Chapter 44:
Riders of Rohan
Author's Note: Whelp! NaNoWriMo is officially going to be ending tonight. I'm currently working on Chapter 45 and will likely have it out tonight or tomorrow. Then I'm either going to bulldoze ahead and write up until Aragorn and Gandalf reaches Edoras, or take a week off after giving you lot a years worth of Chapters in just one month (my gift to you after the year long hiatus). I'm going to transition from a monthly schedule to a weekly schedule and will attempt to keep it as closely as possible. The small child of mine will likely make it difficult to keep this up, but I want to try and finish this story.
Enjoy!
They'd been forced to sleep again that night, though Aragorn was loath to do so. The enemy had greatly distanced themselves from the search party and it was agreed on by the company that some fell will offered speed to the orcs while causing a great weariness amongst the pursuers. After some discussion, they'd agreed that the culprit was likely Saruman as their general understanding of sorcery of the enemies from earth told them that their magics were individual in nature and rarely affected those around them with any sort of strength. If it did, there was typically a way to divine such fell strength and break it.
Or so Aracasse had explained to him one evening when he'd asked.
Aragorn lay on the cold ground, finding sleep more difficult to come by that evening. His heart was heavy from their lack of success and hope quickly faded from his heart. Their time in Lorien felt like a distant dream only for him to wake into a nightmare. He shifted and closed his eyes attempting to will himself into a light doze. He missed her. Their final night together had brought them a tentative truce and the previous comfort derived from each other had given way to some measure of awkwardness one conversation hadn't overcome.
In the height of his failure, Aragorn wished he'd handled everything differently than he had. Ara was a proud person - a rather damaged person for an elf so young - and hid a great deal of her insecurities under false bravado. He'd known this, knew that her particular enemies had devised the most effective way to exploit those insecurities, and yet he still didn't handle her how he knew he should.
He frowned, but didn't open his eyes.
There was something wrong about his line of thinking. Handle? What did it mean to handle one's wife? He'd heard men of Rohan and Gondor speak such words in the past, but had never truly understood them. How could he? Aragorn had never been married or betrothed and the one woman he had courted rejected him in the end. What did it mean to handle one's wife and was there a better way to do so? Would the question even matter in the end?
It wasn't a happy thought to end on, but it was the one that precipitated him finally drifting off into troubled sleep. Once again, Legolas was the first to rise and woke them at dawn.
"Awake," Legolas muttered, "a red dawn rises. Strange things await us by the eaves of the forest. Good or evil, I do not know, but we are called."
Out of all of them, Boromir was the only one who seemed moderately refreshed after the night's rest. No one really knew what to make of his conundrum. The man had finally revealed to Aragorn the night before that his wound only itched and didn't pain or sting him. A quick inspection revealed a curious thing. Boromir's wound had already closed and scabbed over. The head wound was almost non-existent. The company were greatly concerned about this turn of events and Aragorn had taken Legolas aside to inquire about it. Neither knew what to make of the issue and determined to leave the matter be until such a time as they could ask someone with more knowledge on the subject than they.
As it was, the man turned in the direction of the rising sun with a frown dusting his red beard. Aragorn watched him and felt some pity for the man. Even if the fault of their company's failure rested solely on Aragorn's shoulders, Boromir's part in their misfortune was great and it took a great deal of personal struggle on Aragorn's part to keep himself from resenting the man.
"What omen is this, I wonder?" Boromir asked softly.
"A good one, I hope," Aragorn said. "Let us go."
They began their trek again. Hours passed and Aragorn continuously scanned the ground before him for any indication of the hobbits and his wife leaving traces of their continued existence. There were none and he was left demoralized by the time he led the little company into the downs. He looked to the west and found a great ring in the turf created by the trampling of many feet. He approached and knelt down to examine the brutalized earth.
"They rested here a while," he said, "but even the outward trail is already old. I fear that your heart spoke truly, Legolas: it is thrice twelve hours, I guess, since the Orcs stood where we now stand. If they held to their pace, then at sundown yesterday they would reach the borders of Fangorn."
"Could we see the forest if we climbed the hills?" Gimli asked.
