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 4
14, 4A
"They'll take the bridge within the hour," Faramir told his King with a despondent look. He was grimy and blood-spattered from the battle, and his breathing was labored from the hurried rush that had brought him here.
Elessar nodded wearily. The army of men had fought long and hard, and many great deeds had been done. But days and weeks had passed with no aid and no word from their allies. It was high summer now, and his mighty army was being broken.
"Shall we make for Minas Tirith?" Éomer asked as they surveyed the battle from a broken tower.
It was the most sensible step. They had held Osgiliath far longer than should rightly have been hoped. Now was the time to pull back, retreat behind stronger walls where they could withstand the enemy forces. The White City had a strong force which would bolster their flagging might.
"We do not know that this host will follow us to Minas Tirith. Their tactics have been too keen, too methodical. We've not seen this sort of organization from the foul kind since the War. They could just as easily cross into Rohan and wreak all manner of mayhem and destruction."
"But, surely their aim is to annihilate us?" Éomer objected.
Elessar's dark eyes sparked with anger. "I do not know what their aim is. But, as I said, they are being ordered by someone of intelligence. Therefore, we cannot expect them to behave like average orcs."
"So...what do we do?" Faramir wanted to know.
"We charge them." His friends stared at him. "Either they break or we die. It must end this day."
Éomer broke into a mad grin. "Like the charge of Eorl at Celebrant. They shall sing of this day."
Faramir arched an eyebrow. "You're both insane. But, if death is to come, let it come to me with my friends beside me."
Elessar laid his hands upon their shoulders and gave them a great smile. They descended from the tower and took up long spears from the ground. They shouted orders to their men, commanding all to come with them. And such was their love for the King that the weary, the infirm, and even those whose lives were rapidly departing rose and joined the throng.
Soon the whole of the army of men was behind Elessar and his two friends. They stared across the great bridge at the orcs, who were themselves preparing for the final assault. Angry war cries rose up from both sides.
"For Gondor!" Elessar screamed and led his men across the bridge and into the mass of enemies.
"Can we go sailing now?" Elfwine asked his cousin.
"No," Alphros snapped in a surly tone.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because...because I said so."
"But you promised to take us sailing."
The youngest Prince of Dol Amroth glowered at his cousin. It was true, he had promised. But the promise had been extracted only after a persistent stream of harassment. The truth was, he was in no mood to entertain the boys and did not anticipate being in such a mood any time soon.
"When?"
"When what?" Alphros demanded.
"When can we go sailing?"
He pinched his eyes shut. Clearly, there would be no evading his promise, and by rights he should have no desire to do so. It was a beautiful summer day, the skies were clear and the wind was up. Sailing was his passion, and on most days nothing could prevent him from scrambling aboard Windskipper, his personal racing ship, and venturing out to challenge the waves.
But this was not most days, for he was still deeply offended over being left behind by his father.
He scowled at nothing. The palace had been retaken with relative ease; the advantage of surprise had won them the day. Though Warlord Kaeliz had escaped, the Haradrim garrison had been destroyed and the orcs occupying the city had been slaughtered.
With the city secure, Elphir had quickly summoned every available man, ordered them on to the ships and, with his brothers by his side, sailed for Osgiliath. Alphros, to his complete disgust, had been left behind.
"Not all the Princes can be in harm's way, my son. And someone must look out for our young rescuers," his father had explained.
Three days later, he was still stewing over being left behind. Though he was unimaginably grateful to the boys for the rescue, he was quite infuriated to have to play nursemaid to them.
"Fine. We'll go now."
"Yay!"
Elfwine dashed off to find his cousin, hooting excitedly. Alphros watched him go, amused despite himself. With the danger passed, his cousin had turned to the pursuit of fun and mischief. It was not how he remembered Elfwine, but then, he had never paid much attention to the boy.
He tracked down his friend Raelus, locating him in the gardens chatting up one of the kitchen girls. His friend was short and broad of shoulder. A junior Knight in the service of Elphir's house, he had grown up alongside Alphros. Catching sight of the Prince, he grinned and called out a greeting.
"Good morrow, Rae."
His friend swept unruly dark bangs from his eyes and shook his hand. "Good morrow to you, Prince. This is Maelis. She works in the kitchens."
The comely girl curtsied. "M'lord."
Alphros winked at her. "Is Rae trying to get you to sneak him pastries from the kitchens?"
