By DarkRiver (darkriver@cyberdude.com)
Author's Note: The characters herein belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, not me and appear without the author's permission, of course, since he's all dead and stuff. This is set in the same continuity as "Sunset Ride" and "Wicked Games," though a few years later. Feedback is welcome!
Rating: PG
Chapter 2
Year 14, 4A
Elboron woke at the sound of a rooster's cry. He yawned sleepily and decided not to move for the moment. Spring was warmer than winter, but as yet, not by much. The blankets were awfully comfortably, after all, and the day was so young...
He awoke again a moment later, remember today was his first riding lesson. The chance to be trained by the legendary horse-masters was simply too incredible to pass up. He wiped sleep from his eyes and nudged Elfwine, who slept like the dead.
Since that night in the blanket fort, the two had wordlessly agreed that it was more comfortable to sleep in pairs than alone. They slept like puppies, tangled together in Elfwine's sizable bed. It eased Elboron's homesickness and helped Elfwine sleep without nightmares -- a problem the Gondorian boy had not been aware his cousin suffered from.
"Come on, dogface, it's time to get up."
Elfwine batted sleepily at him and curled the blankets tighter around himself. "Go 'way."
"No, no oversleeping today. We've got riding lessons."
Elfwine tensed. "Oh."
"I don't want to be late," Elboron said excitedly, throwing off the coverlet. He slipped out of bed and stretched.
Elfwine sat up, yawning. "But..."
"What? You've been mousy about these lessons since we were first told about them. I thought you horse folks loved to show off for us foreigners."
Elfwine winced and swung his legs out of bed. "Yeah, I guess so."
They changed into their riding breeches pulled on mostly-clean tunics. Then they shuffled down to the dining hall in search of breakfast. Elboron babbled about the riding lessons he had taken, what he hoped to learn and what he had heard of Rohirrim horses -- never noticing how quiet Elfwine was.
They reached the stables just as full light was washing over Edoras. The sounds of the stable-hands could be heard; low-murmured conversations, the jingle of harnesses and tack, as well as the horses themselves, whickering over their breakfasts.
Hama intercepted them. "There you are. Thought you lay-abouts would sleep 'til noon."
Elboron glared at him. "Well, we're here now. Who do we see about our lessons?"
"Me," replied the sour-faced youth.
Elboron's eyes bulged. From his cousin's silence, he guessed that Elfwine had been expecting this. He fumed silently for a moment. "But you're barely older than us."
"My father's the stable master, isn't he? And since he's off to war, it's up to me to teach the royal brats how to stay in their saddles." He gave Elfwine an ugly smile. "Don't know if that'll be possible with you."
The Rohan Prince went scarlet and made no reply.
"Well, come on then, Melefel is waiting for you. Should I get a side-saddle for you, Elboron, so you can ride in your dress?"
The Gondorian Prince also went red, but his color was from anger. Hama was taller and probably stronger, but hitting him seemed so appealing. Forcibly reminding himself that he was a guest here, he just sneered back and said, "Not unless side-saddle is the only way you know how to ride."
Hama's smirk faded. "Follow me," he snapped.
The practice ground was a large circle of packed earth surrounded by a fence. A sedate black horse with a white spot on his nose and a matching one on his chest awaited them, looking supremely bored.
"Who's first?"
Elboron was prepared to yield to his cousin, but Elfwine was looking furtively around like he would rather be anywhere but here. Baffled by that, he nonetheless stepped forward and thrust his chin at Hama.
"This should be fun," the older boy mocked. "Go on, mount up."
Elboron swung easily into the saddle, settling himself a bit. "The stirrups are too long," he said, expecting Hama to shorten them as his trainer back home had done.
"They look fine to me," Hama said instead.
"I'm telling you, they're too long."
"This isn't some dandified country-road riding you learn here, dungheap. This is the right way to ride."
Several nearby stableboys laughed. Elboron flushed crimson, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. "I rode here from Ithilien, fart-breath. I think I know a little bit."
"Well, it's wrong. Now, straighten your back. Come on, square those shoulders."
Elboron clenched his jaw but did as bade. As much as he hated Hama, the boy was Rohirrim. From his mother's stories, even a child of the Rohirrim knew more about riding than many Gondorian cavalry. And he had been anxious to learn, to make his parents proud the next time they saw him.
"Better, now guide the horse to the ring with your knees. Knees! Not the reins, you stupid cow-turd."
