Well, Hello all. This chapter will see Ilrhenir headed toward the second attack on the Fords of Isen.

Chapter 4: Premonitory Prelude

After leaving Ilrhenir to rest and possibly ponder his sudden offer, Baelorn immediately sought out Grimbold's tent where he asked audience to consult with his Marshal about Ilrhenir. "My Lord Marshal?"

Grimbold, a tall, stout man in his fourth decade of life, looked up from where he bent over a map of Western Rohan and waved Baelorn to enter. Lack of proper sleep and the cost of loss were etched heavily upon Grimbold's features, yet he presented a fierce, proud image standing there in his finely wrought Gondorian chain maille. But noble appearances aside, Baelorn could easily see upon Grimbold's broad shoulders not only the burden of Theodred's death but the impending decimation of their remaining companies if help did not come in time.

"Have a seat Baelorn. I will hear from you what you need say of the boy. But be swift, for I need you holding the east bridge this night with the rest of your company."

"Yes, Grimbold." Baelorn looked about and found a stool, not unlike the one he occupied periodically at Ilrhenir's bedside, and he sat down as his Marshal bade. "What I wish to convey of him is brief. As you know, against all reason, the youth survived. He wishes to stand with us, Grimbold, as he did in the last battle. He has a full sixteen years upon him, old enough to choose to fight. But he is of foreign blood, will you have him?"

The Field Marshal smiled grimly, offering Baelorn a ceramic goblet with a rich brandy in it. Baelorn gratefully accepted and sipped the sweet liqueur, relishing the warmth that slid down his chest chasing away the cold of the late February evening. "Always direct with your speech, as ever, good Baelorn. An honorable trait in any man, especially a warrior. As for the boy in question, it would seem that I have little choice in the matter. The King's law is clear and leaves little room for reinterpretation, even for such as Ithis/I youth." When Baelorn went to protest, Grimbold raised a hand in warning. "But you mistake your fellows if you think to bring me the first news I've had of this IIlrhenir's/I daring involvement. Many were at his side to witness closely what you yourself missed when you were driven away and seeking the path to Helm's Deep. Several have already taken it upon themselves personally to make me mindful of his worth. It seems that though this Ilrhenir is new to the battlefield and even green with a blade, he has a particular instinct for it. Not to mention a survivor's hardy relationship with Dame Luck."

Baelorn smiled to know that he was not the only man there taken with the youth and he listened attentively as Grimbold continued.

"It has reached me from even the healer's tent that this Ilrhenir is in possession of a strength of will enough for three good men. All the same, I can not make him one of us Baelorn, for as your yourself have said, he is not of the Eorlingas. He is a trespasser in our lands." And then Grimbold cocked a brow in Baelorn's direction, awaiting the expected protest.

But Baelorn sensed in his Marshal a seed of purpose and he waited for Grimbold's next words. So Grimbold continued. "However, because he is a stranger among us, neither can I send him away. As I said, the King's edict on the presence of strangers in Rohan, even prisoners escaped from Uruks, stands irrefutable. The young man Ilrhenir will stay with the healers until he is mended and then 'officially' he must be brought for judgment before Theoden in the Golden Hall." Grimbold paused then and sipped his own brandy, seeming to form his next words carefully. "Of course, as Field Marshal, I must make such decisions as befit the circumstances of our plight." Grimbold's flashed a knowing grin at Baelorn for just a moment.

Baelorn looked on his Marshal and raised a circumspect brow. "My Lord?"

"Baelorn, as you well know, here we are pressed against the very verge of our enemy and men are at a premium, too valuable to be wasted upon guarding one gravely ill boy. And Ilrhenir finds himself in as great a peril from our enemies as he might be from great Theoden and the suspicious gaze of Wormtongue. When next the battle comes I must have every blade to turn the enemy and it cannot be helped that we have too little guard to spare on the Icaptive youth/I. And should Ilrhenir, for lack of proper guard, manage a blade…Well" Grimbold pierced Baelorn with his sharp blue-eyed gaze. "If he were to use his blade to stand with us in our battles against Saruman, it will earn him the King's favor, despite the worst souring of Ilrhenir's disposition that Grima's dark counsel can fashion."

