*Bounces on to the thread grinning like an idiot*
Hey Everyone! Hannah here!! It's great to see you all!! *hugs everyone*
First I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful/encouraging/critiquing/appreciating feedback! It's great to have such dedicated readers and Sarah and I really value all your opinions and comments! Thanks SO much! =D
None: Well, you'll just have to wait and see how that turns out ;) And yes, we just had to put Gandalf in!
Lina: Oh! Goodness-Gracious!! What have you been eating Lina? *turns to Eomer* You might want to start checking her food and beverage before she gets a hold of it ;) I'm glad you like Meldir Lina, and I didn't even know you HAD a huggle-glomp list! :D Though I can certainly guess who is first on that list ;) Thorongil-Baby LOL!! That's a new one! =D
Fliewatuent: I'm glad you liked that! I really enjoyed writing Gandalf after I got the hang of writing him at all *groans* though trust me on this one, Sarah is MUCH better at writing him in general ;D
Hiro-Tyre: *laughs* That's okay if you can't post after each chapter, we're just glad you're enjoying it! : ) Oh and I'm glad you like the way we portray elves! Yes, well in the timeline in the appendixes of Return of the King, it says that the Hobbit takes place before Aragorn's errantries like when he went to Rohan and Gondor. :D Unfortunately we don't get to find out just what Meldir and Legolas did there, but I'm sure someone will write a Five Army fic sometime, though probably not us :D
e: *laughs* Hey, we love to hear our readers guess right or wrong! I'm glad you are enjoying the story…as for the men, you'll have to wait and see.
Gwyn: Unfortunately for our elf friends, when you are fleeing something in a dark wood who knows what you'll 'stumble across' or 'stumble on' in this case ;) Well, Gandalf may be able to see ahead, but seeing details does not always automatically go along with that foresight, I'm sure if there was something the elves needed to know, he would tell them. Gandalf does have his infuriating points, but in general, he has his reasons ;D Fangorn? Did we say they were going to Fangorn? ;) You'll just have to wait and see what the plan is I guess. :D Unfortunately the twins can't make an appearance in this one although they are referred to at one point or another, and they will likely be in our next fic : ) I'm glad you are enjoying it Gwyn!
Elwen-Star Maiden: Oh you have no idea *performs evil authoress grin*
phoenixqueen: Interesting guess and it brings to mind something I thought I should mention. We kind of messed up our timeline a bit (especially at the beginning) so that on some occasions (like the one in the last post) Legolas is actually a bit farther ahead in time than Thorongil is in this post. We did it mostly so that you wouldn't all be wondering 'Where in the world is Legolas?'. Sarah and I tried to make it as understandable as possible, but I know it came out kind of confusing anyway. :D
RainyDayz: Hey! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much! As for Thorongil and Legolas…well I am sorry to say you will have to wait a little bit for them to be in the same place, but just wait and see :D
Evenstar-Elfstone: I'm glad you're liking it! Oh the men? …umn…sorry, can't say ;D
sabercrazy: Oooh you may need some Advil after that! :D WoW! You have a LOT of guesses! Wonder which one's right ??? ;) And yes, we rather excel at giving minimal information at first ;D
Larus: Thank you Larus! I am SO glad you are enjoying our fic! You always leave very encouraging reviews! : ) As for the length, don't worry. These first few chapters are a bit on the shortish side and I know we have a couple more throughout the fic that are on the short side, but the rest are mainly about 8 pages long, so we'll get there soon :D Stole and Garrulous?? *laughs* Don't worry we really enjoy your reviews and we're very glad you are enjoying the story! : )
Black Arrow: Oh my OH NO now we have a Legolas protector! *calls over her shoulder* Eomer! Could you please collect Black Arrow before Sarah and I get killed! :D I'm very glad you are enjoying it Arrow! We will try to be careful with your …uh…baby ;)
Okay everyone! Onto our next post…
And yes…it's Thorongil once more…eep…don't kill us! :D
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Thorongil
By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)
(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries
available at the top of chapter 1)
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Chapter 4
Brown Lands and Bad Nights
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"After the Darkness was overthrown the land of the Entwives blossomed richly, and their fields were full of corn. Many men learned the crafts of the Entwives and honored them greatly; but we were only a legend to them, a secret in the heart of the forest.
Yet here we still are, while all the gardens of the Entwives are wasted: Men call them the Brown Lands now."