Elboron heard the stableboys laughing again and he almost cried from sheer embarrassment, but he would not shame his father. Extremely self-conscious, he nudged the compliant mare towards the ring.
"Your posture is slipping. Get your shoulders back! How many times am I going to have to tell you? Are you deaf or stupid or what?"
Elboron seethed with anger and misery. The unrelenting stream of abuses continued, and it was soon apparent to him that he could do nothing right. Hama derided him again and again for his posture, for the angle of his legs and, most especially, for relying on the reins instead of his knees.
"Do you think you have hands free in a battle to play with the reins, you rutting moron?" Hama demanded, to the delight of the watching stableboys.
Elboron decided that enough was enough. He slipped from the saddle and stomped over to Hama, trembling with anger and embarrassment. "Fine. You win," he snapped and brushed past the older boy.
Hama laughed at his back. "Look, Winer, he's off to cry even faster than you were."
Elfwine trotted over to his side, looking anxiously into his face. Elboron's cheeks were flaming, but his eyes were hard as agates. "So, that's why you hate riding lessons."
Elfwine ducked his head miserably. "I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd be cruel to a guest of the Mark."
Elboron fumed impotently. "I may not know as much about riding as him, but I know my stirrups were too long."
"They...did seem a bit...but I thought...he knows so much."
"Knows how to bark like a hound with a bur in its foot, it seems to me. What does your father have to say about the way he acts?"
Elfwine cast his gaze away. "Um..."
"You haven't told him?"
Elfwine shrugged uncomfortably. "I...er..."
"Why not?"
Elfwine looked down at the ground and kicked a stone. "I just thought...I figured..." He puffed a long blond lock out of his face. "I thought it was me, okay?"
"What?"
"Look, I don't want to talk about it."
Elboron chewed on his lower lip, pondering. "You mean...that rutting swill-sucker made you think you can't ride?"
Elfwine blushed and said very quietly, "I know I'll never be as good as him."
Elboron wanted to go back and beat Hama into the dirt for the look that now adorned his cousin's face, but he held his temper in check. "What happened?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Elfwine had a wary, hunted look on his face.
"Yeah, I heard you, muck brain. I still want to know. Or I could go ask Hama..."
"No!" his cousin squeaked, gripping his arm.
"Well?"
Elfwine sulked for a moment. The two walked down along the path that would lead to the gates of Edoras. The morning was bright and clear, bathed in a golden warmth. The streets were teeming with Rohirrim, going about their daily chores. Some paused in their doing to hail the two youths. Neither boy was of a mind to more than nod in response.
"I fell...off," Elfwine told him, still blushing furiously.
"Off what?"
"My horse. I fell off my horse," the Prince of the Mark snapped.
"So? Doesn't everyone?"
Elfwine glowered at him.
"How many times did you fall off?" Elboron was undaunted by the continuing glare. "I'm not going to go singing it in the Great Hall. How many?"
"Three times."
"That's all?"
Finally pushed past tolerance, Elfwine growled at him, "That's three times too many for the son of Éomer."
Elboron did not understand at all. "Falling is part of learning, or so my father says."
"You don't understand," Elfwine complained. "After the first time, I was terrified of making a fool of myself...of shaming my father. After the second, I could barely hear Hama 'cause of how hard the stable boys were laughing. The third fall was too much. How would it be if my father, the hero of Rohan, came by and saw that his son could barely stay on his horse and all of his people were doubled-up laughing?"
Elboron sensed his cousin's pain, but he was at a loss as to what to do about it. "I think Hama would make anyone nervous enough to fall out of their saddle."
Elfwine shook his head. "I'm just never going to be...I don't know..."
"As good as your father?" Elboron finished for him, starting to understand.
Elfwine shrugged wordlessly.
"Well, I think it's rutting stupid to let a muckhead like Hama convince you that you can't do...well, anything, really."
His cousin was glancing furtively at him, as if not quite believing what he was hearing. "You...you don't think it's my fault, then?"
Elboron snorted. "Not by half, Win. Look, my mother taught me a lot of what I know, and maybe I can help you."
Elfwine looked away again. "Hama will be there."
The Ithilien youth considered that and shook his head. "We'll take Melefel out tomorrow, out beyond the city. Then no one will bother us."
Elfwine smiled for the first time that day. "Okay. That...that actually sounds like fun."
"Good. So, now what do we do?"