Baelorn sat there a moment contemplating the permutations of Grimbold's words and a sly smile took his face.

Grimbold asked, "Baelorn, is there aught else to speak of? You are needed holding the bridgehead."

Baelorn stood, the smile still in place. "Actually, no Field Marshall, it is not. I also came seeking permission, after my rotation is up in the morn, to investigate amongst what spoils we have from the battle. The foul beasts who captured young Ilrhenir were most evil in their treatment of the youth. But worse to him than their treatment was the robbery of an…uh….heirloom. And he pines for it's loss. It is a simple thing and I ask only that I am allowed to seek it for him. I doubt that I will find it, but it would ease him to know one way or another."

Grimbold met Baelorn's eye. "It would seem that you have taken strongly to the lad, Baelorn."

"It is as you say, Grimbold, many of our men took note of him that night. Tis not everyday that a fevered, battered, half starved, naked youth armed only with a knife battles like a pit-fiend in a fight that is not even his own and yet manages to survive."

Grimbold shook his head and snorted. "Indeed. And perhaps it was fate that put Ihim/I with Iyou/I that night. For I had deemed him so far lost that had he been in my keep, I would have given him good bidding on a peaceful journey to his afterlife. Yet you seemed resolved that he live, and indeed he did." Grimbold eyed Baelorn keenly once more and then relaxed, sighing. "You have my permission to seek his items, though I authorize no other confiscation. Now if that is all, Baelorn, report to your post."

"Yes, Field Marshal Grimbold." Baelorn bowed and retreated the tent, leaving Grimbold alone to ponder the strange lad that seemed to have impressed more than a few of his Riddermark with his singular feats of spirited madness.

Baelorn stood all night at his guard of the east bank with the others of his reconstructed company. And at dawn Grimbold's company again took rotation. On his weary way to find his morning meal he stopped by the cargo wagon where such spoils as the Riddermark had been able to collect where stored for the time being. The guards knew to expect Baelorn and so he was immediately allowed access. Baelorn spent the next several hours scouring the oddments, searching among blades, purses, weapons, armor and tack of all sorts. And though he found no northern coin whatsoever, he did find his knife, the very blade that he had lent Ilrhenir upon the eastern shore. And so having failed to find Jenna's coins, Baelorn retired to the healer's tent to share with Ilrhenir what scant tidings he had ere he went to find his rest.

When Baelorn entered, to his shock, he found that Ilrhenir had been moved back behind the partition to the rear of the tent. Haimen was bathing Ilrhenir's bare chest with slow movements, speaking in calming tones at the supine youth who seemed asleep, yet somehow oddly distressed. Haimen heard Baelorn's approach and turned, managing a warning glance even with his pale, unfocused gaze.

"Quietly Baelorn." Haimen whispered. "His fever returned in the night, and he is only now at rest, having been sorely distraught before."

Baelorn was greatly disturbed by this, for it had been two days past since Ilrhenir's fever had fled and he thought the youth beyond the worst of his trials. "Do his wounds not heal? I know that many of our folk have suffered from fevers in their injuries. The orcs of Isengard are a filthy lot."

"Nay, Ilrhenir's wounds heal well enough Baelorn, though in the days he lay fevered, fouled wounds were one of the reasons why." Haimen finished his ministrations and began very carefully dressing Ilrhenir in a fresh tunic. "This fever is perhaps the result of the illness still passing among the wounded men. Or perhaps Ilrhenir's previous exposure set some illness to work. Twas the wrong season for a lad to go to battle with naught but your cloak to wear."

Baelorn snorted. "Is there a season where it Iis/I ever wise to go to battle thusly?"

"No." Haimen frowned.

Baelorn shuffled in beside Haimen, waiting for a clearer explanation of Ilrhenir's condition. And when none came, Baelorn asked directly. "Tell me Haimen, will he mend in timely fashion? Ere long he will need be well enough at least to travel to Helms Deep."

"This would be of some concern even if Ilrhenir were not weakened so. The illness passing amongst the wounded is a harsh one, and in his state, I fear a bit for him. At least he still wakes and takes what curatives we have for such things." Haimen sighed and stood, stretching his long back. "We will tend him. But as before, this battle is his alone to fight."

