*Sarah eases her way back onto the thread* That went as well as could be expected! Honestly, we really didn't want to upset everyone so much; hence Meldir's very brief role. It was only when we introduced him and several people (especially *ahem* Lina) decided they liked him that Hannah and I looked at each other and groaned, "Oh no."
Gwyn: *writes down 'organized', 'fast paced', and 'effective' on little slips of paper and pins them to the wall above her desk* Thank you so much!! That quite made my day. As for Legolas… *sigh* Not for a while, I'm afraid!
Lina: *mouth falls open* You have a knack for leaving me speechless. Oh yeah, speechless except for the times when I laugh and spit stuff all over my computer screen! *glances at chainsaw she has carefully removed from story as being 'too modern' and hefts it* This, for example! Hannah and I practically couldn't stop giggling; not a pretty picture for people who are supposed to be sober authoresses. ;D As for everything else: Yup, Morwen loves her hubby, 'Denethor' and 'Boromir' are rather similar, Captain Thorongil needs to go and do good, and Hannah *didn't* do it. Koth did. ;) I'm glad you liked the farewell scene!
Eomer: *watches Rohirrim whistling* Yeah, their loyal, their morale is high, and they couldn't carry a tune in a bucket… *smiles* Still, there are worse things! You could have *two* Linas to watch. And what's so great about the south anyway? *smiles brightly as she glances at newspaper and realizes that hiring someone else to keep the plot safe would cost WAY more than she has* As for the cool whip: don't worry, we won't be getting back to Legolas for a while.
None: Thanks! I'm afraid Legolas won't show up again for a while, and he and Aragorn won't meet for even longer! Sorry; we didn't mean for it to turn out that way, but that's just how the chapters fell out.
LadyIsabelle: You're welcome! And we don't mind; we frequently ramble ourselves. *tries to imagine watching a horror movie three times and shivers* I'm just glad you were able to write in English! ;)
phoenixqueen: *sighs in relief and hugs phoenix* We're beginning to make sense? Oh good! I hope it will only get easier from here (though I can't vouch for the ending stuff). And yeah, Denethor is a somewhat of a jerk (I'm trying to be mild here because I really don't like the guy), and yeah, Legolas' part will become clear… eventually! *adds phoenix to list of 'People For Whom I Need To Nag Chloe* Will do! Needless to say, I'm on the top of this list, so I won't easily forget. To reassure you: she *is* working on it, but such masterpieces take a lot of time to finish. ;)
Asen: *hugs Asen* You like Duurben? Thanks! He was one of those characters that started out as just a Guy For Thorongil To Talk To, and grew into a walking/talking person of his own. :) And I'm so glad you liked Theodwyn!! If we managed to inspire nonsense-speech, we know we must have done fairly well. ;) We didn't make up Morwen's name (or her nickname, Steelsheen, for that matter), but yes, Taetho's name was our invention. Her existence wasn't, though -- we know from the appendices that Theoden was the only boy in a family of five. Fortunately, I don't think he minds! :)
reginabean: Sorry about that! Hannah and I recently became very interested in Middle Earth geography, and I guess it leaked into our writing… If it helps any, what has happened so far can be followed on the regular maps out of the book, and for the rest of the story we've gone ahead and drawn maps for you! There will be links to them at the beginning of the chapters where they'll be useful (in fact, there's one at the beginning of chapter 9!). :)
w: *blushes solid red and grins like an idiot* Wow! Do you have any idea how much you made our day? You liked our flow (which, since there's two of us writing this, is a wonderful compliment); you liked Morwen's bit with the dagger (a pet piece of mine; can't quite explain why); you liked Thengel's whole family (a *serious* favorite of ours, even though their involvement as a family is nearing its end); you liked our language (which, after reading Tolkien once a year since I was about ten, is really reassuring); you liked our battle (I've already said how wary I've always been of battle scenes); you liked our characterizations (one of those all time 'compliments you would most like paid to your fanfic' kinds of things); you liked our handling of Denethor (which, since I am an absolute anti-Denethor person, was hard because I really *wanted* to paint him just as black as you described, but knew I couldn't without destroying the character); you liked our taking Thorongil out of the lime-light (Thank You!); and above and beyond and all-around-best of all: you said we were subtle!! That is probably the best compliment (or seriously within the top five) I will ever receive on my writing! Thank you so much! Oh yes, and I forgot to ask last time: what was the grammar mistake exactly?