"We could go see if the kennel master would give us leave to take out one of the younger hounds. He usually lets me do that, give them some exercise and stuff."
"Great!"
They changed direction and headed for the kennels on the east side of Edoras. The kennel master was an old man with very few teeth named Galamund. He welcomed them into the yard with a merry smile.
"Haven't seen you in a fair bit, Prince. Who's your guest?"
"My cousin, Elboron," Elfwine said politely. "How have you been? Mother told me your leg was bothering you again."
Galamund waved his hand dismissively. "That wasn't nothing, but tell the Lady that I thank her for the herb-soaked wraps she sent over. Nothing cures that ache faster than that Dol Amroth remedy of hers."
"I'll tell her, sir. I was wondering, uh..."
"Ebros has a cyst on his paw, lad. He won't be running anytime soon. But Fellfang could sure use some fresh air."
Elfwine beamed at him. "That would be wonderful, sir."
Galamund smiled back and lead them over to a pen where a very excited black hound was pawing at the gate. The only part of him that was not black was his left ear, which was pure white. The dog's tongue lolled out in happy anticipation.
"Now, here's some treats for him," Galamund said, pressing a leather pouch into Elboron's hand. "And here's some water. Don't you let me see him come back thirsty, you hear?"
"Yes, sir," both boys said quickly.
Fellfang shot out of the pen and raced happily around the yard, seemingly attempting to go in every direction at once. He shot over to the kennel gate and then ran back, barking excitedly. He pounced on Elboron, bearing him to the ground and licking his face.
Galamund laughed. "I think you've a friend, lad."
Elboron giggled and wrestled the dog off of him. "Okay, you, just because I'm holding the treats."
"We'll be back in a few hours," Elfwine promised.
"Don't let him run you too hard," Galamund said with a laugh.
The two boys left with Fellfang bounding along at their heels. Very quickly, they passed through the gates of Edoras and ran headlong into the fields beyond. The view was breathtaking, a vast panorama of towering mountains, rolling hills and tall grasses all under a great canopy of a blue sky.
"I meant to ask you, what are these hillocks?" Elboron asked, pointing to the mounds lining the road to the city. He picked up a stick and threw it as hard as he could. Fellfang barked loudly and raced after it.
"Those? They're howes. We bury our Kings under them. That row is Eorl and his descendents. When Helm's sons died without heirs, that second row was started."
"Wow," Elboron said, gazing at the seventeen mounds in awe.
Fellfang charged back, the stick clamped between his teeth. Elfwine grabbed it and tried to extract it, but the hound resisted, tugging backward. The two struggled back and forth, the boy laughing and the dog growling in a false show of ferocity.
It was a fun morning.
Once exhausted, they began winding their way back to the city. Elboron stared at the howes again, impressed that the Kings of old warded the gates to the city. Far from the mournful graveyards in Gondor, this was actually peaceful and comforting.
He frowned and strayed over to one of the barrows. The earth did not seem quite right, and as he drew closer he became certain that the ground had been disturbed. Eyes alight with curiosity, he circled the howe and studied the ground.
"What is it?"
"No one should be digging here, should they?'
"I should say not," Elfwine responded, kneeling down and studying the ground along with him.
The grass has been pulled back like a blanket and replaced, for certain. The ragged lines of dark earth could still be seen around the seams. There were also boot prints all around -- heavy boot prints. Elboron was reminded of the tracks he had seen in the hall.
"Whose barrow is this?" he asked.
Elfwine had to look around him to be sure. "This is Helm's."
"Why would anyone be digging around in an old grave? Was there treasure buried with him?"
"None to speak of," Elfwine said thoughtfully.
Fellfang, who had been sniffing around the area, suddenly growled low in his throat. This was not the playful sound of before. The hound had sensed something not to his liking.
Elboron knelt beside the dog and traced the boot prints with one finger. Something was definitely wrong here. And he wanted to know what it was.
"Go on, boy. Hunt!" he urged.
Fellfang bounded off, sniffing at the ground as he went. The boys followed, excited by the mystery. They were led along the outer wall, past the gate and towards the north edge of the city.
Fellfang whined suddenly, circling one spot and scenting the air. Frustrated, the dog started pawing the earth and barking.
"He's lost the trail," Elboron said in disappointment.
Elfwine shrugged. "It was probably nothing. Let's head in for lunch. I'm starving."