Baelorn watched Ilrhenir lay there mildly tossing in his sleep, bathed in perspiration. "He seems uncomfortable, Haimen."

"Unlike before, he is restless with Ithis/I fever. And I think that he is not always quite sure of where he is. Even so, he has not been difficult to soothe, though the doing of it lies in deception. At worst, he seems to think that he is home. But a low voice convinces him that his mother is nigh and this seems to calm him greatly."

Baelorn nodded, understanding, and he took up a vigil of sorts at Ilrhenir's side.

Throughout the day, Ilrhenir woke occasionally, yet seemed barely aware of the goings on about him. For Baelorn, the day passed slowly as he patiently waited at Ilrhenir's bedside, struggling with his own weariness. But as it drew onto evening, the healers were able to break Ilrhenir's fever. And when dusk fell, Ilrhenir finally came to himself slowly.

Baelorn, having never gone to his pallet that day, had dozed where he sat upright on the stool beside Ilrhenir. So when the lad feebly called out to him, Baelorn nearly toppled off his narrow seat as wakefulness rushed to him. The Rohirrim regained his composure quickly though, and he settled his hand on Ilrhenir's brow, grinning at its coolness. "I am a busy man Ilrhenir." He spoke softly in a chiding tone, yawning. "And this day was not wisely spent."

"I….I…ap..pologize, Baelorn." Ilrhenir whispered hoarsely. "It seems I slept the day away. And such dreams I had….I would not wish to have them again." He shivered.

Baelorn looked fondly down on Ilrhenir and clapped a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Be at ease, your dark dreams are passed now, along with the fever."

"Fever?" Ilrhenir asked quietly not quite awake yet.

"Indeed. You began to give us cause to wonder if Haimen's skills were all that they seemed."

And then, as Baelorn's own stomach complained, the Rider paused to wonder if Ilrhenir was hungry also. He looked beyond the pale partition out the far door to the healer's tent gauging the time of day. The shadows beyond seemed long and he knew it must be late. "It is time I had my dinner before I go on watch, Ilrhenir. Would you have a meal as well?"

Ilrhenir stretched and blinked trying to wake. And after considering his stomach for a moment, he nodded slowly and Baelorn went in search of someone to prepare the youth an appropriate meal while he went out to Owain to fetch his own. He returned with his dinner shortly, to find a healer helping Ilrhenir with his eliminations and he turned away, lending them privacy just in time to see Haimen happily working his way through the maze of cots with Ilrhenir's own meal.

"You know, good Haimen. It is truly a wonder that you can navigate this course of sickbeds without tripping and loosing the tray you bear." Baelorn smiled rakishly.

"Ah Baelorn….Tis not so hard, and I will continue to do so unless someone very cruel moves the beds around." Haimen winked.

They both chuckled and waited until the acolyte tending to Ilrhenir withdrew with a covered pan.

As Haimen set aside Ilrhenir's dinner and went about inspecting the youth, feeling gently about his neck, listening closely to his breathing, Ilrhenir finally lost patience with the tactile nature of his care. "Do you mind!" he implored in a raised, hoarse tone, hot with irritation.

"Mind what Ilrhenir? Have I pained you in some way?" The amusement on Haimen's face belied the seriousness of his tone.

"No! But if one more person tests my brow, or listens to my breath or touches aught below my waist, I am going to fetch Baelorn's sword and give you all such ills of your own to tend that you will all be inclined to give Ime/I peace!" Baelorn and Haimen struggled not to laugh, but failed, despite Ilrhenir.

"Ilrhenir, I would love to watch you take the healers to task, but I am afraid that I must eat my own meal quickly and then go, ere I am late for my duty. So like it or not, you must let Haimen help you with yours." Baelorn smiled broadly and shook his head. He was coming to think that the lad had two primary states of being; unconscious and indignant.

"I can manage myself." Ilrhenir said curtly.

"Indeed not," Haimen goaded gently. "I think that your fever today has fled to fuel your temper, but not your strength." And he lifted a cup of something warm and salty smelling to Ilrhenir's lips.

"I seem to remember you mention a fever as I woke?" Ilrhenir looked questioningly at Baelorn as he took the cup from Haimen, bringing it to his lips by his own power. And suddenly he was aware that he was again exceptionally thirsty.