"No, it is still too far away," Aragorn replied.
"Let us go on, then," Gimli said.
Aragorn nodded and led them due north. It would be a long while before they arrived at the edge of the forest. By the end of the day, Aragorn called for another halt feeling too weary to continue. He envied Legolas his ability to rest his mind and body while still being able to continue chase.
"I am unable to continue," Gimli said. "This trek is difficult for me. Dwarves are not made for such long distances."
"Aye, forgive me, Gimli," Aragorn replied.
The dwarf grunted and lowered himself to the ground, shivering from the northern wind. Boromir, like Legolas, appeared tired, but still invigorated by the day's run. Aragorn studied the man for a moment before moving to take his own rest. Sleep didn't come well to him that night. Where the previous night, he'd finally managed to fall into an uneasy slumber, this time he dozed for a moment and woke constantly throughout the night. Boromir slept lightly, but Legolas remained awake pacing to and fro and singing softly to himself in his mother-tongue.
When the morning dawned and Boromir and Gimli woke from their fitful sleep, Aragorn carefully rose to his feet and stood beside Legolas. The elf had turned his attention northwestward and looked with his hand shielding him from the rising sun. He followed the gaze of his friend and saw, in the distance, shadowed figures approaching at a distance.
"Riders!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Many of them swift on steed coming toward us!"
"Yes, one hundred and six of them," Legolas agreed.
"Keen are the eyes of elves," Boromir remarked, smiling.
"We can see much," Legolas agreed, "but in this case, the riders are little more than five leagues away."
"Five leagues or one," Gimli interjected, "we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?"
"We will wait," Aragorn said, running his hand over his eyes. "I am weary, and our hunt has failed. Or at least others were before us; for these horsemen are riding back down the orc-trail. We may get news from them."
"Or spears," grumbled Gimli.
"Possibly," Boromir agreed, "but my presence may stay their wrath. Gondor has long been a friend of Rohan. They may be friendly upon my introduction."
"Let us hope so," Aragorn said. "Even if they aren't, I suspect your presence will be better received than ours. Strangers: one a Ranger, one a dwarf, and one an elf, are seldom received with kindness by the Rohirrim." He turned to Legolas who still studied the approaching riders and asked, "Do you see our comrades?"
"There are three empty saddles, but I see no hobbits," said Legolas and squinted his eyes further. "I see a figure cloaked in grey among the men. The cloak does well to obscure his face despite their ride, but he seems to be dressed differently than the rest."
Aragorn frowned. They would likely need to be on their guard if strange persons traveled with them.
"No one else?" Boromir asked.
Legolas shook his head, "I fear not."
"I did not say that we should hear good news," said Aragorn. "But evil or good we will await it here."
And wait they did.
The riders, while not as far off as originally thought, took longer than hoped to arrive. Aragorn did his best to remain stoic in the face of possible disappointment for the benefit of the company. Boromir, in particular, seemed to wait with growing melancholy. The man paced the top of their hill with his hands clasped behind his back and a haunted look in his eye.
Thundering hooves pulled them out of their individual thoughts and Aragorn watched as the small hosts sprung over a hill and galloped down the slope on their great steeds. He waited for the whole of them to pass over the hill before he stood from where he'd sat a few hours before and stepped forward.
"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" He called.
With an ease that didn't surprise him, but likely did the others, the riders righted their steeds and turned their course to their company. No word or cry was uttered and Aragorn barely had time to beckon his companions closer to him before they were surrounded by a thicket of spears and the occasional bowman. One man rode forward - a man taller than the rest - and nodded to them.
"Who are you and what are you doing in this land?" He asked in slightly accented common speech.
"I am called Strider," Aragorn said, mindful of the man shrouded in grey Legolas had noticed upon first seeing the riders. "I am hunting orcs."
The rider raised an eyebrow and remarked, "From the distance, I'd assumed you were orcs, but now I see that is not so. But what should I make of you, Strider? That is not a name for a man, nor are these garments of my race. Are you of the elvish folk."
"No," Aragorn said, lips twitching just a bit at how close to the mark the man had guessed. "These are gifts from the Lady of Lothlorien. Only one of us is an Elf." He motioned to his companions, "I travel with Boromir, Son of Denethor the Steward of Gondor, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli, Son of Gloin."