They returned to the kennels in silence, both pondering the mystery of the howe and the footprints. Galamund greeted them as warmly as before, scratching Fellfang's ears fondly.
"Have fun, lads?"
"Yes, sir," Elfwine said with a small smile. "Maybe we can take him out again tomorrow?"
Galamund laughed. "Come by after lunch, lads."
"Sir?" Elboron spoke up.
"Yes, what is it?"
"I was just wondering. What are you training Fellfang to hunt?"
"Him? Why, he's an orc-hunter. And a finer one I've never raised."
Melefel looked quite offended at the notion of being saddled, bridled and warmed up before sunrise. If it were possible for a horse to sulk; that would, in fact, be what she was doing as the two boys conferred on the fields before Edoras.
They had awoken this early to circumvent Hama. If the belligerent boy had seen them trying to sneak off with a horse, he surely would have stopped them. They were gambling that he would not be spiteful enough to come looking for them.
"Okay, so, um...what was that goat-turd supposed to be teaching you?" Elboron asked.
Elfwine was nodding off on his feet. "Vaulting, I think."
"That's not so hard. Um...let's see.."
Elboron rooted around until he found a long stick and a few large rocks. He arranged his findings into a makeshift obstacle. Once he was satisfied, he went over to Melefel and, with a friendly rub on the nose, swung into the saddle.
"Okay, first thing is to get the stirrups right. Could you lengthen them a bit?"
Elfwine darted over and adjusted them slightly. Elboron tested them and then settled himself in the foreign saddle. Once he was as comfortable as he could hope to be, he lead the sleepy horse to a starting position.
"Okay, just watch me first."
Elfwine nodded, staring intently.
Elboron patted the side of Melefel's neck and then put his heels to her flanks. The mare launched forward like an arrow from a bow. He was plainly amazed how instantly she responded to him. Responding almost to his thoughts rather than actions, she flew over the pole and landed gracefully.
He circled around to his cousin and slipped off. "Your turn."
Elfwine nervously mounted up, looking almost fearful. "I think the stirrups, um, they need, well..."
"Adjusting, right. Relax, okay?" Elboron shortened the stirrups and stepped back. "Better?"
"Much," Elfwine said gratefully.
Elfwine's terror was a tremendous obstacle that tested the limits of Elboron's patience, but he really wanted to bolster his cousin's confidence (and thwart Hama's cruelty) and so he kept at it. Finally, after a few successful jumps, he was able to lay back on a hummock and watch lazily as his cousin practiced.
"I've been thinking about yesterday," the Ithilien Prince said with a blade of grass between his teeth.
"Oh?" Elfwine asked as he circled around.
"I've been trying to figure out what those orcs were looking for in Helm's howe."
"I told you, there's no way they were actually orcs. Fellfang is still learning, mind, his nose can be fooled."
"Maybe," Elboron conceded. "But what if they were?"
"Then I reckon someone would've seen them by now and the filthy things would be dead."
"Unless they've got a really good hiding spot," Elboron mused. "Was there anything special to Helm? Anything he was known for that he might have been buried with?"
Elfwine completed another jump. "No. Anything of his would have been passed on. I'm sure he was buried with his armor and sword, but those would just be rusted wrecks by now."
"Well, whoever they were, they were after something. And I'd bet my father's sword that they were the same people who left the muddy footprints in the hall last winter."
"I think you're trying to create some sort of adventure out of nothing 'cause you're bored," his cousin joked.
"Maybe." Elboron glanced askance at him. Elfwine was showing much more confidence now. "You're doing good, by the way. Keep your back straight. I'm not sure why it's important, but I know you'll get a thumping if your father sees you slouching."
Elfwine's answering grin was as bright as the morning sun that glinted off his golden hair.
He watched the battle with a gleam in his eye. Riders of the Mark, men of Gondor, archers from Ithilien, all converged on the orc host -- a host he had gathered through much negotiating and cajoling. But only half their strength was known to the men of the West.
Spring had waned and now, as the first days of summer brought dry heat to Ithilien, the battle was joined at last. Bright pennants whipped and armor gleamed; the massive throng was a confused dance of death.
He sat back, smiling blissfully. His father would be proud, he liked to think, of the delicate orchestration that had brought this day about. For he had inherited more than dark hair from his sire; wisdom, cunning, patience -- these were the tools that he would use to bring his plans to fruition.