"Aye lad," Baelorn said. "As I said, you took fevered again. I'm told it was in the wee morning hours and we feared you were in decline. But no, now that I see you spouting venom at your allies, I think your fever has gone, but it has taken your comportment with it." Baelorn admonished gently, and Ilrhenir shifted uncomfortably, coloring pink at the friendly reproach.

"I'm sorry Baelorn." He said earnestly into the cup, trying to sip slowly but too thirsty to really be successful.

"Tis not I you were discourteous with." Baelorn held onto the role of gently mentored criticism.

Ilrhenir turned to the acolyte standing near. "I…I'm…sorry Haimen. I realize how well I've been tended, and I'm very grateful. I just wish you all knew how…Well, I mean it's….I'm not used to…" Ilrhenir blushed again and Baelorn was amazed that the youth wasn't already desensitized to the healers' routines. It had only taken Baelorn his first serious injury when he was a young rider, to lose such shyness. He wondered what it would take to dissolve Ilrhenir's extreme coyness and then decided that it was no experience of war he ever hoped the young man would be subjected to.

Haimen smiled and waved off the apology, retreating to let the determined Ilrhenir have his supper with Baelorn.

Baelorn settled in with his own meal next to Ilrhenir's cot and looked first at the young man's tray which consisted of several cups of tea and broth and a bowl of oat mesh and then at his own dinner and offered some food over to Ilrhenir from his bowl. "Here, have a piece of this meat. I don't imagine that they think you're ready yet, but II/I think you are. How long, if you don't mind me asking, were you with the orcs, you are mightily…uhm…spare?"

Ilrhenir picked out a small piece of roasted meat from Baelorn's wooden bowl only to have it retrieved by Baelorn and traded for a bigger piece. He tasted it cautiously and then gratefully he devoured it. Followed by his oats, and a boiled potato also out of the older man's dish. After a while Ilrhenir answered. "I Ithink/I I was captive three days and nights. I escaped on the morning of what would have been the fourth day since being taken, the day of the battle." He thought a bit more on that and then nodded.

Baelorn was puzzled, he would have guessed that it had been somewhat longer considering the underfed state of Ilrhenir. "Ah, well, I wondered. The rest of the trip south from Bree… was it also such an adventure?"

Painfully full, Ilrhenir sunk down into his pillows and groaned. "That was wonderful, but I over-ate, terribly. And no, the road was frightening and lonely and very cold, but I avoided people whenever I absolutely could, and so managed to also avoid most dangers as well. Indeed there were some close calls, but my biggest problem was getting food. I know not how to hunt, nor do I possess the tools with which to do so. Often, I made do with little, or threw caution away and traded some meager possession. When I happened upon farms, occasionally I stayed on for a week or so, to help with harvest, and was traded food to travel with for my labor. But it was never enough to last for long and I could just never bring myself to spend those coins, not even to eat." Ilrhenir closed his eyes and rubbed his stomach.

IAh, those damn coins again/I, Baelorn thought. "Ilrhenir."

"Yes Baelorn?"

"Speaking of those coins, I looked among our spoils for your purse this day. But I found no northern currency." He watched closely but Ilrhenir's expression stayed passive.

"I see. Well, no matter. I will find them."

"Ilrhenir…."

"Baelorn," Ilrhenir interrupted with a chill tone. "I thank you for the meal, but don't you have a guard duty soon? I wouldn't want to cause you to be errant"

"Aye, and I must be about it." Baelorn sighed deeply. Long a man of military mind, he knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Good even Ilrhenir."

"Good night, Baelorn."

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Despite a bone deep weariness that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in him, Ilrhenir had been oddly impatient to be out of the healers tent early that next morning, even if for only a little while. It was morning of the seventh day since Theodred's fall and as dawn began to roll up over the horizon, Ilrhenir sat on the back of a supply wagon with blankets wrapped tight around him, grateful for the solitude and hoping that it was a while yet ere he was missed. The irony of the fact that exactly one week ago he had witnessed the coming of dawn, savagely strapped to just such a cart hadn't escape him. In fact, as the dawn was born bright in the east, it seemed to suit Ilrhenir's apprehensive mood to mark the week's passage in such paradoxical surroundings.