She laughed nervously. "No, m'lord."
"I hadn't even considered that," Raelus said thoughtfully.
Alphros laughed. "I'd wager you had. May I speak with you, Rae?"
"Of course, Prince. Mae, will you excuse me?"
The girl nodded. "Of course."
He winked at her. "But I would like to pursue our conversation later."
She blushed slightly. "As would I, sir."
Raelus gave her hand a courtly kiss and then walked off with Alphros. Birds were carrying on a boisterous argument in the trees above them, adding contrast to the soft gurgle of the small brook that ran through the garden.
"I hope I wasn't interrupting."
His friend grinned. "You were, but that is a hunt that will take a while to end. I am only too anxious to be diverted by you. That is, if you are quite through sulking."
Alphros glowered at him. "I was not sulking."
"I'm sure you have a more courtly term for it, but we peasants call it sulking."
"I belong on the front with my father."
"He seems to disagree. I was left behind too, you'll notice. Someone has to remain here to make sure Kaeliz doesn't try to return. Maybe not the most glorious duty to pull, but we don't always get to choose the wind that directs us."
"Your peasant wisdom is as cold and uncomforting as ever," Alphros needled.
Raelus laughed. "Call it what you will, I don't waste my time brooding over things I can't change."
"Point taken," the Prince replied. "You feel up to a morning of sailing?"
His friend's expression brightened. "Absolutely. I assume this is to amuse your young charges?"
Alphros sighed petulantly. "I am hoping it will quiet them so I can get some peace."
"Well, then, by all means."
The preparations were quickly made. Elboron and Elfwine were almost vibrating, they were so excited. There was a brief disagreement over Fellfang, but eventually the Ithilien Prince was convinced that the dog needed to rest his strained leg for the journey home. The boys then tromped off to the quay, lunch supplies tucked away in knapsacks.
Windskipper was small, sleek and beautifully crafted. Alphros' chest swelled with pride at the sight of her. "My father gave her to me last year. Her hull is new, but her bones and her appointments all come from previous family racers. She's the fastest in the harbor."
"If she could talk, she'd be a worse braggart than you," Rae joked.
Elfwine and Elboron sniggered. The Amroth Prince punched his friend in the arm and leaped onto the racer's deck. Raelus winked at the younger boys and followed his friend. The two proceeded with a meticulous check of the vessel, looking for any flaw or possible problem.
Bored, Elfwine and Elboron could only watch and wait.
Once the two were satisfied, they ran up the sail and set up securing lines. The younger boys were quickly pressed into service, scrabbling all over the ship, straightening ropes and tying knots as they were instructed.
After an interminable delay, the boat was away from the dock and meandering towards open waters. When they were clear of most of the harbor traffic, Alphros unfurled the sails. The boat took off like a shot.
It was great fun, racing the wind and riding the waves. Even Alphros forgot his grudge as he guided the craft expertly. The sun was high, reflecting off the perfect blue of the ocean. Wind and sea spray assailed them, tangling their hair and whipping at their tunics.
After an hour, Alphros brought the sail down and Rae loosed the anchor. The sea was calm, rocking them gently as they looked out on a vast, empty expanse.
"What now?" Elfwine asked as Alphros shucked his tunic.
"Swimming," came his older cousin's response. With that, he shoved Elfwine overboard.
The Rohan Prince came up sputtering and laughing. Raelus and Alphros laughed, stripped off and dove in after him. "I imagine you've never been in water this deep," Raelus murmured, wiping droplets from his eyes.
Elfwine shook his head. There was another splash as Elboron joined them. "Rutting pig dung! It's cold!"
The three laughed. Elfwine crawled back to the boat long enough to wriggle out of his sopping tunic -- he had no desire to be dragged down by it. Then he returned with an ungraceful sploosh. The older boys showed them how to swim proper, instead of flopping around like dogs.
Then the dunkings began.
Elboron was the first victim, dragged under by Alphros. But the younger boys disadvantage of size was compensated by Raelus' treacherous nature. The Swan Prince often found himself the victim rather than the victor.
Once they were exhausted, they crawled back aboard Windskipper and flopped upon its deck to dry.
"You'd never know you two were just a couple of grassland kids, the way you took to the water," Raelus commented.
"He's the grasslander," Elboron corrected. "We have trees in Ithilien."