sabercrazy: *looks innocent, hiding behind her back the darts which she has been throwing at a photo of Denethor on the wall* Irony? Great heavens! We wanted to show that Denethor was really the superior of the two! *ahem* Sorry. Sarcasm runs in my family. *chucks several darts, hits Denethor on the nose* And feel free to clobber him all you like; he has officially departed from the fic! *smiles and leaves saber, Hannah, and the chicken to figure out their differences*
Thank you all SO MUCH for reviewing! :)
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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 8
Mission to Rohan
On horses it took the two men a little less than four days to return, and they were soon back within the tall white walls. Leaving Duurben to tend to their horses outside the inner ring of the city, where such animals were forbidden, Thorongil made his way quickly to the Steward's hall.
"Captain Thorongil, you have been prompt." Ecthelion nodded approvingly. "It is well." Reaching to the table beside him, he lifted a worn scroll with a familiar emblem imprinted in the sealing wax. "I have received a request for aid."
"Against what?" Thorongil asked, frowning at the small scroll with concern.
"I fear it may well be the Haradrim whose passage we noted several weeks ago; it seems the Rohirrim never received my warning, though I cannot say why. Whatever the reason, though I do not hesitate in granting them the aid they need, I cannot take it myself. It is necessary for me to stay here in Minas Tirith, and my son is currently needed on our southern borders, as you well know. Therefore I must choose someone else whom I trust to retrieve several companies of troops from our northern borders and lead them to help our allies. It is the most I can do for them, I fear, for we are badly beset, and men are constantly needed."
Thorongil bowed, "I am grateful for your trust, sire, and will gladly do as you order, but I feel obligated to ask: is there no one of more skill who might not be sent?"
Ecthelion's eyebrow rose slightly, "I thought you might take that view, given your loyalty to that country," here he tapped the scroll lightly, indicating the senders. "But it is in fact that loyalty and experience which I am hoping to use. Your knowledge of the people and particularly the language, as well as your abilities in battle, should make you a more than adequate leader in this undertaking."
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The biting chill of oncoming winter whistled through the courtyard, curving over walls and, finding no purchase on the smooth face, drifting away back towards the black land. A stillness pervaded the place, the few sentries on duty standing silently in the face of the cold, and there had not been birds in Minas Tirith for many a year.
They had long been a city under siege, though what form the enemy would take was still not yet clear.
Over by the stables, two men had been conversing for nearly five minutes, when one of them sputtered, "We're already leaving?" and broke the quiet around him like a pane of glass. His companion looked determined.
"*I* am. You do not have to come unless you wish to."
"You requested me, did you not?"
"I have already said that, but that doesn't mean you are obligated."
"It certainly does. Though I'm not sure why you did it…"
Thorongil slung his travel pack over a fresh horse. "We'll be doing a good deal of traveling, through woods chiefly. I seem to remember you being rather fond of them."
Duurben frowned: if Thorongil had done this for him simply because he had complained of the walls of Minas Tirith, he would never live it down.
"Because of that, I thought you might make a good guide." Thorongil continued lightly, buckling on a new bridle. "You do know your way through a forest, do you not?"
"Yes sir, I do." Duurben agreed in relief, and pulled down a saddle of his own. "Very well. Where exactly are we going?"