He scratched at the stitches on his itching palms through the light bandages over them, and then at the sutures at his temple where the orcish arrow had narrowly missed skewering his brain. The fever yesterday had delayed the removal of the sutures, but today Haimen would pull most, if not all of the myriad sets of slender, black-silk caterpillars that were scattered across his body. A tally taken, Ilrhenir had no limb, no body part not decorated at least twice with the signs of the healers' sewing skills. Some were sword wounds that had healed clean and would leave only thin pale scars, but others were the worst of his torments from his captors, vicious claw marks that had delved into his flesh and would leave more livid tokens of his time with the orcs.

Ilrhenir greatly anticipated the stitches being clipped and pulled from him later this day. He hoped their removal would lessen the odd feelings of revulsion at the sight of the carefully seamed injuries. He had to admit that the healers had done fair work, but every time he laid eyes upon the numerous sewn injuries he felt uncomfortable, humiliated, like some spoiled rag doll haphazardly repaired.

Ilrhenir shifted his weight gingerly on the back of the cart and was painfully reminded it was the less visible injuries that would continue to speak to him of the perversion of Isengard. Not only would his strength be long in returning, but upon inquiry, Haimen had regretfully announced to him that the most bothersome of his injuries, a set of very cracked ribs and bone deep contusions on his hips might bother Ilrhenir for many months yet. Both injuries had occurred from the savage kicks he'd received and would plague Ilrhenir long after the bruising subsided. So he was not eager to again take up travel on horseback with Baelorn.

But some strange, grave portent in his mind dimmed his humor, warning that only too soon would he be fleeing atop Naisi again, bracing himself against the pound of the steeds mighty hoof beats, which would ricochet painfully through his entire form.

As Ilrhenir looked out into the ashen morning sky, sweat beaded upon his features and he imagined that he could actually hear the clash of steel and the thrumming rhythm of the passage of many horses. And in his mind swirled chaotic images of blood and fire and fearful enemies battling madly. If he had not had his eyes open and been able to witness all that was about him, then Ilrhenir would have believed himself swept away in battle again, so strong were the sensations of devastation clamoring through his consciousness.

So it was that Ilrhenir was too immersed in his grim musings to notice whenBaelorn came upon Ilrhenir as the cavalryman came off his nightly guard duty. The older man took in the unexpected sight of Ilrhenir sitting on the wagon tail, a marked pallor still painfully obvious under the discoloring of all the bruises. The youth seemed obviously burdened, his brow furrowed as he focused on some dark thought or another, with blankets pulled about him and his shoulders hunched. Baelorn watched with a cocked brow as Ilrhenir's even breath made white curling clouds in the crisp morning air, and he was even more surprised to note the bare blade propped at Ilrhenir's side, grasped tightly in one of the lad's thickly bandaged hands.

Baelorn broke himself away from watching and approached. "Good morn, Ilrhenir. A grim way to meet the dawn, threatening it so. Think you?" He gestured goodnaturedly at the drawn blade. But there was no response from Ilrhenir so he continued on. "Our Brother the Sun would rather you stayed warm and hidden in the healer's tent than sit without, and greet him so insolently with your blade drawn and a storm brewing upon your brow." Baelorn chuckled, trying to lighten Ilrhenir's obviously dark disposition, but looking into the youth's unfocused, distant gaze, he suddenly wondered if something was truly amiss, for Ilrhenir seemed too distant.

He watched and thought a moment, and couldn't imagine the healers letting the Ilrhenir out to sit here in the cold. No, he'd wager Ilrhenir was playing absconder and given time, the healers would come looking for him. The question was, why Iwas/I the youth out here in the cold and with his sword.

Ilrhenir barely looked at Baelorn, a deep shiver of apprehension running through him. This only gave Baelorn more cause to worry and the Rohannian slid his large hand to the back of Ilrhenir's neck and found it very damp and too cool. "Ilrhenir, all humor aside. You'll catch a chill out here and then Haimen will be wroth."