"Oh, sorry, my mistake," Raelus returned with a grin.
"Who's hungry?"
"Me!" said Elfwine instantaneously.
Over bread and cheese, Alphros broached the subject of what had brought them to Dol Amroth.
"You said a caravan was attacked by orcs?"
"That's the saddest part of all, really. They were coming here with medicines that you didn't really need," Elfwine told him. "But I guess the men who controlled Amroth hired the orcs to stop the caravan so no one discovered what was going on here."
"But that's what's really odd to me," the Amroth prince returned. "If one caravan was sent, another surely would have been. Or fast riders on good horses. There's no way Kaeliz could have hoped to keep his take-over secret for long."
"So what was he waiting for?" Raelus asked. "That's a disturbing thought."
"That's not all that's strange, in my opinion," Elboron chimed in. "Some of the orcs that attacked that caravan were the ones that have been lurking around Edoras."
"Orcs have been lurking around Edoras?" Alphros' alarm was plain.
"Boro has this wild idea that orcs are spying on Edoras," Elfwine broke in, glaring at his cousin.
The Ithilien Prince frowned at him. "You saw the tracks as clear as I did, Win."
"I saw tracks, but I'm not as sure as you that they were orc tracks."
Elboron shrugged. "The tracks at that orc camp came in from two directions: north and west. One group came from Edoras-way. They tracked the caravan, met up with the second group and attacked."
"You guess."
"If you're right, Boro, then this whole thing stinks of someone plotting wickedness," Alphros pondered. "But the question is still why."
"Seems pretty clear to me," Raelus commented. "Assuming all these things are connected -- and this many odd things can't be coincidence -- they immobilized Dol Amroth and they put a watch on Rohan, all while the King is fighting foul kind in the east. Whoever this is, they're trying to kill King Elessar."
They stared at one another. It was a frightful conclusion, but all the evidence lined up. It hit them hard, because each had grown up under the belief that evil had been vanquished and that good had triumphed. The days of terrible deeds and encroaching doom were supposed to be over.
"We have to tell the King," Elboron spoke up.
Alphros shook his head. "We don't know anything. What should we say? That his life is in danger? He already knows that. It's always in danger. We don't know who is coordinating all of this or even if we are right. Our warning would be meaningless."
"So, what do we do?" Elfwine asked.
Alphros gave him an odd look. "You need to stay out of trouble. You've been lucky so far, but if you keep poking around in matters of danger and mystery, you're likely to wind up dead. I'll speak to my father. He'll be able to come up with something."
Elfwine exchanged an annoyed look with Elboron. They both knew that there was nothing they could do to convince Alphros they were anything more than two foolish boys who had only succeeded in rescuing the governing house of Dol Amroth through sheer dumb luck. There was no point in arguing.
They spent the day swimming and sailing, and by the time they returned home they were all burned red from head to foot. Aunt Aeloth (Elboron had been told to call her that as well, since he was nearly family anyway) took one look at the bashful boys and went looking for a burn salve she kept in huge jars.
Three days later, Elboron and Fellfang were mended enough to make the return trip. They exchanged fond farewells with their hosts and told Alphros that they wanted to return next summer for more sailing. The Swan Prince appeared both startled and alarmed by such an idea.
Raelus had volunteered to lead their escort. Along with five other junior knights, they rode at an easy pace north to Estel's Gate. The caravan horses accompanied them, of course, and the knights all seemed duly impressed by the way they followed along like faithful hounds.
The return trip did not seem nearly so long to them, passed with better food and softer blankets. Even the journey through the dark tunnel was not nearly so awful. They emerged into Dunharrow Vale amidst the fading light of day and made one last camp.
Noon of the last day of their journey brought them an encounter with a group of Riders, all of whom looked quite startled to see the strangers. The leader of the group was known to Elfwine -- Gamling, a veteran and most trusted of the King's men.
"You seem to have found something of value that we lost," said the grizzled Rider.
Raelus grinned. "The oddest things wash up on our shore."
"Will you come to the Golden Hall? I am sure the Lady would like to convey her gratitude in person."
Raelus bowed low in the saddle. "I thank you for the offer, but I must decline. My men, few though they are, will be sorely missed back home." He grinned and winked at the two boys who were shrinking behind him. "And I've no desire this day to see two boys flayed open with sharp words."
Gamling smirked at him. "Then might I have your name, that my Lady can convey her gratitude at a later time?"