The rider looked beyond him at Boromir, eyes wide, "I had heard you'd passed into the east for some reason or another. Some feared you died."
"It was a near thing," Boromir replied, "but I am well. My friends, this man is Eomer son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark. He is nephew to the king."
The others inclined their heads and Eomer studied them a moment before asking, "What am I to make of this? You say you come from Lothlorien with gifts from its Lady. They say few escape her nets and she weaves strange spells and magics. Tell me, Boromir, since when have you become a net-weaver and a sorcerer?"
Gimli bristled and snapped, "We are no such thing! Let me warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you."
Eomer's eyes flashed and then men about them murmured angrily and closed in with their spears. Aragorn glanced around them and noted, between two of the men, was the one Legolas had noted - the grey-cloaked figure. From what he could tell, the person was a man, though he could make out little else. The dark hood was turned in their direction and Aragorn had the distinct impression that the figure's gaze was on him and no one else. Such a possibility made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The Third Marshal rode into the circle created by his men and said dangerously, "I would cut off your head, beard and all master dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."
"He stands not alone!" Cried Legolas, fixing the point of his arrow held taught by his bow. "You would die before your stroke fell."
Aragorn moved between them at the same time Boromir did.
"Have a care, Legolas and Gimli," Boromir admonished. "We are guests in Rohan. It would speak little of your courtesy for you to continue to threaten and insult the Third Marshal!"
"Your pardon, Éomer!" Aragorn cried. "When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, nor to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse. Will you not hear our tale before you strike?"
Eomer frowned and looked up past the company in the direction Aragorn knew the grey-cloaked man waited. As if taking this as an unspoken request, the grey-cloaked man rode into the circle, reached up a red-tanned hand and lowered his hood. Had Aragorn not known better, he would have mistaken the man as one of the Haradrim. As he did, in fact, know better, his eyes settled first on the familiar emerald color of the man's eyes and then on a pair of pointed ears shaded slightly lighter than the rest of his red-tanned face. Black hair fell to the nape of his neck and a thick beard filled the lower half of his face.
"We will consent to hear your tale," the man said. "But only if you explain to me the place you found that silver bracelet hanging from your belt."
Aragorn started and looked down at the charmed bracelet Aracasse had given him long ago. It hung innocently from a loop in his belt as if it didn't contain the arsenal of weaponry he knew it did. How much should he tell? When he looked back to the grey-cloak, Aragorn decided that a portion of the truth would be best.
"My wife gave it to me as a token of her affection," Aragorn replied, cooly.
The man's dark brow flicked and a small frown pulled at one corner of his lips, "Oh? And where did your wife get it from?"
"I believe the term she used was OLYMPUS."
The man tensed and then pinched the bridge of his nose before asking, "Does your wife go by the name of 'Brianna Davis'?"
I was correct then, Aragorn thought, bemused.
"Once she called herself 'Brianna', but now she chooses the name given to her long ago," Aragorn replied, smiling.
"And she's your… wife?" Asked the man who looked increasingly exasperated.
"Aye."
Silence settled among them for a short time. They waited for his response.
"I'm going to kill her."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, unimpressed with such a declaration. The grey-cloaked man looked at Eomer. His expression was of one who seemed both exasperated and resigned.
"Every time, I tell you! Every time I leave her alone to do who knows what she ends up in some idiotic situation that I have to bail her out of! She might be my most danger-prone apprentice I'd ever had the displeasure of teaching!" The man exclaimed.
The connection was made. Only one man among Ara's acquaintance would refer to her as his "apprentice" and she spoke of him often. The many times she had Aragorn had the impression she was faintly amused about something.
"And, really, what business did she have marrying the likes of you?" The man asked, pointing his index finger rather rudely at Aragorn. "You… you're mortal! Well, as mortal as they come, all things considered! What did she plan on doing when she officially ascends the throne, crown a pile of crumbling bones?"
"I am already crowned," Aragorn replied, brow raised showing his incredulity at the man's words.