It was long ere Ilrhenir finally blinked and focused, seeming suddenly to notice Baelorn for the first time. And a look of startled confusion joined Ilrhenir's abrupt awareness of the older man's presence. "Baelorn, I…uhm…uh….Good morning." Ilrhenir rubbed his brow and shook his head, dispelling the last of the shadows from his mind. And he blushed at being caught unawares outside the tent.

Baelorn watched him, his eyes narrowing keenly. "Good morn, Ilrhenir. Does Haimen know you're about?" He knew the answer even as he asked the question.

Ilrhenir's blush deepened and he averted his eyes. "Ah, no. I just needed…well, I wished a few moments. You know, to reflect upon the last few weeks."

Despite Ilrhenir's sudden clarity, Baelorn wasn't convinced he was well. "I see. Well you should go within all the same. I am amazed you made it as far as this on your own."

Ilrhenir didn't move to rise but he did pull the blade upon his lap and frowned down at it suddenly.

Baelorn, noticing that Ilrhenir did not follow, turned back. Wondered at the youth's oddness he held his scolding and was patient. "Ah, You found Ethrid's blade. If you will come along now, I will see to getting you a belt to wear it properly with. There is a skill to belting a blade at the right angle to draw it free."

Ilrhenir smiled hollowly but ignored the instruction. "I am grateful. But why do you call it Ethrid's blade? I had thought it to be the blade I picked up from the ground during the last battle and indeed I found it today with the rest of this uniform where it had been laid before. This Iis/I the same blade I picked up from the battlefield, is it not? Or is it on loan from another Rohirrim, like your knife was?"

"Despite my having lent you my knife, Ilrhenir, men do not often loan their blades. This one is a gift to you of sorts, or rather, you are granted ownership of it from he who would have inherited it." Baelorn drew Naisi to the cart and sat down beside Ilrhenir on the tailgate, watching the young man closely. It was more and more obvious the youth had no business being about as yet.

"Inherited it?" Ilrhenir was still confused. Though the Rohirrim seemed to bear like swords amongst most of them, he was sure this was the one he had retrieved off the body of the fallen Eorling. "It seems rather indistinct. How do you know this?" Ilrhenir turned the blade over in his hands looking for a mark of ownership and found a small set of runes etched along the base of the blade. "Is this the name of Ethrid upon it?"

"No, that is the mark of Koathe, one of the smith-masters who forge the swords of the Eord." At that, Baelorn drew and turned up his own sword to show the similar mark upon the blade of his weapon, running his calloused thumb gently over the etching. It was different slightly than the mark upon Ilrhenir's blade. "This is the mark of Koadoreth, Koathe son. Sons of their line have been fashioning our blades since the time of Eorl and Cirion. We do not put our own names upon our blades, only the mark of their craftsman is upon them."

"Our blades are our companions," Baelorn continued. "and as such we tend them carefully. In war, three things will bring you home alive if well tended, your horse, your sword and your sword-brothers. I will instruct you in the care this blade, even as I teach you to look after a mount later on. As for tending the third, well, by standing with us in the last battle you have done so already, and that is why you were gifted the blade. You took it up from the slain form of Ethrid, who fell in battle upon the Fords seven days gone. This was witnessed in battle by his brother Fathrid, who was nigh when his brother was slain and would have inherited this blade. He passes it to you, Ilrhenir. Our ways are a bit foreign to you, but I deem that you perceive honor better than many and so I tell you, this honor bestowed you is great. Be mindful of it."

Ilrhenir sat there, his mouth slack in awe. "I…I am not worthy of this, if it is as you say. I thought it a loan, not unlike the uniform."

Baelorn shook his head. "Swords are valuable and necessary upon the road these days and you would do well to acknowledge the honor granted you and not refuse it. Now come. Haimen will be wondering after you and you have been too long from the warmth of the tent and the ease of your sickbed." Baelorn slowly slid from the cart, weary himself. He had not been to bed in two days and nights. The only sleep he had received was napping upright on the stool at Ilrhenir's bedside the day before.

Baelorn wished now that he had traded out his watch and slept, rather than going straight to his next shift last night. And even now the Rohannian would have been very happy to skip his breakfast in order to seek his bed pallet all the sooner. But Baelorn knew the wisdom of supping first. He would escort Ilrhenir to the tent, situate Naisi and then take his meal with him to his rest.