"Sir Raelus."
"I am Gamling. I am sure I do not overstep myself in saying, you have the gratitude of the Mark."
Raelus bowed again and turned to his charges. "Farewell. I fear the dangers I have warded you from pale in comparison to the one you now go to, but alas, I cannot shield you from this peril."
Sheepishly, the two boys nudged their horses forward. They bade Raelus farewell and then watched the knights trot back the way they'd come. With dread on their faces, they turned back to Gamling.
"Mother is very angry, isn't she?" Elfwine asked.
The old Rider gripped his shoulder and grinned. "Anger does not even begin to describe it, boy."
Thus the two young heroes returned to Edoras as two going to their execution. No matter that they carried a scroll signed by Elphir himself stating they were heroes of Dol Amroth and their deeds had saved many lives -- they were in very serious trouble.
There were two nightmares that plagued Faramir constantly. One had him waking in the middle of the night, seeing his departed father looming over his bed with madness in his eyes. The last Steward would then burst into flames, his skin crackling and peeling away from his blackened bones. Wreathed in fire, he would reach a burning hand towards his son to drag him once more onto the funeral pyre.
The second nightmare was being back in Osgiliath, commanding a hopeless defense against the endless forces of Mordor. All around him, his friends died and the bodies piled high until the war was being fought on the backs of his friends. And still the dark forces came on...
That nightmare was suddenly real as he found himself once more hopelessly outnumbered by a horde of orcs. The sickening lurch of fear twisting his stomach was debilitating, and were it not for his friends Éomer and Aragorn, he would certainly not have the strength to hold.
The bridge was packed tightly with warriors on both sides, hacking, cursing and screaming hoarsely at each other. Many went over the sides into the Anduin below, there to be dragged down by their armor.
Aragorn was a frightful, inspiring force. Anduril flashed so fast it could hardly be followed. All around him, the enemy quavered and fell. Only the weight of numbers kept the orcs from being pushed back. Their vile demeanor was such that they did not hesitate to drive a spear through a friend if it meant slaying an enemy.
Beside the King of Gondor, the King of the Mark battled with equal ferocity. Though not nearly so deadly afoot as he was ahorse, Éomer was still a force to be reckoned with. He swept his sword in great arcs, sundering enemies with one mighty stroke after another.
Faramir had been separated from them by the intensity of the battle. He ducked, stabbed, punched and kicked with a desperate strength. Blades tore open his armor and laid open his flesh, but he did not falter.
"Aragorn!" Éomer cried.
Faramir paused to look over at his sovereign and saw something that made his blood run cold. The King had an orc on his back, choking him. More orcs around him struck, bringing him down until he was buried beneath the hateful creatures.
"No!" Faramir screamed.
Éomer tried to reach his friend, but the press of bodies was too thick. The valiant Rider was dragged back and pinned against the side of the bridge. Faramir saw the King of the Mark fighting three foes at once and knew that the end was indeed near.
A crude club with spikes jutting from it tore open Faramir's shoulder, spinning him around. "Gondor!" he cried and slew the attacker. The orcs pressed in, mobbing him.
His foot caught on a twitching corpse and he went down to his knees. Relentless, the orcs pounced upon him. Their crude weapons hammered down upon his defenses, and his whole frame resounded with the power of their strokes.
A horn blew across the bridge. For a dizzying moment, he thought the orcs were calling for a retreat, and he wondered why the enemy would do such a thing. But the horn blasted again and this time, he recognized it.
It was a Rohirric horn call.
Strength flowed through him once more and he surged to his feet. The orcs, confused and surprised, fell under his sword. For a moment, he had space to breathe, and he looked across the river.
An éored was charging into the orc's rear flank. Panicking, the foul folk turned to meet this new threat. Their numbers were so great, though, that very soon a massive contingent had been diverted to deal with the Riders and still a vast horde assailed the forces of the King.
Faramir fought to get back to his friends, but not all his anger or loyalty were enough to sweep the ranks and ranks of enemies from his path. Surrounded, weary, he found himself unable to proceed.
The two flanks of the army fought on, hard and brutal, giving the foul folk a terrible beating even as their losses mounted. But gradually, they were overwhelmed. Faramir could no longer see Éomer either, and his heart sank with dread.
And then a miracle occurred.