A glance at the pool showed him that his hidden forces were even now assailing the flank of Elessar's men. Panic swept through the ranks of the King's army and confusion seized them. Like a hand crushing an apple, the orcs were closing in around the forces of men.
Now, if Utuk would simply find the relic he sought, all would fall into place nicely.
It was the hottest day of summer so far. The cousins had decided that swimming was the only possible escape for them. Elfwine had only to inform his mother; now that he was actually leaving Meduseld for hours on end, she was keenly interested in his comings and goings.
Leaving Elboron in their room, he went to the garden, where she could usually be found of a morning. As he approached, though, instead of the dulcet sound of one of her maid's singing, he heard a man's voice, low and urgent. Curious but not wanting to intrude, he cautiously approached to hearing range.
"Osgiliath, my lady. It was the most defensible position."
"But my husband is alive?"
"He was when I left, my Lady. He and the King and the Prince of Ithilien have been all that keep the men from breaking and running."
"Oh Haleth...how could this happen?"
Elfwine started at the familiar name.
"I come here to ask your help in answering that. Your brother, have you had any word?"
"No...why...?"
"No men have come to aid us from your fair city. The King's messages go unanswered."
There was an anxious pause. "I will send word myself at once. And I'll send word for Thaedenbrand to come back from the west."
"The King did not wish to leave the west unguarded, my Lady," Haleth reminded her gently.
"We'll have to risk it. Now, you need food and rest..."
Elfwine skulked away before he was discovered, shaking slightly. A terrible disaster had befallen the army, but his father was alive...for now. A terrible, sick sensation knotted his stomach and he had to pause to catch his breath.
He's fine. He's coming home, he told himself, wiping angrily at a surge of tears.
Elboron was sprawled in a chair by the window, fanning himself, when he arrived. "What happened...?"
Elfwine stared stupidly at him for a moment. "Something went wrong at the front."
Elboron blanched. "Our...fathers...?"
"All right, for now."
The two boys were silent for a moment, lost in worry and shock. It was agonizing, not knowing the whole truth. Elfwine doubted his mother would give him anything but the most honey-dipped version of the truth. In her eyes, he was a child unable to bear the news.
Some part of him, at that moment, agreed with her.
"My mother is sending Thaedenbrand to help. He's the Lord of the West Fold -- ever bit as much a terror on the battlefield as his father, Erkenbrand, was."
"That...that's good."
More silence followed. Elboron looked out the window blankly, a numb look on his face. "What now?"
"There's nothing we can do but wait."
Elboron nodded in acknowledgement of the words, his expression unchanging. Elfwine went over to the window and looked out at the Mark. He found himself regretting all the times he had turned down his father's offer of a race around Edoras or a deer hunt by moonlight.
He'll be fine, he told himself adamantly. He promised mother.
"Drop your breeches and bend over," Faramir ordered with a grin.
Éomer smiled back. "Well, I've been wondering when you'd get around to asking, but won't you at least offer me a drink first?
"We don't hold with your foppish courtship where I come from."
"And they call my people barbaric!"
"Do I have to bind and gag you first?"
"Will you ladies knock it off? Or, if not, give me something worth listening to?" Elessar protested.
The two glanced over, looking like a pair of pages who had been caught getting up to no good. Then they laughed sheepishly at the grinning King. Elessar shook his head and went back to studying the crude sketch of the city.
The leaders of the army of the west had taken over a circular room within a ruined tower of Osgiliath. It gave them an excellent view of the river and the enemy encampment. The detritus of years had been cleared away, leaving only dust and a few cobwebs that were out of reach. The camp chairs had been brought in and a rudimentary table had been set up using a few stone slabs.
Éomer winked at Faramir and undid his breeches. Faramir waited with a smirk on his face, arms folded. The King of the Mark pushed down his battered breeches and leaned over a table.
Faramir approached with needle, thread and a vial of alcohol. "This will make it hard for you to sit easily in your saddle," commented the Prince of Ithilien.
Éomer shrugged. "Horses are no good in this forsaken ruin, anyway."
"I was rebuilding it, you know," the King told him. "I can hardly be blamed for the infestation of orcs which diverted my tax dollars."
"Excuses, ex- Ow! Do you actually know what you're doing?" he demanded of Faramir.
"It so happens I do. Now stop being a child and stand still. Unless you want your ass sewed shut by accident."