Ilrhenir himself had to admit he also was very exhausted now. He had far outstayed his strength and though the grotesque collage of battle visions that had haunted him earlier were now completely gone, in their wake Ilrhenir felt his limbs liquid and his thoughts wearily detached. Ilrhenir contemplated dimly that it had been a mistake to venture forth from the healers tent as yet. He was barely aware of Baelorn's arm half guiding, half supporting him as he steered drunkenly towards the healers tent.

Baelorn cursed under his breath and in order to more quickly navigate his wobbly, limping charge, he handed off Naisi to an unsuspecting passing soldier. It was obvious to him that Ilrhenir was quickly reaching the end of what little strength he had. Grimly Baelorn directed the youth, speaking quietly to him in terse tones. "No more of this Ilrhenir, not until the healers say you may be about. I Iwill/I have your word on this."

Ilrhenir did not answer Baelorn, in fact did not hear him. For suddenly, a violent shudder took the youth, the strength of which ripped him from Baelorn's unsuspecting grasp and Ilrhenir collapsed on the ground, his legs no longer able to hold him. Baelorn stared frozen a moment in horror and shock as great tremors began wracking Ilrhenir's form. Then he gathered his wits and called to the man he'd handed Naisi off to, ordering him to summon the healers. Baelorn dropped to kneel near Ilrhenir and spoke his name loudly, all the while attempting to still the youths convulsive spasms. Baelorn's heart raced for he had seen a man do this only once before, long, long ago in Edoras, after the man had suffered a blow to his skull falling off his mount. Baelorn also remembered, with sick dread, that the man had died the following day.

At that same instant Ilrhenir's wide eyes, staring sightless, rolled back in his head, and the image of a great dark host enveloped his mind. Fell they were, and in greater number than he could have imagined possible and the sight of them made his heart plummet. They were comprised of endless lines of orcs, some marching, some mounted on the great wolves he had witnessed before And there were Dunlanders too; all brandishing fire as well as blades, merciless and swift and before them were decimated the forces of Grimbold and Elfhelm. As Ilrhenir lay grasped in the throws of the cruel paroxysm, unknown to himself, he cried out shrilly. "They are come!"

This warning he repeated loudly, many times ere the fit passed. And like boiling water steadily backed off the heat, his body's fitful thrashing gradually lessened. When it was over, he lay there upon the cold, hard earth, panting and trembling, wondering why he felt so very dizzy and weak. Ilrhenir slowly opened his eyes and Baelorn's concerned visage focused into view. Ilrhenir smiled sheepishly at him, whispering in a disoriented voice. "I…I seem to be laying down, Baelorn. I wonder how that came about." And then his grey eyes closed and he knew no more.

Baelorn gently hoisted Ilrhenir onto the stretcher brought by a pair of acolytes, watching as they quickly transported him to the large, sage tent.

Sighing heavily Baelorn then picked up Ilrhenir's blade and put it with his own belongings, tying it to his saddlebags. He took Naisi and settled the horse before turning his attention next to news of Ilrhenir. He went straight to the healer's tent but Haimen, grimfaced, would not let him enter beyond the partitioned area where Ilrhenir was still housed from yesterday. Haimen would only say that the youth rested deeply, and insisted that Baelorn seek a meal and bed himself.

All counted, it was an hour before Baelorn was able to sink gratefully into his bedroll and when he did, it was longer yet ere his mind was settled enough after the events of that morn to accept sleep. Eventually, weariness claimed him, his lids grew heavy and his thoughts drifted off.

And just as the odd dreams of early slumber began a welcome dance through his mind, Baelorn heard the horn blow, and like the rest of the camp, he was roused.

He loosed a curse and summoned his weary limbs to obey. News spread quickly, and it was not long after receiving his orders that Baelorn heard the first signs of the enemy with his own ears and saw in the distance a wide, dark line upon the expanse of the western gap beyond the Fords. He joined the ranks of Eord already on stand at the east bank, blade drawn, and as they saw the mass orcish advance come into clearer view, Baelorn realized that Ilrhenir had been right two hours gone.

Baelorn whispered the words, quietly echoing Ilrhenir's anguished cry, "They are come."