With the setting sun behind them, a fleet of ships was sailing towards the fight. Their great sails proudly displayed the swan emblem of Dol Amroth. Faramir could not help but gape stupidly at the sudden arrival of the fleet.
They moored on the eastern bank and lowered their gangplanks. Knights on horses poured into the broken city and rode off to support the lone éored. Hundreds of men in gleaming armor, pennants snapping and war cries resounding, fell upon the rear flank and laid waste to the orcs.
Utterly dismayed, the foul folk broke ranks and ran, many falling to the vengeful strokes of the King's men. Faramir could barely lift his sword, let alone chase the unlucky orcs. He went instead to find his friends.
Aragorn appeared as if by magic, emerging from a throng of shocked soldiers. He was supported heavily by Éomer. The King was a mess. Torn flesh on his face and brow hung in tatters, and blood coursed down into his beard. He was hunched over, clutching wounds Faramir could not guess at.
Éomer himself bled from many wounds, but he still stood strong. The look he gave Faramir was both relieved and astounded. The Prince of Ithilien sheathed his sword and dashed over to them, taking up the King's other side.
"What has happened?" Elessar asked through gritted teeth.
"Reinforcements from Rohan, sire...and Dol Amroth."
Aragorn nodded unsteadily. "Can you yet fight, Faramir?"
"Yes, sire," Faramir replied without thought to his own weariness.
"Then lead the men. Press our enemies hard. Drive them back into their holes."
"Sire?"
"Don't let them regroup," Elessar ordered.
Faramir nodded stiffly. Though he wanted nothing more than to simply collapse, he could never deny an order given him by his liege. Éomer almost looked about to protest on his behalf, but he stopped short. It was a matter of honor now. There was no turning back.
"Faldor, Gael, gather men who can still fight. We're going across the bridge," Faramir roared and turned to do just that.
The boys were marched straight into the Great Hall. Huddled together, they approached the Lady Lothiriel and quavered in fear of their fate. She was attending a previous meeting, though, and with a look, bade Gamling to keep them back.
A dirty, older man was on his knees before her. His clothes were stitched together from animal hides and were decorated with bits of bone. His white hair hung in perfectly woven braids, though, showing he was not some common thug.
"We are not convinced by your protestations of innocence, Chieftain Educh. You say you had nothing to do with the attack on our caravan, and yet the men we found clearly wore the totems of your village. You insist you are innocent, and yet you made it very hard for my trackers to find you."
"Mother!"
The Lady's dark eyes flickered to her son, who could scarcely believe he had spoken. "I will deal with you in a moment."
"But mother!"
"Silence, unless you wish to dig your grave any deeper."
"But it wasn't the Dunlendings!"
She turned her full attention on her son, her face a mask of calm. "The court will hear the Prince of the Mark."
Her tone scared him dumb for a horrible moment. He stared at her, astounded by the rigidness of her posture and the stern tone of her voice. Elboron nodded encouragingly at him
"Mother, we were there, right after it happened. Those Dunlendings weren't killed by our guards. The strikes were too precise. And it was orcs who chased us away from the scene, not Dunlendings."
Her eyes searched his face, gauging his sincerity and earnestness. Finally, after a moment which stretched on until he was visibly shaking:
"I see. Ecthain, what do you have to say to that?" she asked a nearby Rider.
He looked uneasy. "I...did not look too closely at the bodies, m'lady. But I fail to see how the precision of the strikes matters." "Because the men I sent could not have stabbed a cow with a spear," she snapped. "I did not want to deplete the house garrison, so I sent citizen volunteers."
Ecthain looked abashed. "If your son is correct then...yes...I would say we were duped."
Lothiriel arched an eyebrow at her son. "You are quite certain?"
He nodded quickly and looked to Elboron. "Boro saw it too."
Looking more amused than vexed, she shifted her gaze to the other boy. "You agree with my son."
"Yes, Au- Um, yes, m'lady."
Lothiriel settled deeper into her seat and gazed speculatively at Educh. "Then perhaps the Mark owes you an apology, Chieftain."
Recognizing that he was on the verge of a narrow escape, the Dunlending chose conciliatory politeness over brash words. "Your people were killed and the evidence linked the crime to my village. And, well, we've never been on the best of terms."
She inclined her head in ascent. "Perhaps that is something we can remedy, and with that maybe we can prevent these misunderstandings in future."
"That...would be welcome."