"We'll stop at the northern border post first and retrieve the troops Lord Ecthelion is sending." His eyes took on briefly a far away look, as if remembering a scene from some memory, "Then we ride straight on to Edoras. I do not wish to be too late."
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"Captain, I believe I see the border post."
Thorongil glanced up from where he was throwing dirt on the fire and nodded, "I should hope so."
Duurben made his way down the tree he had turned into an impromptu lookout perch, stood silent for a moment before his commander, a determined look on his face, before he finally spoke again. "Sir, I would like to say that you need less help in the woods than you do on the battle field, and you practically need none there."
Thorongil sighed. He liked Duurben very much and had appreciated his company, but if there was one thing that was beginning to trouble him more than the other man's insatiable respect for rank, it was the curiosity that was beginning to show through it.
Duurben was still speaking. "You walk through trees not simply as if you had been born amongst them, but rather as if you breathe the same, or think the same as they do." Here Thorongil gave him the standard look of disbelief, trying to hide his faint irritation with himself, but the soldier continued on. "There are things you notice that even a skilled woodsman often overlooks, and yet you leave but little evidence of your own passing, even when we make camp."
"Clearly I have not given you nearly enough to occupy yourself with; maybe I should allot you the larger of the two loads to carry."
If he had thought this would deter his companion, he was wrong, but if he had imagined Duurben capable of asking him flat out where he had learned his woodcraft, he was still more wrong. Having laid out the evidence of his superior's skills and oddities, the man sat back and simply waited — with a stare that was extraordinarily hard to ignore.
//And I thought only dwarves were that stubborn.// Thorongil winced inwardly. He lifted his companion's pack and tossed it to him, unaltered in weight, and then strapped on his own, wondering on the side why Gondor had always been so careful of its horses. They had been forced to leave theirs at the last message post and travel the rest of the way on foot.
"I shall be glad to return to Rohan," he said wryly, starting off into the trees.
There was no reply.
He continued rather louder than was necessary, "In Rohan, the very youngest learn to ride, and a man deprived of his favorite horse often will mourn as one who has lost a dear friend."
Still there was silence.
"I had often ridden horses before, but I was amazed at what an art they had made out of the riding and the taming of their beasts. Even the most fiery animals can be tamed to respond to the softest word, and those are the most valued, in battle and in pleasure."
The stillness was growing to deafening proportions.
//If I don't hit him over the head with the water flask, only the Valar's intervention shall be the cause.//
With a sigh that was more of a snort, he turned, "Duurben—" He stopped. Duurben was no where to be seen.
Automatically, he tested his pack, judging whether it would be best to discard it or keep it, and then he pulled his bow free and drew out an arrow. He had become a better shot in recent years, but if a creature had taken his companion, he would have heard it; perhaps Duurben had taken his silent demand to a new level?
"Duurben?" He called, retracing his steps back toward their camp. He didn't have to go far before he stumbled over his lieutenant's body, sprawled amongst the leaves at the base of an oak. "Duurben!" He snapped, now urgent with fear as he pulled his friend over, searching rapidly for a sign of what had felled him, his hands examining the green garments and finding nothing, not even a drop of blood. Finally, he saw it: a dart in his neck. Short, made of dark wood, fletched with pale green leaves, very stiff, and coated in some dark purplish substance. He cast the thing aside, his eyes glancing around again as he wondered how close the enemy was, and who could possibly be so foolhardy as to drug soldiers of Gondor within miles of their own fort—
*shzip*
He threw himself down flat on top of Duurben as a second missile lodged itself in the trunk at the level where his head had been. Catching his companion's arms, he rolled the both of them down the incline behind the huge tree and shoved Duurben under the embankment, hoping that the other man did not need any immediate attention, and up above he heard the whisper-like sounds of skilled feet moving slowly.