— Treebeard, The Two Towers
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Days of hard travel rolled on, largely indistinguishable from one another by Mavranor, who rode the whole way, sheltered in her litter. Again and again she pulled forth the map they were following and studied it until she had all but memorized the ancient scroll, and its names were as familiar as her own. She wondered at the things she had not noticed initially, such as a wood, Laurelindó renan, marked to the northwest of their intended settling place. Here her translator had deciphered a short paragraph describing the creatures that lived there, elves, and their astonishing powers. This had worried her husband slightly, though he did not know much of the elven folk beyond the distorted legends that were used to frighten children to bed. 'At the root of every legend', he had once said, 'there is often a droplet of truth', and Harnwe had determined to leave the place alone if it could be avoided. Not that he had said as much to her, but Mavranor was a shrewd woman, and knew her husband well. Her own thoughts and council she kept strictly to herself on this matter.
Leaving the edges of the Battle Plains behind them, Harnwe began to look eagerly forward, waiting for the short bushes and pale vegetation to give way to sudden beauty. Often he saw the curtains on his wife's litter twitch open and then shut again, and behind him the weary tramp of his people seemed to quicken a little. He began to give orders for the soldiers to work their way to the front of the column, preparing for the possibility of inhabitants beyond the next low rise of hills. He would spring upon them unawares, and if they gave in quickly, they would be permitted to live on under his rule. If not…
With a last thunderous shake of the earth, his mûmak halted at his bidding on the crest of the hill and he paused to look down upon his new kingdom. His mouth went dry. The wind, whistling easily over the flatness of the land below, brought him the smell of dust and emptiness. Brown. Brown as far as the eye could see, and silence as deep as the ear could penetrate. Whether the plants naturally grew in the same drab way, or whether they were simply dead, Harnwe could not determine, but the over all effect was bleak. His heart plummeted even as the rest of his army came to a halt around him. A mûmak trumpeted in a muted way farther down the line, and out of the corner of his eye, Harnwe saw his wife's head emerge and freeze, solid as ice, her red lips parted.
For a long minute there was utter silence, new plans and old denials chasing their way, head after tail, in the Southron king's mind. //We must not let the people over the hill… this isn't how it was described!… perhaps we should claim we have lost our way… perhaps we *have* lost our way… no, that is not possible… what if they turn on me and kill me? // And then his head turned, and his eyes met those of his wife.
Mavranor flinched inwardly at the stunned expression on her husband's face. She had no idea how this could have happened, but now was not the time to show bewilderment, and they both knew it. Even as she watched, Harnwe called to his messengers to announce that they would be camping early; hopefully this would keep his subjects from realizing what was beyond the hills just yet. Pulling the map quickly from its pouch, Mavranor began to scan it rapidly for clues, desperate to find a new course of action before hers and Harnwe's tent was erected.
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"I cannot believe I allowed myself to be led off on such a quest at the word of a *woman*!"
Mavranor only just blinked as her king's shout reverberated in her ears. As with all the Haradrim her husband had a powerful temper, and now he was venting his disappointment loudly. Any other woman in her position would be trembling for her life, but it was in times like these that Mavranor felt an incredible gratefulness that she had not followed her first inclination and married Harnwe's brother. Muindor often seemed lax and rather stupid, but in battle he was fierce and without pity, and with his family and his subjects he was little better. No matter how enraged her husband became, he would never hurt her, and it was this that not only gave her a sense of safety but also of confidence.
"If you'll recall," she pointed out calmly, "I merely gave you the map and explained the possibility. It was *you* who took what I said and developed this plan of yours!"
Harnwe glared at her, his brown hands clutching two of the ten poles as if he intended to squeeze them in two with his fury. "A fine speech for your king! Little do you know what pride… what toil… If you had not fed me such faulty information, we would not be here!"
"If you had not *accepted* such faulty information, we would not be here! And do you think your people will turn aside and hurl their wrath at me? Nay, for they believe the plan sprang entirely from your own head, as you wished them to. I am not the one in danger, my lord." Her dark eyes snapped and her words were now clipped and harsh, "Beyond that, you know that you could not have defeated your brother; you were doomed to death and failure. That place was no longer ours. And now, whatever the past, we are here, and we have not enough supplies to return the way we have come, so it would do you well put aside your self pity and *behave* like a king!" The last words hung in the air and Harnwe started up, his hand up, his face so dark that Mavranor almost feared — but no. He arm sank, the fires in his eyes dying as he gazed at her. The air cooled.