"You are free to go," she told him.
The Chieftain gave a slight bow and turned to leave. As he walked past Elfwine, he placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, "You are the first Prince of the Mark to be granted this, but you have earned it; you are welcome in the village of the Elk as a friend."
And he slipped a necklace off his neck and onto the boy's. Then, with a serene smile at the guards, he strode from the Great Hall.
"Now, boys..."
Elboron and Elfwine winced and stepped before the Queen of Rohan. She regarded them sternly for a moment. Her flinty gaze moved from one to the other, as if judging which should be the first to feel her wrath. Unable to decide, she started pacing.
"Where have you been?" she demanded.
Elfwine cringed at her tone. With bowed shoulders, he told her the entire story, helped now and again by his cousin. In the end, he handed her the letter from his Uncle Elphir and waited, petrified, as she read it.
"Was this your idea?" she demanded of Elboron.
The Ithilien boy shrank from her, looking uncertainly to Elfwine. He did not wish to hang his friend out to dry, but neither did he wish to bear the brunt of her anger alone.
"We decided together. We had no choice, mother. The orcs were chasing us."
She pinched her eyes shut. "So, when given the choice between hiding and waiting for rescue and riding for Dol Amroth, you chose the latter?"
"Well...yes..." Elboron responded miserably.
"We did save Uncle Elphir and everyone," Elfwine objected weakly.
She sank down to one knee before them, and for the first time they saw the fear radiating behind her eyes. "Boys...what you did...it was truly very brave. But you worried me half to death. When Hama brought the message, I sealed up Edoras and waited for you to arrive. When you didn't, I sent out scouts. They found the caravan and tracks that looked like you had been there. But all they could tell me was that you were alive, possibly in the hands of the Dunlendings. I tore the Mark apart looking for you!"
Elfwine did not know how to respond to the naked fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.
"Sorry? You think all can be mended with 'sorry'?"
"But, we helped people!"
Lothiriel's expression was stern. "The results of your actions are commendable -- I really am very proud of you. But your judgment is seriously questionable. For all you knew, you were riding straight into a city ridden with plague. Do you know how easily plague can kill a boy your age?"
Elfwine looked down.
"I thought not. You're the Prince of the Mark. You have to take more care with your safety -- unless you wish to have an armed escort everywhere you go."
Elfwine gaped at her. "Mother!"
She folded her arms. "I did not say I would, but your father may yet choose to do so."
"Father?"
The Lady gave him a bland smile. "Oh, yes, don't think this matter is closed. I am sure your father will have his own thoughts on the matter."
Elfwine paled at that. "I...um...yes mother."
"You may go. But do get a bath before you raid the kitchens."
He gave her a sheepish smile. "Yes, mother."
"Oh, Win," she murmured, hugging him.
The boy gave his cousin an abashed look. Elboron smiled and looked away. Though he would never admit it, he certainly would not mind a hug from his own mother about then.
The very next stop was the kennels. In a way, they dreaded the visit to Galamund even more than they had the appearance before Lothiriel. They felt they had some ground to hold with the Queen of the Mark; they had done much good, after all, and that went a long way to gaining forgiveness.
Confessing to the kennel-master that they had brought one of his hounds to harm was another thing entirely.
Fellfang yapped happily as the approached his home. Galamund came out to greet them with his usual jovial air.
"Heard you boys got yourselves into a fair bit of trouble," said the kennel-master, kneeling down and ruffling Fellfang's ears.
"Yes, sir. Fellfang saved our lives, sir."
Galamund laughed and looked into the hound's eyes. "I'll just bet you did." His expression became studious. "You've been blooded, haven't you?" The old man's eyes tracked back to the boys. "Saved your life indeed."
"He killed an orc that was about to kill me," Elfwine said quickly.
Feeling it was his responsibility, Elboron told the entire tale, forcing himself to meet Galamund's eyes every second of the telling. The kennel-master waited until he was finished, his expression neutral.
"I'm sorry, sir," Elboron concluded.
"Sorry? What for?" the man asked, checking over Fellfang's injured leg.
"For getting Fang hurt. I...I know it wasn't very responsible."
Galamund snorted. "Sounds to me you got the worst of it. Fellfang showed his training stuck in that empty head of his. That makes me proud. And he doesn't seem too bad off. You gave him some rest, let him ride with you a bit on the way over. I'll put a poultice on it, but he seems almost mended already."