The grey one blinked and then fixed Aragorn with a glare that could have melted steel, "And what business did she have to do that? Or any of this, for that matter?"
"I am her destined one."
Another blink. A curse. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
"Do I want to know?" He asked.
"It is related to our pursuit of the orcs," Aragorn admitted.
The wizard did not look impressed and he replied with a snide drawl, "Oh, do you mean to tell me that you let her get captured? Do you have any idea how bad that could be?"
"I do."
Mafortion, as that was who Aragorn was certain this man was, threw up his arms. The horse he was on didn't so much as twitch at the sudden movement. Aragorn wondered at how used to the eccentricities of his rider. Ara explained there were many. The happy memories of his wife caused a cloud to overcome Aragorn, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. Mafortion - who'd looked as if he was about to engage in a long, drawn out, rant - paused. His eyes softened their expression and he released a long, drawn out sigh.
"I suppose "let" may be too harsh a word for it. Knowing her, she likely managed to get herself captured and you're just trying to find her," the wizard grumbled.
Aragorn wasn't sure what he should make of that statement. He knew his wife was rather attracted to dangerous situations - including those situations where her life might be the one directly in jeopardy - but he hadn't realized how bad the habit actually was.
"And two others - hobbits, or halflings. They were taken by the orcs three days ago and we tracked them this far," Boromir explained, finding his voice.
Aragorn glanced at him and noted the partially amused expression as it faded into one of gravity. The wizard's brows drew together as he mouthed the word "hobbits" and he looked to Eomer who merely shook his head. The exchange interested Aragorn. As he'd suspected from the way the Professor and Lady Artemis spoke, a few of his wife's friends had arrived in Arda shortly after she did. The wizard's interaction with the Third Marshal indicated a lengthy stay in Rohan.
At length, the wizard sighed and nodded to Eomer, "We should make ourselves comfortable for a short while. I have many questions."
"Forgive me, Grey Wizard, but there's no time. My wife is in the hands of her enemies, the crone Persephone and the Lord of Darkness, Erebus. I fear what will become of her should she remain in their hands much longer," Aragorn said.
Mafortion's brows rose, "Persephone, but…" he pursed his lips and cast his gaze to the side. "So, that was Mab's aim. But why Persephone unless she pulled the other two out as well. She always liked Aries and if he's… damn, damn, and damn they must have learned how to appropriately cast that blight!"
The wizard glanced up and seemed to notice Legolas for the first time. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing to the elf and returned his gaze back to Aragorn. The wizard studied him at length.
"You track the orc pack?" He asked.
Aragorn nodded.
"Then you'll be disappointed to know that the only ones among the orcs were themselves. I saw no little men - halflings as you call them - nor did I see my apprentice or any sign of Knight Elves," he said gravely.
The blood rushed from his head and Aragorn swayed. Only Legolas' steady hand on his elbow kept him from falling to his knees.
"They may have escaped," the elf suggested.
The wizard snorted, "Maybe the hobbits, if they were among the orc pack, but if Erebus and Persephone have my apprentice then they likely separated her from her fellow captives if she was allowed to see them at all. The last thing they'd want is for her to find the inspiration to escape."
Eomer frowned, "Are these enemies related to that infection, Nyx?"
Mafortion snorted, "Oh yes, very much related." He turned to the company and said, "The orc pack was slaughtered in the night. We didn't see a trace of hobbits and, believe you me, I usually look for prisoners during these raids. There were none in sight, but that doesn't mean they weren't there. It's likely they escaped into Fangorn. The rest you mentioned weren't in the party."
Aragorn silently cursed at their misfortune. He'd suspected the Knight Elves' purpose for concealing signs of their travel was to later break from the orcs without being noticed. There had been no indication such an event occurred. He should have looked for something - anything - every time they stumbled across a place the orcs had clearly rested even if for a moment.
"Then I must retrace my steps and see what I can find," Aragorn concluded.
The wizard scoffed, "For Triune's sake! Do try not to be melodramatic! Continue searching for your hobbit friends. I doubt the forest is particularly pleased they're there. I will go find my foolish apprentice, if the Third Marshal permits me."
"He does," Eomer said.