There was a low shout, like a guttural battle yell, and suddenly a squat shape dropped in front of him, a short blow-pipe held in its lips. The dart zipped out, grazing his hair in passing, and his own shot left the bow, catching the creature — for it was too misshapen to be a man — in the leg. It fell, crying and cursing, and above came the sounds of at least three more running to its aid. Catching Duurben's wrists, Thorongil hauled him onto his shoulders, and set off at a heavy run, wishing now that he had left his pack behind.
They were not close enough to the outpost to flee there, so his senses groped for some easier means of concealment, all the while hearing the pursuit draw nearer. A short brook opened beneath his feet and he stumbled in the soft earth, but pushed himself through, and up the far slope. Duurben's arm caught in some brambles, but the captain pulled it free, wincing at the blood he drew unintentionally from the unconscious soldier's hand. Still the creatures came on, faster than he. He slid down the far side of the slope, barely keeping his balance, and finally caught sight of a long hollow log, half buried in fern. The decision was brief: if the enemy caught him, then at least Duurben would hopefully wake and carry the message through alone. With a hasty shove, he slid his friend inside the dead tree, cast the foliage over the entrance, and set off at a dead run.
Now freed from the burden, he was light in his escape, sliding through the undergrowth like a fish through water. But his pursuers, while having missed the place where his friend lay hidden, never once lost his own trail. His dark hair whipped in his face as he cast a glance behind him, but there was no one in sight; they were staying well hidden, even in their hunt. His boots pounded between the plants, carrying him on as fast as he could run, and then abruptly, as he pushed through a screen of trees, the ground fell away.
Flipping almost onto his chest, he caught a protruding tree root to halt his fall, and surveyed breathlessly the ravine that had opened beneath him as his feet found a foothold in the loose rubble that made up the sides. Down at the bottom a river ran, of which the brook from earlier must have been a mere tributary, for with the winter rains the wide stream had swollen and overflowed its banks. It was with no small sense of irony that he realized that the deepest portion was apparently directly beneath him. //I wonder why Duurben just happened to miss this particular landmark.// He mused vaguely.
There was another *shzip* as a fresh dart slid past his head, and knowing full well that if he remained to be shot, he would only fall anyway, he jumped. For a moment the chill air whistled in his ears, and then he hit the icy water and submerged. The cold cut through his thick clothing like knives, and the moment his feet touched the bottom, he pushed off, coming into the air almost immediately — where a sudden breeze nearly knocked the breath out of him as it turned his damp clothing stiff.
Gasping slightly, he hauled himself out and took off into the trees again, just hearing the last wild shot of his pursuers as it nicked a tree behind him.
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It was late evening before Thorongil finally slid from his perch in the thick evergreen to land silently amongst the discarded needles at its base. It had taken him nearly all afternoon to make his way downstream to a place where he could climb back out of the rift, and it had taken still longer to return to where he had left Duurben. He had caught neither sight nor sound of the enemy since losing them at the river, and he did not wish to ruin his record now.
Moving stealthily in the gathering twilight, he finally reached the fallen tree and slid slowly over to it, his voice a bare whisper, "Duurben…?"
He should have known the log would be empty.
"The Valar are having fine sport with me today, I must say." He muttered under his breath, looking around for signs of his companion's departure. "Is it so much to ask of an unconscious man to stay in one place for a few hours?"
Duurben's trail was easy to pick out, even in the gloom, but there would be no moon that night, and the captain had only an hour more, at best. Thorongil moved on, senses still alert for sounds of their strange attackers, and he sighed when he realized that Duurben had also moved off in the direction of the ravine. He reached the thin line of trees and paused, hoping his subordinate had not plunged straight off the edge, when there was the long awaited *hhwookk* of a dart leaving a blow-pipe, and he whirled to see three stumpy and misshapen creatures sitting, or perhaps standing, in the underbrush behind him. The shot had missed him, but even as he drew out his bow, he knew he could not dodge three darts at once.
There was a breath of warmth behind him, and the feel of a new arrival to the silent conflict standing at his shoulder. Without taking his gaze off the enemy, Thorongil muttered, "There you are."