"You're...not angry?"
The man laughed. "Boys, I've raised the King's dogs for over forty years. I've had to deal with a great deal more than a strained muscle. You needed a good dog where you went, and Fellfang likes you. No harm was done, I say."
Feeling like a terrible wait was suddenly lifted from him, Elboron smiled at the kennel-master. "Then...perhaps..."
Galamun laughed again and winked. "You can take him out again? Of course, lads. I'd say that he'll be ready sooner than the Lady will be willing to let you out of her sight."
Elfwine and Elboron exchanged relieved looks. They patted Fellfang affectionately and bid him farewell. With a lighter air about them, they returned to Meduseld and the baths that had been prepared for them.
"Idiot."
Kaeliz winced at the tone. It was not the snarling, harsh, bitter sound it would have been if it had come from him. That would have been preferable, in his estimation, for the cold, soft way in which Orthale delivered the insult held a dangerous edge that made him sweat nervously.
The young man with the dark hair leaned forward on his seat of stone, dark eyes malicious and hateful. "I handed that city to you. All you needed to do, the only task before you was to keep Dol Amroth from the fight. And you failed."
"The Princes escaped, somehow."
"Your security is as lacking as your mental acumen."
Kaeliz stared blankly at him. "My lord?"
"Ancestors, why am I plagued by the service of cretins?" Orthale asked of the stone ceiling. His baleful gaze fell once more upon his trembling servant. "I waylaid messengers, caravans and heralds...I came very close to exposing myself to make your task that much easier. And you employ imbeciles who obviously forget to lock the cell doors behind them."
"Are...are you going to kill me, my lord?"
"Oh, by rights I should, but I have too few servants as it is. Every one is valuable, even the foolish ones."
"Then...what do we do next, my lord?"
Orthale looked over at his scrying pool. It was blank now, but it had already revealed to him the route that was taking place. "We will wait. The King will be too alert now. We need to bide our time, await the proper opportunity -- a chance we shall not squander a second time."
Kaeliz heard the threat and nodded immediately. Thanking the fates for his life, he quickly escaped the chilling scrutiny of his lord. Orthale watched him go and shook his head in disgust.
"Agar...get word to Utuk. His task has taken on a new importance."
Summer had faded, and cooler breezes foretold the coming of autumn. The Mark still awaited the return of her King. But word had come by fast messenger that the miraculous arrival of Elphir's forces had turned the tide. King Elessar's army was driving the orcs back into their holes and seeing to it they did not threaten the west for a long time to come.
The two cousins had been granted leave to venture into the grasslands, with the stipulation that they stray not too far from the Golden Hall. Fearing the threat of the armed escort, the boys complied.
Fellfang bounded along beside them, happily chasing the sticks they threw and racing back to them. When Elboron tackled his cousin and wrestled him to the ground, the dog leaped on top and playfully tugged at their collars. They roughhoused back and forth, laughing and shouting challenges until they were out of breath.
Grinning, the boys collapsed on the grass.
"Those dreadful rains will be starting soon," Elboron said mournfully.
Elfwine folded his arms behind his head. "Soon, I suppose. We might actually have to start taking those lessons my mother was threatening us with yesterday."
"Oh, who needs to know geography anyway? I don't plan on being a cartographer."
Elfwine smirked. "Well, it helps to know if, say, you wanted travel quickly from Edoras to Dol Amroth."
"Very funny. All I'm...saying..." Elboron sat up and looked around. "Did you hear something?"
"No. Oh, don't even start on this. I just got comfortable."
"Lazybones. Fine, you stay here and get your throat slit. I'm going to find out what that sound was."
Grumbling, Elfwine climbed to his feet. Elboron cocked his head and listened intently, looking so serious for a moment that it caused his cousin to giggle. Shooting Elfwine a dangerous look, he stalked off into the grasses.
"Oh, goat turds," the Prince of the Mark complained and followed.
His cousin walked a few dozen paces and paused, studying the ground. "These aren't orc tracks. Do you have any bandits in the Mark?"
"Just the Dunlendings."
Elboron caught sight of movement just to his left, but too late. A dark blur slammed into him and sent him sprawling. A second later he heard Elfwine's surprised gasp and then Fellfang's challenging bark. Cursing, Elboron scrambled to his feet and saw, to his surprise, whoever had attacked him was pinned under the hound.