Éomer laughed, yelped when the needle dug in again, and subsided. The spear had not gone in too deeply, but the blood soaking the back of his left leg had been more than a little alarming. And, of course, embarrassing. Faramir had only just stopped laughing long enough to tend to it.
"Do you think Haleth will get through to Rohan?" Elessar asked.
"If anyone can do it, Haleth can," Éomer replied through clenched teeth.
The King gave him a sober look. "That was not what I asked."
Éomer sighed, winced and gave Faramir a dark look. "You're spearing me worse than that orc."
"I never knew you were such a baby," returned the Prince, driving the needle through again.
"Ow! Goat-buggering-horse-thief!" he swore. The King of the Mark looked back at the King of Gondor, whose expression was still grim. "No, I don't think he will, my friend."
Elessar grinned incongruously. "Then we shall have to make do with what we have. Now, if Faramir is done groping your ass, would you pull your pants up? I can't take you seriously with your breeches around your ankles."
The three friends shared a warm laugh. Outside, amidst the broken buildings and cluttered streets, the army had settled down. Fear and doubt crept through their ranks, weakening them. Only their faith in Elessar held them to their oaths.
For death stalked them from the other side of the river.
The response to Lothiriel's message arrived three weeks after she had sent her most trusted herald to her brother. The rider was on an exhausted mount; and barely still in the saddle himself. He was not the man they had sent. He bore instead the swan symbol on his shoulder.
Both cousins made sure they were within listening range when he delivered his news from Dol Amroth. Hidden in an antechamber, they waited and listened with thundering hearts.
"Plague, your majesty. Half the city has it. The other half are consumed with giving aid to the others. Your messenger was showing signs just before he left and was taken to the Prince's personal infirmary. Your brother wants you to know your man is receiving the best care possible."
Lothiriel sank into a chair. "Plague...the troubles do fall hard upon us these days. Are there no men there who can fight?"
"No, your majesty."
Lothiriel swore in a way that would have made her husband proud. "Then there's naught to do but lend what aid we can to Dol Amroth to speed her recovery. The sooner her people regain their strength, the sooner hope returns to us all."
Elboron rested his arms on the stone shelf that made up the edge of the deep end of the pond and brooded over his helplessness. His father was in terrible danger and he was trapped in Rohan, unable to do anything at all to give aid.
The medicine caravan had left early this morning, a slow train of wagons loaded with all the healing herbs, fresh linens and ripe fruit it could bear. They would be in Dol Amroth in a month, and who knew how long after that it would before the people of the Swan banner would be ready to fight.
His cousin swam over and sidled up beside him. "That frown of yours just gets worse every day."
"Like you're not worried. I know I heard you sniffling this morning."
Elfwine fidgeted. "But we have to accept we can't go charging off to the rescue."
Elboron wanted to cry it was so frustrating. "I know." He forced his mind away from the troubling thoughts. "You said there were fish in a stream somewhere nearabouts?"
"Well, not near, really, but not impossibly far."
Elboron ducked as Fellfang suddenly flew by overhead, touching down in the pond with a tremendous splash. He came paddling back with a recently-thrown stick clutched in his jaws.
"He's having fun, anyway." The Ithilien Prince splashed water at his cousin.
"Hey!" Elfwine protested, splashing back.
They shared a brief laugh. "Let's go fishing, then," Elboron decided, climbing out of the pond and sluicing the water off his body with his hand.
Elfwine nodded, climbing out after him. He swept his soaked mop of blond hair out of his eyes and grinned.
"What? Hey!"
Elboron was seized and tossed back into the pool. He came up sputtering, just as Elfwine jumped back in after him. They laughed and wrestled back and forth, Fellfang barking and yipping from the bank.
When they finally subsided, they climbed from the pond and collapsed on the grassy bank to dry. Elboron pulled some hard rolls from his pack and tossed one to his cousin.
"I, uh, think I forgot to say thanks. For, well, ah, for helping me get my nerve back up."
Elboron grinned at him. "Well, I didn't want you to be the first King of Rohan who walked everywhere."
"I'm serious, goat-face."
Elboron shrugged slightly. "It wasn't anything, really. We'll need to get someone to train us who knows more, but that'll wait."
"I...ah, never mind."
"What?"
Elfwine fiddled nervously with a lock of his hair. "I've never really had a friend before. Most of the boys my age follow Hama around, and he's hated me as long as I can remember."
"He's a dung heap. I'd have knocked him flat by now if I wasn't so worried about getting in trouble."