"Yes sir." Duurben nodded, his voice somewhat hoarse, as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep. "Have you tried talking to them?"
"Not yet. I'm not quite sure what they are." Thorongil admitted, shifting his aim warily.
Whether the creature actually heard what he said, or had merely decided to speak then anyway, neither men knew, but at that moment the figure in the middle made a preliminary sort of grunting noise, and then rasped in a low, guttural tone, "Man lay down bright iron."
His motions cautious, Thorongil put away his bow and drew his sword, laying it on the ground. "We mean you no harm."
Another snort, this one derisive, "Man shoot Ghâ n-mek-bû r; he walk no further to home of wild man. Mâ hg-hâ n-bâ ri demand blood for blood."
"By that logic, I might demand blood from you." Thorongil bit back, feeling a faint sense of indignation sweep over him. "Or was it not you who shot my friend?"
There was a ripple in the short being's stance, as if he were uncomfortable, "Mâ hg-hâ n-bâ ri shoot no man."
"One of you did."
Duurben glanced at his leader, wondering if this sort of attitude was the best one to take with three unknown creatures whose weapons were aimed for their hearts. But though the light was all but gone, he could tell that Thorongil was stained from head to toe by mud, covered in evergreen needles, exhausted, and completely aggravated with the small beings that had delayed him for a whole day. Politeness was not exactly high in his priorities at the moment.
The silence drifted on, with nothing but the low mutters of the strange creatures to fill it, and so Thorongil continued with a sort of impatient thrust to his words, "As neither of your companions have spoken, I can only conclude that 'Ghâ n-mek-bû r' shot my friend himself. If so, that would make my retaliation a payment in its own right, thus leaving no room for you to track us any longer."
Mâ hg-hâ n-bâ ri gave a growl thickly laced with bad temper, "Wild Man want no part of Fighting Man; want only travel own lands without spies following."
Thorongil frowned, wondering what the creatures has mistaken for 'spying', but didn't interrupt.
"Bad smell, bad trail," the wild man snorted, running his gnarled hand over a similarly rough tree trunk. "Man with bright iron drive Wild Man away; so Wild Man go, have new home now. Want no one following. Want no Men there."
"We have no interest in your home," Duurben said flatly, feeling a dizzy spell wash over him, and catching his captain's shoulder for balance.
Thorongil nodded, noting his companion's weakness, and gestured to the west, "Take your friend and go in peace. We will tell the fighting men to let you go, and you can take your time on your way home. No one shall follow."
There was another long silence, then the leader made a wet cluck in the back of his throat, and the three wild men vanished into the foliage, silent as elves. The two companions never clearly saw their faces.
Thorongil let out a sigh, and lifted his sword from the leaves, sheathing it again. When he turned to his lieutenant, he opened his mouth to speak, and then started forward as Duurben reeled with another wave of dizziness. Stumbling, the soldier put his foot back to catch himself and slipped, pitching backwards through the short trees and headfirst into the narrow ravine. Lunging, and nearly throwing himself over the edge in the process, Thorongil grabbed for Duurben's arm, and just managed to catch his wrist and pull him up short before he broke his neck.
"I've been meaning to ask you," the captain said in exasperation, as he shifted his grip and tried to pull his companion up without dislocating his shoulder, "how, in your examination of the land, did you manage to miss such a thing as this?"
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"Duurben, sometimes I wonder if you aren't more difficult to keep track of than even—" Thorongil broke off, smiling as if at old memories, and then shook his head decidedly, "no, most certainly not. But you do seem inclined to give me gray hair before my time."
Duurben looked distressed, "I'm most sorry, Captain, I did not mean to provoke them. I saw something in the bushes, and I may have appeared surprised, but I'm quite sure I didn't advance before they shot me."
