he was rather disinclined to either give away the real purpose of his journey or to reveal his true self to the people of Rohan.
It was not that he held anything against them, but not knowing, in this case, also meant less danger.
Thranduil knew very well, it would most probably become much more dangerous for him in reverse as soon as he'd cross the border to Dunland
Letting go of this thought was the last thing he did while he spent this last night under the starlit sky of Rohan.
Leaving the wastelands and barren plains of Wilderland behind had been more than welcome. The south of Greenwood, from the mountains down to the former halls of Amon Lanc, was barely to recognize any more and Mirkwood was truly the more fitting name, meanwhile, for the sick and suffering forest. The darkness, which spread from the ruined fortress of Dol Guldur, was almost as dense as the brushwood and the cobwebs, which made it impossible to travel on safe paths, and if there were still some, who had a doubt that an evil spirit had settled down here, there was none any more about the fact itself by now.
He fought an inward battle to keep his mind from thinking that this evil spirit was any other but the Dark Lord, but he failed in belying himself. Actually, he didn't need a proof, but others might not be that convinced of Sauron's return as he was, and he knew, they might take him for a naysayer – ignoring the fact, that he and his kin witnessed the change with their own eyes every day since they had left the hills of Amon Lanc.
Bearing all this in mind, he felt utterly relieved as soon as he had crossed the Anduin to continue his journey through the wide lands of the Riddermark.
That was before he crossed paths with a mounted patrol of the Rohirrim near Harwick, one of the larger settlements of the Wold...
"What business does a ranger of the north have in the provinces of the Riddermark", a harsh voice addressed him, while half a dozen arrowheads aimed at his head: "Speak rash!"
"No business", he replied: "that would bring harm to your people! Just the urge to travel south, before I can travel north again."
"This seems to be a rather long delay."
"I'd prefer another route, but there's none, since the Old Forest Road lies abandoned and since the elves do not endure travellers on the paths they shaped."
"That very well may be...or not! But it is not me you'll have to answer to. You'll have to answer to the king!"
And so he ended up within the company of a distrustful Éored on the way back to Edoras, where their king held court – and he thanked the Valar that the illusion, he had chosen, worked on the men of Rohan. There was no need for them to either know who he really was or what his true purpose was...
Edoras and the Golden Hall of the kings, Meduseld, came into sight, long before they reached the city, settled on a green hill amongst the grasslands of Rohan and sheltered against enemies from the south by the White Mountains.
The capital, the Rohirrim built for their people here, mostly consisted of plain wooden houses and at first sight Thranduil thought that the well-being of their horses meant more to them, than their own, as almost all of the stables were adorned with skilful carved images showing horse and rider, the kingdom's landmarks.
Far beyond skilled had been the craftsmen, who had built the Golden Hall, and even to him, whose eyes had seen the most miraculous places of Middle Earth, this hall appeared to be worthy of all the praise he had heard about it before.
Meduseld was a great hall, with its thatched roof gleaming golden in the sunlight and its doors faced north. As the houses and stables, he had seen in town, the hall as well was made of wood carved with images of beasts and birds, their eyes jewelled and their claws golden. Carvings also decorated the pillars, which supported the high roof, while colourful woven tapestry and cloths adorned the walls, depicting the history and well known figures of the Rohirrim.
Opposite to the heavy front gate the throne was settled on a stage and from down the throne the king stared at him – alert, distrustful and curious about what led him here.
That was, why he bowed and said: "Hail, Fréalaf, King of the Golden Hall and Lord of the Riddermark."
"I wished", the king replied: "I could return the greetings, but as far as I remember we never met before."
He nodded: "That is true! The name's Othar, my lord. I was on my way back to the north when your men picked me up."
"A name once well known amongst the men of the west..."
"An honour, even though, I just share the name."
"You're far from the north and from the borders the rangers use to watch."
"My journey led me to Laketown. Since Dale and Erebor are lost, the people there need more help, than they get."
"The dwarves of Erebor crossed these lands. Their king asked for permission to stay, but as you may know, my people had to suffer from attacks of the Dunlendings for many years. These are unsettled days. Laketown, master Othar, is far from Rohan. If I could offer help, I'd not deny it, but you came across my lands..."
