-Shadows on the Snow-
By: Bill the Pony
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Rising Storm (my own fic), perhaps the trilogy.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien or whoever owns them at the moment. I only have my muses and Fasse, Gorban, Ralamir, Falmarin and all other obscure characters.
Summary: Two months after the event in Dunland (told in Rising Storm) Aragorn and Legolas set out to escort Fasse to Rohan. Unfortunately, an early winter is not foreseen until it hits the three full force, bringing with it the danger of the wild.
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Shadows on the Snow
Part 14
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There was much more to first impressions than the clothing arrayed in, or even the smile - no matter how genuine – worn on the fleshly face, much more. It took more than a kind word, or the tip of the head or even the giving of gifts. It was undeniable that an alliance could not be forged unless there was trust, and trust was grown from feelings in the soul. Without those beliefs and feelings, the bridge of trust could not be built.
To Aragorn, the bridge was burning and there was little hope of it being re-built to full operation again. Hardly had he laid his discerning eyes on the spearhead of the Istari than a spike of blatant distrust broke what conjured up ideas of confidence he had in the wizard. Saruman's words were clad in silk.
"So please, let me convey with all the feelings of my heart my deepest and sincerest apology that you should come to such near ruin so close to my doorstep." The wizard's eyes shone with regret and convincing pain. "I know how it must look, but what use would I have of these foul beasts that maim all that is good and pure?"
Aragorn tensed as the white wizard's eyes turned on him. So convincing and reasonable were his words that Aragorn felt strongly compelled to believe Saruman and take the wise being at his word. Then the earnest look was removed from him and placed on Fasse. The diminutive wizard stood aghast at Legolas's shoulder, having dismounted shakily from Nienna.
Saruman was hardly capable of hiding the strain it took to smile warmly at Fasse. Taking the role of a welcoming old friend – and looking for all the Arda like he was - he reached for Fasse's hand, clasping it between his own. "Ah, Fasse, previously of Dunland, many years have passed since last we met. To you I owe the brunt of my sincerest apologies for all that you went through in that land you called your home."
Fasse seemed to squirm under the attentions of his superior. Not at all did he like this warmth suddenly directed towards hi;, it felt scalding. It was out of place. Since their coming to the shores of Arda, Saruman had yet to show any kind of trust or liking towards him. He knew full well Saruman's disdain for him. Fasse was a failure; a mistake that by sheer accident was named one of the Istari, a hitch in the Song, a…Fasse winced as his conscience kicked his self-pity. Perhaps he was being a bit melodramatic, but Saruman certainly did not hold any affection toward him. In fact, the feeling was quite mutual. So why did Saruman suddenly regard him as a friend and ally and speak to him with such congeniality?
"You must forgive my hasty discussion regarding your innocence, or lack there of as it was in my mind," Saruman continued. "My title did not suit me at that point." He lowered his voice to a direct tone; everything about his posture and voice seemed to convey sincere humility. Fasse could only shake his head in denial of any wrong done, silent, as if he had been struck dumb.
"Let me make it up to you, old friend. Come, stay with me for the night, you and your friends," he nodded toward Fasse's two silent companions. "You all look travel weary and I know your bodies would do well with a night's rest in a real bed."
Saruman's words were alluring; the prospect of a place to lay his head anywhere other than on the hard ground was enough to drive Fasse to distraction. But something held his tongue and he did not speak. Memories of Saruman's ill will towards him were not easily forgotten. Fasse felt his scalp prickle under the intense gaze of the wizened wizard.
"Your offer is greatly appreciated," Aragorn began, relieving Fasse of further discomfort. Though whether the Ranger knew the relief he brought him, Fasse did not know. "However, we have already lingered too long and my companions and I would rather press on to our original destination in the stead of waylaying ourselves any longer." It was an honest reply, but honesty did not keep it from being anything less than an excuse. However, there was no reason to be rude to the wise wizard. Still, Aragorn felt no compulsion to set even one foot inside the threshold of the tower of Orthanc.
Saruman looked on the man of the North, a look of unguarded intrigue hazed his face, his dark eyes fixated on the man. There was a moment where no words were spoken, where Saruman dragged his deep gaze over each man present. When again he spoke, it seemed to their ears the wizard's voice was even more suave and appealing. "But I must insist! Weary feet cannot carry their burden long; the time that you would save by delaying rest would be sapped when you collapse from exhaustion. Think of the good a night's rest would do you! You must reconsider."
The host of horsemen, those still mounted and those standing near the burning pyre of the dead goblins watched without word. Did they not see the simple logic in his words? They gazed on the face of Saruman as men spellbound.
At Aragorn's side, Fasse's eyes narrowed. He may not be the canniest of the Order, but he was not a mindless fool. Saruman was not dealing in honesty. He looked for assurance in the faces of Éomer and Aragorn, but they as well bore a look of uncertainty. Wavering between trust and distrust. But some did not hesitate as long as he in speaking their mind.
Roheryn pranced backwards suddenly before lurching forward without warning, forcing his rider to a state of sharper awareness in order to keep himself from being toppled from his seat. Aragorn pulled the riled horse back before he had a chance to throw anymore unexpected moves. Roheryn had done him a great favor, and at that moment, during the span of a breath, he made a solid promise never to be so taken by the words of any man or creature that he lost control of his actions and the gift of reasoning.
"As I said before, I'm afraid that we must decline and take our leave, now." Aragorn's voice was level, every nerve wary.