"My own," he said firmly, as if their conversation had not taken place at all, "give me the map."
Carefully she passed it to him and he spread it on a small table, studying it closely. Finally he said, "Clearly this map is so old as to be untrustworthy, so before I decide upon a fresh course, I shall send scouts. It is the best way."
"It is, my lord." Mavranor agreed, quite ready to support him in his new mood. Whatever she might say in her head, she knew she had helped to bring them to this pass, and whatever she might rationalize in her heart, his sudden move had frightened her.
Slipping her arms about his chest after the messengers had gone, she trailed her finger along his chin, her lips curling into an adoring smile, if a tentative one. In return, his expression smoothed and his hand caught her chin, drawing her mouth to his for a kiss.
"I shall build you a kingdom, my own," he murmured. "By any means necessary."
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"Why, what—" Duurben strangled off his involuntary exclamation, falling back into rigid silence as his captain surveyed the empty seventh circle.
"Lord Denethor told you we were to meet them here, did he not?" Thorongil asked calmly, with no reproach in his words as he glanced at Duurben.
Duurben's answer was quick, "Yes, sir. Or at least, one of his messengers did."
"Thank you," the captain nodded, accepting his subordinate's word on the matter, and turning to an approaching stable hand who had been unsaddling a courier horse, "You there, do you know aught of the Lord Denethor's whereabouts?"
"Aye, sir," the man answered respectfully, "Lord Denethor departed earlier this day, saying he could wait no longer for the rest of the city guards."
Duurben blinked, murmuring aloud, "The messenger who came to alert me must have been delayed…"
But Thorongil's forehead was creased, and Duurben had the strangest feeling that the captain understood far more about this incident than he did. When he spoke, his words were brief, "Thank you. Come men, we shall have to start if we hope to catch up with them before they reach the battle lines."
"Oughtn't we to wait for the other city guards before leaving?" asked Halba uncertainly.
"Nay, for my company was the only one selected to go," Thorongil answered. He was already walking, and so his last words were but uncertainly caught by Duurben: "A fact which Denethor knew full well, I deem."
Confusion was laid aside for the moment, however, as the company, numbering only twenty, set out from the gates on foot, planning to collect horses at the far side of the river Erui.
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Duurben awoke, staring up between the trees at the stars above him and sensing the damp seep through his clothes. //Another fine night.// They had been walking for three days, resting only at night, and still they had not closed the distance between themselves and the rest of the army. Thorongil did not seemed overly concerned, saying that they would catch up once they were mounted, but there was something unsettling about their abandonment, and Duurben knew he was not the only one who felt it. At least the knowledge that the army had passed before them lessened the need for more than one sentry at night.
Casting a glance at Beren, who was several years younger than himself and even newer in the service of the White Tower, Duurben frowned at the way the man was sitting, with his head sunk forward. For one moment, Duurben thought the sentry must be dead, and then he caught the slow rise of the man's chest and he rose abruptly up from his blankets.
"Beren!"
Beren started awake, his head snapping up, and at the same instant there came a wild yell from around them, waking the rest of the company instantly. Thorongil leapt to his feet, his sword out before any of the others; he had not slept fully since leaving Minas Tirith, and had kept his weapons still girt about him even in rest. His blue eyes raced over the edges of the wood around them, and now caught the shimmer of scimitars, clear in the moonlight to any watching eye.
"To the west, men, quickly," he muttered. "They have us outnumbered, but not quite surrounded."
They set off without question, their dark cloaks blending against the ground and the trees, making it difficult to see how many there truly were in the glade, or where they went as they slipped away. In passing, Duurben saw that Beren's face was bloodless and his hand shook.
It took but a moment for the small party of Southrons to realize that their prey was slipping free, and they quickly set off in pursuit, crashing noisily through the trees and breaking out just as the men of Gondor had set off across a strip of meadow, angling for the rocky hills beyond. The first tier of the rising ground was edged with a bank of stone, sheer, higher than a man, and curving around, giving the hill the appearance of a grassy, fortified city.
With their enemies close upon them, Thorongil did not waste time on orders, but rather threw himself forward, catching the upper edge of the stone ring and hauling himself onto it, his feet catching small cracks and helping anchor him. Several of his men did likewise, turning to haul their companions up after them, until at last all were mounted on the stone outcropping. Duurben felt a brush of air at his back as the captain brought him up last, and even as his feet found solid ground and he turned, the Haradrim were attempting to follow.