Aragorn narrowed his eyes, but didn't say what was in his heart. He knew his skills as a tracker were needed. He alone understood the signs of hobbits. Boromir and Legolas had never seen the like before and Gimli, while knowing of them, had little experience with their kind. Then Boromir stepped forward and bowed before the wizard.
"If you permit me, Strider, Sir Healer, I wish to accompany you on your journey. I owe your apprentice a life-debt for her quick thinking saved me from meeting certain death. That and I feel one of our company should be there for her rescue and if her husband can't, I will gladly volunteer," said the gondorian.
"I find that acceptable. And please, you may call me Mafortion or Maf. Anyone who encounters who is honorable enough to recognize a life-debt to my apprentice is good enough for company," said the wizard, smiling.
Boromir turned to Aragorn and knelt, "I will return her to you, my lord, should you permit me to go."
Astonished and a little bit embarrassed, Aragorn glanced around at the men of Rohan who looked on in wonder at the display. Eomer looked between them, mouth agape.
"And who might you be, Strider, that the Lord Boromir, son of Gondor's Steward should kneel before you and call you "lord"?" asked the Third Marshal.
Aragorn sighed. He supposed revealing himself was slowly becoming an inevitable occurrence. Introducing himself as "Strider" was likely foolish the closer his path took him to Gondor. He threw back his cloak and revealed the hilt of Anduril. As he drew it, he beheld the awed expressions of the men surrounding him. The blade flashed, flames of its magic shimmered along the length of the blade, and Eomer shrank back on his horse. The wizard Mafortion looked on as the only man who didn't seem overly awed by Aragorn. Instead, he seemed impressed.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again!" He proclaimed.
The wizard smiled and Eomer cast down his eyes and muttered, "These are strange times, indeed. Lord Boromir, we will permit you to join Mafortion in his quest to save his apprentice."
Boromir nodded and Mafortion beckoned him to follow. With a bow, Boromir slipped through the men and followed the wizard and disappeared among the men and horses. Aragorn watched them silently and wished it was he who went with the wizard and not Boromir. Despite his desire, he understood the logic in remaining behind. The hobbits needed rescue just as much as she and they were the more helpless of the three prisoners. Ara had friends willing to go in his stead and he'd let them do just that.
The men rode a little ways off and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were left to speak with Eomer at length regarding the nature of their quest and the current fate of Rohan. He learned that the orcs were called Urukai - a new fell race of orcs that could run for hours in the daylight - and many other things besides. Gandalf's name was a black word to the ear of Rohan's king and that Merry and Pippin either entered the forest of Fangorn or were slain in or shortly before the battle between Rohan's riders and the Uruks. Finally, after some convincing to Eomer that Aragorn was no stranger in the lands of Rohan, spare horses were called for Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. As they fixed their packs to the saddles and mounted their borrowed steeds, Boromir led his own borrowed horse up to them looking grave.
"The wizard has worked some sort of magic - I know not the nature of it - and has divined Aracasse's location in the southeastern part of the lands," he informed them.
Aragorn frowned, "That is far behind us. The sorcery of the Knight Elves is troublesome indeed."
"Agreed. The wizard and I take five of the Third Marshal's men and will ride in that direction. I know not if I should trust his guide, but I also will not pretend to understand the power of wizards," said Boromir.
Behind them, Mafortion and his five men broke away from the rest and called for the gondorian. Boromir raised his hand in acknowledgment and turned once more to Aragorn.
"I will not fail you as I did previously, you have my word," he said.
"Ride fast, my friend, and may your blade serve you well," Aragorn said, feeling affection instead of resentment in his heart for Boromir.
It had been many days since such feelings had last been felt for Boromir and Aragorn found himself forgiving the man for his part in the breaking of the fellowship.
"May your own hunt prove fruitful, Aragorn. Give my best to Merry and Pippin when you discover them," said Boromir.
With that, the gondorian mounted his horse and turned to join the grey wizard and the men of Rohan. Aragorn watched them for several long moments as they rode off into the waning daylight before he turned to Legolas and Gimli. At his nod, they mounted their steeds, bid Eomer farewell and rode north towards Fangorn Forest.