Saruman had no choice but to retreat, to cover his tracks before he delved too far. Though his face was calm and portraying convincing regret, inwardly he seethed like the waters of the Belegar in the midst of a storm. What was it about this man that foiled him at every turn? What unseen forces protected him, guarding him with a shield hedging about him? It was by no mere case of good fortune that this man of unknown origin dodged his every advance.
"Then if I have no chance of persuading you, then here we part – on good terms I hope?"
Aragorn did not nod or give any gesture of confirmation. "We thank you for your generous offer; it is more than we deserve."
The white wizard turned from him, slowly, as if peeling his attention from the Ranger. "Here I leave you also, Fasse, I trust that we may meet again?"
The shaggy head of Fasse twitched in a motion that could not be identified as either a nod or a shake. He did not trust himself to speak.
Black eyes turned on Éomer and his riders. The horseman did not bother covering his dislike for the wizard with any form of mask or smile. Still, Saruman spoke cordially to him. "Pray, remember that I will long be your people's friend and ally." There was a drop in the wizard's tone, subtly hinting admonishment. "I will remain watchful of the happenings in Rohan, for your better good mind you. I do not concern myself with things that are not worth my attention." A strange smile ghosted his lips; "Rohan is well worth my while."
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"Well that was, unexpected." Fasse concluded after a stretch of silence in the wake of Saruman's hasty departure. The travelers looked to each other, not at all sure what to make of the unsettling encounter.
"Never-the-less," Aragorn began, drawing Roheryn closer to Éomer, "we should be out of these parts as soon as is permitted by our rescuer."
Éomer raised a hand of good faith. "You, Thorongil, are free to pass through our lands at will. I see no need to detain you. However," he said with a slight smile, "it would appease my curiosity to know what brings an unknown wizard, an Elf, and the praised Thorongil of Gondor through Rohan?" Éomer queried and bade them at this time to ride with him from that place.
Aragorn proceeded to reiterate as briefly as possible Fasse's extraction from Dunland and the events that had prompted such action. He went on to explain that they sought to find for Fasse a place where he would be protected from the unwanted attention of greater evils.
"I can vouch for him," Aragorn continued, seeing the look of mistrust on Éomer's face. "I know the him well enough now to assure you that there is no deceit to be found in him."
Éomer nodded in resignation, "I believe I can trust you, Thorongil, and if you say that he is of good will, then I have no choice but to believe you. In Rohan, your friend shall find safe harbor as long as I can offer it, or he will take it."
"Again, I am indebted to you." Aragorn paused, smiling fondly at the wizard who rode behind them, chatting amiably with one of the riders. "You will find him good company."
Éomer drew a breath, then let it escape him, allowing the tension that still lingered from their encounter with the wizard of Orthanc flee with it. "Then you will ride with us to Edoras, Thorongil? Your company would be an honor, and a pleasure," he added earnestly.
Though he hid it well, Aragorn tensed. "I am afraid that I will have to decline your offer. As winter is already gnashing her teeth in anticipation of her hold, I would rather return from whence we came as soon as possible. Surely you understand my desire to return to familiar territory?" His voice was beginning to become dreadfully dull to his own ears. He had lost count how many times he had politely declined offers and invitations in this afternoon alone.
Éomer nodded, but was not so easily dissuaded. "Will you at least make camp with us tonight? That way you will be able to start afresh in the morning and take from our own meager supplies what you need."
No matter how eager Aragorn was to return to Imladris, he could not throw all caution to the wind and make back blindly for home like a barn-sour horse. There were others to think of beside himself. There was a point at which he must concede. "Thrice now, and counting, we are in your debt. We would gladly accept a nights rest amongst your riders." There was a wry look thrown Legolas's way. "Even Elves can be tiresome traveling companions."
"And men are likewise!" laughed Legolas mirthfully, glad to see that all the diplomacy Aragorn had taken on today had not drained him of all humor.
Éomer at last allowed a smile to creep to his lips. "Good then!" he exclaimed. "We will ride on for yet a while more as there is yet light in the sky, though it is a grey light."
And so they did, the host of riders joined now by an Elf, a man, and a wizard. Fasse prattled gamely on, delighted to find a willing audience in some of the men. Retelling how he had single handedly rescued Thorongil and the Elf, Legolas, from certain death at the hands of the Dunlendings, inflating truth only at a few flattering points. He seemed quite at home, though Aragorn guessed it was more a result of being in the company of Elves for some weeks. Fasse hardly struck him as the type that would flourish in the habitat of the Elves.
It was a time of reminiscence as Aragorn laid himself down that night, some hours later when the air was quiet and all that was to be heard were the sounds of the night and the shifting of horses' hooves. He remembered serving Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion of Gondor, his days as Thorongil and the defeat of the Corsairs in Umbar… He had done so many things, met so many people – though usually under the name of one of his many alias's.
He tucked his hands behind his head, catching the barely audible sound of Legolas's breath as he dreamt in the fashion of his people. Aragorn let a soft sight escape him, his feelings torn. For some sixty years he had wandered the wild, seeing things both hideous and beautiful. There were times he thought of his life as a book yet in the making, and with each new region that he left, or each battle won or lost, he felt as if a chapter had been completed.
Something told him that the last sentences of this chapter were being written, even as abrupt an ending it seemed. Tomorrow, he sensed, had in store something new for him to undertake.
TBC…
A/N: I apologize for the jerky chapter, but I'm afraid I wrote this one quite badly since I was doing it in paragraphs at the best. Time was in short supply on my end. I would, as always covet your comments, thoughts and ideas. Constructive criticism to help my writing improved is drooled over. Thanks for reading, you'll only have to suffer through one more chapter since as you have figured – only one more to go!
Toodles,
Bill