"Arrows," Thorongil shouted, pulling his own free and stringing one quickly to his bow.
A shot sang in the night and caught the first Southron in the leg, collapsing him to the earth. Thorongil had, through accident or design, chosen a good spot to defend, for the stretch of meadow was well lit for bow shooting, and while in possession of the high ground they were able to prevent the Southrons from using their hand to hand weapons with much effect. Still, now that Thorongil could see them, he wondered that they had been called a 'small company'. The moonlight glistened on the red turbans and bright armor of at least fifty men, and there was a light of battle in their faces. The captain glanced down the line of his men, gauging his options as they fired madly into the oncoming enemy. Some of the shots found their mark, but even more ricocheted off the armor; they would not be able to hold their position for much longer. Casting a look behind him, he paused and then tapped Duurben on the shoulder, tilting his head back and hoping the soldier would understand.
Duurben fulfilled his captain's trust, nodding shortly, and approaching the edge a little more closely to crush under his foot the intruding hand of an ambitious Southron. They were beginning to swarm close to the stone face in larger numbers, preventing the bows from being of much use, and with a sudden flash, a scimitar was flung upwards. its intended target flinched aside, but it slashed the soldier next to him, and with a cry, Beren staggered, blood spilling down his sleeve as his hand went limp and he dropped his bow.
"Pull back," Thorongil bit out, his hand reaching back for another arrow and finding none. They broke away from the edge, the Haradrim letting out a victorious cry in their own language as the climbed after them. Rushing up the steep hill, two of the men hauled Beren after them, their feet skittering on the patches of shale-like rock and damp grass beneath them as they strove to wend their way safely between the scattered boulders that covered the hillside. Thorongil brought up the rear, Duurben at his side, keeping behind even the slowest, and pausing nearly half way to the crest of the hill to turn and slow the front most of their pursuers. His sword slid from its sheath, coming up to meet the curved scimitar of the swarthy Haradrim with a ringing clang.
The Southron smiled confidently, biting off something that his opponent couldn't understand, but Thorongil's face remained tight with concentration as he turned the blade back and brought his weapon out again, striking towards the Southron's neck in a swift blow. It was strongly blocked, sending a shiver through his arms, but not loosening his grip. Moving in a strange curved motion, similar to the shape of his blade, the Southron tried to swing inside Thorongil's defenses and sliced him across the back of the hand just as he pulled back. Laughing at the perceived retreat of his victim, the Southron showed a row of brilliantly white teeth as he brought his hilt back to smash Thorongil in the jaw. But the captain dropped completely this time, letting the momentum of the larger man's swing take his scimitar too far away from his chest to bring it back in time. Thrusting upwards once, Thorongil caught the man in between the ribs, and turned away again, not waiting to see whether the wound was mortal.
To the side, Duurben was involved in a similar conflict with two more of the enemy, his sword notched and the side of his face red with blood. Slipping on the wet turf, Thorongil threw himself at one of the Haradrim, bringing his blade down on the unsuspecting attacker's arm and causing him to drop his weapon with a cry. Duurben caught the other with a blow from the flat of his blade to the man's knees and there was a crack as the man fell. Dashing the blood from his eyes, the soldier turned to follow his captain on again before the bulk of the enemy could come upon them.
Up ahead the first of the men had gone over the hill, and even the wounded had made good progress. Giving a short nod, Thorongil dove behind one of the larger rocks, hoping he had not overestimated the precarious state of his chosen weapon. He had not: the rock tapered at its base, making it top-heavy, and was being held in place chiefly by gravity as it sat in a shallow dip in the ground. Setting his shoulder to it, his muscles tightening with the strain, he threw his weight against it. It rocked forward, and then rocked back. Gritting his teeth, he pushed again, his boots sliding slightly beneath him — every nerve devoted to the task at hand, with no thought spared for what might become of his men if they were overtaken. His hands were on fire with the pressure — his legs felt like they might snap under the strain — and then, with a crunch that sounded like a thousand bones breaking, the rock fell forward. And down it went. Gathering speed and dislodging countless smaller stones as it traveled, Duurben's chosen rock joined it, and barreled onward. The echoing smashes of stone against stone ricocheted off the trees, and warned the Haradrim only minutes before the rockslide was upon them. With cries of dismay, they turned aside, trying to find shelter from the deluge of earth and stone.