"Oh really?"
Elboron scrambled to his feet, eyes wild with surprise. Hama and a couple of the stable boys had come upon them quietly.
Unable to take back what he said, and unwilling to embarrass himself in front of his cousin, Elboron sneered at him. "Yeah."
Elfwine was beside him, his expression showing both terror and anger.
Hama laughed. "It's too rutting hot, girls. Are you done with the pond? I don't want to be around while you girls are holding hands."
Elboron picked up his clothes and started dressing. "We were just leaving."
Hama shrugged indifferently and began tugging his sweat-soaked tunic over his head; his friends followed suit. The cousins finished dressing quickly and went over to where their horses; Melefel and another mare, Thornshoe, awaited them, eating grass.
They set off at a lazy pace, Fellfang racing ahead of them and then back again. The sun was high in the sky, its heat brutal and unrelenting. Though the swim had done wonders to cool them, it was still oppressive and miserable.
They had traveled almost an hour when Fellfang started barking excitedly. The hound was circling one spot and digging at the earth.
"I think he's found a rabbit," Elfwine said with a smile.
Elboron grinned as well, but his eyes were watching the dog curiously. "A rabbit should have bolted by now... Come on, I want to see what he's found."
"Boro...it's too hot to play ranger."
"It will just take a second, Win," the Ithilien Prince argued, turning Melefel towards Fellfang's find.
"Oh, fine," Elfwine complained and followed.
The hound was whining and circling a small patch of dirt that stood in the lee of a small tor. The boys dismounted and approached, bemused looks on their faces. "Okay, boy, what is it?"
The frantic digging sent a small object bouncing their way. Elfwine picked it up, looking puzzled. "Chicken bone. Looks pretty fresh."
"There are tracks here," Elboron told him. "The same sort that were around the howes."
"You're not on about that again, are you?"
The Ithilien Prince threw a glare at him and went back to examining the earth. He helped Fellfang dig a bit, finding the dirt looser than it should be. "There's a fire pit here. A deep one. Whoever built it didn't want it to be seen."
Elfwine knelt beside him. "Or they just didn't want the fire to spread."
"There's been no wind in this country for a week," Elboron argued.
Elfwine shrugged and started skirting the camp. Most of the tracks appeared to have been deliberately swept away, which was a bad sign -- but what he did find chilled him down to his very core.
"Orcs..."
Elboron joined him and they stared for a moment at the print made not by a boot, but by a foot...a foot with long, clawed toes.
"We need to find out where they went," Elboron said quietly.
"We need to warn my mother," said the Prince of the Mark in response.
They exchanged a long look, weighing their options. Elboron knew it was not his decision to make. His cousin was Prince of this land. It was up to him to pick their course. The Rohan Prince seemed to know this too, and in that moment, he took his first steps towards accepting his responsibilities. With a resolute expression, Elfwine made his choice.
"We'll ride back to Hama and get him to take word to my mother."
"You think he'll do it?"
Elfwine's eyes hardened. "He will. He has to."
They swung back into their saddles and thundered back towards the pond. At a full gallop, it took barely a quarter of the time to retrace their steps. Elboron watered their mounts while Elfwine approached the pool and the lounging boys.
"Pond's ours, Winer. You had your turn," Hama said lazily.
"There are orcs in the Mark, Hama."
The stablemaster's boy stared hard at him. "Is this some kind of stupid joke?"
"No. You need to go to my mother. The city needs to be closed up and the watch put on alert."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Boro and I are going to see where they went and count their numbers. The captain of the house guard will need to know what he's facing."
Hama stared at him for a long time, reading the gravity in his eyes. "Yes, highness," he said at last. He surged from the pool, his friends close behind.
"Thank you," Elfwine told him and swung back into his saddle.
The cousins rode even faster back to the orc camp, fearing what this meant for Edoras and the people of the Mark.
Once they had arrived, it was easy for Fellfang to pick up the scent again. Barking excitedly, he lead the boys east and south, closer to the mountains. The trail did not swerve or deviate. It only turned, at last, when it crossed another more obvious trail.
"Ancestors' ghosts...they're after the medicine caravan," Elfwine murmured.
The two boys exchanged panicked looks and then pushed their horses to follow. They did not wonder what they, two stripling boys, could do to help or consider the peril they were going into. They just knew that, if it were at all possible, the caravan must be warned.