"No, *I'm* sorry Duurben." Thorongil waved him aside, "I forgot that you do not understand jesting." The soldier frowned at this assessment, but Thorongil continued without pausing, "As for why they attacked, they struck me as equal parts skittish and secretive. I do not think they come here often — maybe oncoming winter has driven them to new territories for game — but either way, it should be no difficulty to tell the outpost commander to leave them alone; I sincerely doubt they will be back again unless a great need presses."
"But who were they?" Duurben asked, his natural curiosity making him lean in a little closer to their new fire, his eyes questioning.
"I know not." The captain shook his head, tapping his long, thin pipe against his knee. "They reminded me greatly of several stone figures I saw once in Rohan, but I never saw them well enough to determine whether or not they were like enough to be descendants of the originals." He shrugged, unconsciously adopting a tone that seemed much older than he, "Well, Middle Earth grows more crowded with the passing years, not less, and I will be much surprised if many more such things do not find their way out of their shadowed homes before long. If none are more dangerous than these wild men, we shall be most fortunate. But until such time as they challenge us, you must sleep. I do not want you falling into any more rivers tomorrow, for we have been delayed enough." And he smiled again.
Duurben shivered slightly, "At least the water was not deep; I have never learned to swim, I'm afraid. The water was the coldest I have ever felt.
"I know." Thorongil nodded sympathetically, and tossed him an extra blanket from the bedroll.
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The outpost was quiet, the young lieutenant was anxious, and the garrison was empty. Of the several hundred troops that Thorongil was to have retrieved, only twenty remained, and they were not permitted to leave the outpost unguarded. Duurben shifted his pack and glanced at his captain, wondering how he would react to the news.
Thorongil's face was furrowed in a deep frown, and there was worry in his blue eyes as he went over in his head the number of miles between this outpost, and the others. "What about our outpost farther to the west?" He asked aloud, thinking they might just make it that far in time.
The lieutenant looked even more apologetic, "I fear it would do you no good, for both garrisons were summoned to aid in an attack on our far western borders — Captain Handir felt this was the one place from which troops could be spared."
//Well, he was wrong.// Thorongil growled inwardly, though he kept it from his face. "Do you have two horses we could use?"
The young man looked slightly relieved, "Yes, a few, if you have need of them. Several more were recently left here than we usually keep."
"Good, then we will be leaving soon." Thorongil nodded, dismissing the lieutenant and turning back to his companion. As Duurben watched, his face grew drawn and tired. "We must go back to Ecthelion and request further instructions, though I grudge such a delay." It had never occurred to Duurben how much love his captain might hold for a land he had lived in for only seven years, but now it was plain for all to see.
"Sir, if he does send us to a different area for more troops, will we arrive in time to be of any assistance?"
Thorongil sighed, lifting a saddle bag down from the stable wall and moving the contents of his pack into it, "No, but we cannot abandon this alliance; we must at least show the King of Rohan plainly that help was sent… even if too late"
"But if that is all we are doing this for — I wonder, is it wise to waste time gathering others, who will never have a chance to fight?"
Thorongil paused, staring at him, "What do you mean?"
"You were quite as useful a leader to the Rohirrim as you have been here in Gondor; what if you were to offer your own personal abilities in the absence of any other help? Would that not serve the purpose of proving that our alliance still holds? It would at least be well for them to know that no further help is coming, so that they can plan accordingly."
Thorongil carried his bag to the nearest horse and slung it over behind the saddle, then stood beside the animal, his hands resting on its warm chestnut flanks as he considered. Then with a short nod he turned back, and his forehead was smooth. "Duurben, my friend — for that is what you have become, if you know it not — you're right. We will go to Rohan ourselves." And he nodded, mounted, and rode out into the courtyard, leaving Duurben to blink with surprise like an owl in the daylight. He wondered how many of Duurben's rules of rank he had just broken, and though he knew he might still be too late to make any difference in this new battle's outcome, he smiled.
TBC…