Several gained cover behind other rocks only to have them dropped upon their heads as the impact of the sliding mass struck the back of their chosen shelters and pitched them forward, crushing the men behind them, and adding the rolling torrent. Other men were dragged under as they tried to flee, their heavy armor serving them ill when speed and agility was required.
Hours seemed to pass before the echoes quieted and the rocks at last found secure resting places in the meadow below. The leader of the Southron party had been killed, and in the silence, his second-in-command rose and surveyed the damage. Of the fifty original men, only twenty were moving, and half that number appeared badly injured, to the point of being unable to travel without assistance; there was no alternative but to return to their army in disgrace.
Unless— looking up the hill furiously, the Southron's eyes scanned the dark outline of the hill in the moonlight, searching for a trace of the men he had pursued with such confidence… but to no avail. Had they been ghosts the men of Gondor could not have vanished more fully.
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With the exception of one pause to hastily bandage those most injured in his company, Thorongil did not let them halt until near dawn. Forging a trail ahead of them, helping untangle his men when the foliage became too thick, he at last found a sheltered alcove amongst some more trees, through which a tributary of the Erui ran, and ordered them all to sit. The air was chill and the water ice cold, but the men cared little in their exhaustion and quickly set about binding the injuries of their companions. Two of the few who had escaped unscathed took up watch.
Beren had lost a great deal of blood, but though weak, was still able to sit unaided as his captain cut his sleeve carefully away and washed the filthy cloth in the stream, using it to clean the wound afterwards. The Haradrim were not known for poisoning their weapons, and for this Thorongil was grateful, knowing that to heal such wounds he would need to reveal more of himself than he would have wished. Working silently, he drew out a needle and thread, wincing inwardly in sympathy as Beren's face tightened in pain. However, he stitched quickly, not sparing time to give comfort, and finishing the grim job in a mercifully short period of time. Pulling some roots from his pouch, he cut one piece off and chewed it carefully, spitting it into a cupped handful of water, and rubbing the mixture in his palms for lack of any real tools. Spreading the paste-like mixture over the wound, he bound it tightly and said wearily, "I'm afraid there is nothing more I can give you. All my non-essential, pain suppressing medicines were left at our camp site."
Beren's answer was clipped and harsh, "You ought to have left me."
The company went suddenly still; they had been waiting for their captain to discover Beren's negligence and now it was coming out.
Thorongil looked tired, and rather like he didn't want to deal with the situation that was being presented to him, but he asked quietly, "And why would I have done that?"
"I fell asleep, sir." The words were thick with self-loathing. "I fell asleep and allowed them to creep up on us. If Duurben hadn't awoken, we would have all been dead before morning."
The mention of Duurben seemed to call the captain on to his next task, and he gestured his lieutenant forward, examining the gash on his forehead that he had been attempting to clean himself. It was bleeding fast, dabbling the white tree upon his breast with red, and would need to be sewn up also. The silence drew on, and Duurben cast a glance at his leader, wondering what the other would say.
The words, when they came, were grim. "And if I had taken time to think clearly, you would not have been the only one on watch." Beren looked confused, so Thorongil elaborated, "I had already been informed that a group of Haradrim might be loose along our path, and if I had not assumed that Lord Denethor's larger army had already dispatched them, I would have left more sentries and the whole burden would not have fallen upon you. Yes, Beren, you were wrong to fall asleep, and much ill could have come of it; I would not be a good captain, nor a truthful man if I were to deny that. But we all still live, men by nature make mistakes, and you were not the only one at fault in this. I think I can safely trust you not to make the same error again?" Here the blue eyes flicked away from Duurben's forehead to catch Beren's, and there was a searching in them that seemed to pierce him like a sword.
"Yes, Captain." Beren said, and in his heart he determined to die before he betrayed this new trust.
Thorongil finished the last stitch and began to smear a new batch of paste over the wound, binding a strip of cloth around Duurben's forehead when done, and not seeming to think any further words necessary. The men ate out of the traveling rations that they carried with them, and drank from the stream, having finished treating all the minor cuts and bruises that were many of them merely the product of a headlong run over loose rock and through dense woods. Duurben's palms had lost a layer of skin from dislodging the large rock, and he assumed that the captain's were the same, but when he turned to ask if he needed aid with his own injuries, he decided it could wait for at least an hour or two.
Thorongil, still sitting against a tree with his hood up and his ear tilted as if to catch the first hint of danger, had dozed off.
TBC…