"You don't have to justify yourself, Fréalaf King, not in your own halls and lands. The elves of Mirkwood do what's in their power to help."
The king cocked an eyebrow and smirked: "Then let's hope that it will be more, than they did to help the dwarves."
He swallowed an answer, close to giving his cover away. Instead, he just nodded and said: "Only time will tell, what will happen to the men of the lake. But that is not the only occurrence my brothers have to learn about. The shadow in Dol Guldur grows stronger. It is not safe any more to travel east."
"It never was, my friend! But stay here for a while and tell me more, while joining me and my nobles for a meal..".
Thranduil travelled north, alongside the Misty Mountains, after he had passed the Gap of Rohan and after he had left the Old South Road.
Mostly, he followed an old cart path which led him past or straight towards small settlements or single homesteads, where he asked for a meal and for information about the dwarves, but both, meals and information, ran rather sparse and instead of getting long expected news, he got eyed distrustfully or even hostile, so, that he had to search on his own for the dwarves of Erebor and their new king.
And so, it happened that once more several days passed by till he finally found what he was searching for...
Strange it felt to him, to imagine Thrain and his kin settled amongst hills and woods instead of halls of marble and stone, but none of the dwarves he came across appeared to be desperate or disenchanted; rather were they interested in any kind of information he was able to provide them with, and in any tale he was able to tell them – about Dale and Erebor, about the dragon and the lake and about other places he had seen.
He got welcomed with great hospitality and treated with kindness and respect, even more when he asked for the king and his kin and where to find them, but he knew well enough, that it was better not to take this for granted. None of those he came across would have given him an answer, if they'd have learned who he really was.
And so he kept silent once again, when he spent the night within Lord Fundin's house.
"I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything more satisfying, but you won't find the king within his hall these days. He's away for a meeting of our kin and it's not known when he'll be back."
His host lit a pipe and offered him another mug of zûl before he went on: "As it seems, this life in peace and calmness will be over soon..."
"You're not overzealous about those prospects as it seems?" Thranduil looked at him wonderingly, while he reached out for the mug to have a draft – more to please his host, than for the taste.
Fundin stroked his beard, slowly, frowning, thoughtfully and his eyes, clear and spirited within the weathered face, were fixed on a spot somewhere in front of him.
"I'm not", the dwarf admitted: "Does this sound strange for a warrior? That he likes peace and a life with his wife and sons?"
"Not at all..."
"Well, that is how I imagine my life to be. The truth is another. Whatever my liege will demand from me, I'll follow. Equal where he will lead me to."
"Even if it will bring death and ruin over you?"
"Even then. We're of the same kin; he's not only my king, he's my friend as well. I could never turn my back on him. But enough of this for tonight! Rest! Sleep! Tomorrow morning I'll lead you to his halls. One of the lads should be around for you to talk to..."
The hall, Thror had built for his family, resembled the Golden Hall of Edoras in many ways, even though it wasn't vested with a glimmering roof or skilfully carved pillars. It was more a farmhouse than a palace and instead of marbled floors its walls were built of framework, but it looked warm and comfortable with its thatched roof and the nearby stables and barn.
Thranduil still marvelled over this new home, the king had built up here, when the voice of his host tore him out of his thoughts: "Where are they, lass?"
"Thorin left early in the morning for to work at the forge and Frerin wanted to head out for hunting..."
He decided not to follow the discussion any longer, but went over to the barn. Curiosity might not have been known as a regal attitude, but for now he was a ranger of the rorth and therefore, he allowed himself to explore this place before he'd have to leave as there was none of the dwarves around he'd have wanted to talk to.
To his surprise, the barn was not all empty.
Armed with broom and pitchfork there was another dwarf busy at work:
It was not to miss that this one was a female, as her form was not as square and muscular built as compared to the males he knew. Her figure was rather smooth and rounded, instead.
Hard work had shaped her body, but it seemed fitting and it suited her well – in all those ways it was able to suit a dwarf well.
Long, thick strands of black hair fell down a strong, but also womanly back, kept in a loose braid, while black sideburns framed a rather narrow and tanned face.
Clear grey eyes stared at him in utter confusion and surprise, when she realized that she wasn't alone any more, and her mouth dropped open while her lips formed only one word: "You?"
It was within this moment, that he got aware, that he must have had forgotten about his cover...