Fellfang barked triumphantly and panted in the Ithilien boy's direction.
"Good boy," he murmured.
The attacker was a small, slender figure with extremely dark eyes and an even darker mane of hair. For all his rough appearance, though, their mysterious attacker looked to be no more than a boy their age.
Elboron checked on his cousin, and found he was uninjured -- if a trifle embarrassed. The two brushed themselves off and returned to their prisoner.
"Fellfang, heel," Elboron ordered. The dog barked, sauntered over to him and sat beside him in a guarding posture. "Why did you attack us?"
Straightening his gray cloak and adjusting his pack and belts, the boy threw a glare at them. He looked very much like a feral cat, in their eyes. "You were almost on my hiding spot. I was trying to get away."
"Who're you?" Elfwine wanted to know.
"They call me Whisper," said the stranger.
Elboron and his cousin exchanged baffled looks. "Whisper is an odd name."
The boy flashed them a roguish grin. "People give strange names to us Rangers."
"Aren't you a little young to be a Ranger?" Elfwine asked dubiously.
Whisper waved his hand dismissively. "In training, yes, I am still in training. That is what I am doing, you see. I am traveling, getting the lay of the land and such. My blood is wild, you see. I am untamed, a person as free as the wind--"
"Wait a minute, I know you," Elboron said suddenly. "You're Eldarion!"
"The Heir of Gondor?" Elfwine asked, gaping.
Whisper seemed startled. "Road apples, you recognize me?"
Elboron giggled. "Well, I've only seen you once, but since most all the elves have left Arda and you've got those pointed ears under that mop...and the dark hair and all...not too hard to figure."
Eldarion looked vexed, and, perturbed, he settled, cross-legged on the dirt and sulked for a moment. "I had hoped to have escaped my name," he grumbled.
The two cousins flopped down beside him. "What are you doing here?" Elboron asked.
The Royal heir shifted uneasily. "Things are dull in the White City. I needed to breathe the free air."
"Does your father know?" Elfwine asked.
"Not as such," the Gondorian Prince prevaricated.
"Goat turds, you ran away?" Elboron gasped.
"Just for a while!" Eldarion protested. "I was suffocating behind those walls!"
Elfwine gave Elboron a disbelieving look. "Well, you can come back to Meduseld, if you'd like."
"More stone walls."
Elboron arched an eyebrow. "And warm meals and soft beds."
"Rangers do not require such comforts."
Elfwine could not help but laugh. "So, you, the heir of Gondor, are going to live rough off the land until it's your time to ascend?"
"Or longer."
"Lon- You're cracked, aren't you? All that elven blood just melted your brain or something," Elfwine observed.
Elboron snickered. "Come on. Come back with us."
Eldarion shook his long black mane and stood. "No. I've stayed too long already. I must go with speed." His expression was hunted. "Tell no one you saw me."
Before they could argue further, "Whisper" darted off, heading west through the grasses like an elk who had scented a lion.
"Figure we should tell your mother?"
"Perhaps...though much later, I'm thinking."
"Why?"
Elfwine smirked at him. "Because...we were ordered to hold our tongues by the Prince of Gondor. That buys him until sundown, at least."
Elboron rolled his eyes but his jovial grin flashed on his face. "Maybe we shouldn't say anything at all. If King Elessar finds out we saw his son running loose and didn't really try and stop him, we could be in a lot of trouble."
"That's true," Elfwine said thoughtfully. "Think maybe we should follow him? Make sure he's okay?"
"Well...we're not supposed to go very far, remember? And short of knocking him on the head, I don't think we're going to be able to stop him. He made it this far, he'll be okay. And he'll probably get tired and want to go home soon anyway."
Elfwine nodded, glancing in the direction the Heir of Gondor had gone. Overly serious to the point of pretentiousness, there was still something inspiring about the free-spirited prince. A part of him hoped that he would run free forever.
Elboron shoved him. "Tag!"
Elfwine swiped at him but missed. "You know how this always ends!" he bellowed, giving chase.
"Yeah, with you lying, winded, in the grass!"
With Fellfang barking encouragement, they ran until the sun began sinking below the horizon, enjoying every minute they could grasp. Even then, they returned to Meduseld reluctantly. The days when they could play outside unburdened by foul weather were already becoming too few. But they dared not break any rules, and good food awaited them in the Great Hall.