Positions Reversed

Thanks to Branwyn and Sulriel for their excellent suggestions and beta'ing of this chapter

The cheers for Aragorn died down in the great throne room, and members of the various guards that had accompanied the King to the citadel relaxed and mingled as the celebrations began. An enthusiastic Rohirrim slapped Tarkil on the back in greeting, causing him to gasp as waves of pain seized him. He shook the man's arm and nodded his head then quickly excused himself as he desperately struggled to push through the throng. He finally saw Haldon standing by a great statue, talking with Jorund.

"Hal…"

Haldon turned to see Tarkil, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his lips pursed together in pain. Haldon and Jorund grabbed Tarkil's arms as he started to sway. "Come on, to the Houses of Healing with you. I told you, you should not have tried this. You are as stubborn as Celepharn and Father were, do you know that?" Haldon said.

"I just need to sit down, that is all." Tarkil argued but clung tightly to his brother and his new friend. "Help me out to the fresh air, will you?"

"You are going to lie down in the Houses of Healing and rest properly, the way you were ordered to yesterday," Haldon chided his brother. "Angrim, Gethron and the others went quietly enough with few grumbles; only you, dear brother, were stubborn enough to refuse the offer of a comfortable bed and a comely healer at your side."

"Hah! I have seen the … healer they have ….up here." Tarkil tried not to groan at the spasms in his back as they nearly lifted him off his feet in their haste to get him to the sixth level of the city. "I do not think comely describes him at all. Nor his helper Ioreth – a dried up old apple core she is. Oh, it is so hard to … breathe … I cannot …" His energy totally expended, his head lolled onto his chest and he collapsed in his brother's arms.

Tarkil awoke to feel a cool hand holding his wrist, then a finger placed against his neck. "The willow bark will allow him to rest through the night … there is not much more we can do other than wait and make him recover at a more reasonable pace," a voice quietly spoke above him. "Allowing him to stand and walk for so long today put too much of a strain on him. You should have insisted he accompany the healers here yesterday."

Tarkil heard a quiet sigh from beside him. "I tried, my lord Elrohir, but he refused. He can be very stubborn and pigheaded sometimes." Tarkil recognized Haldon's voice.

I am stubborn and pigheaded? I can remind you of a few times when you fought the healer's advice, my dear brother, Tarkil thought.

"He should not try to get up without help – and then only to relieve him. I will speak with the healers. Even once he is released from here, you must stop him from riding a horse or even hefting his sword until the healers tell him he is ready."

Is that not wonderful advice? Now I will be kept in bed for the remainder of the year – Haldon will never let me up.

Tarkil opened his eyes to see Elrohir leaning over him, frowning; Haldon sat beside him, concern mixed with exhaustion on his brother's face.

"Your brother tells me you would not listen to the healers when we arrived at the docks and insisted on joining in the ceremony, Ranger. I expect that when a healer tells you to do something, you shall do it without question. I shall not be here to catch you next time you fall." Elrohir folded his arms as he stared down at the ranger, and all thoughts of arguing with the Peredhel quickly fled from Tarkil's mind.

"Yes, my lord Elrohir. I shall do as they say," Tarkil said, glancing askance as Haldon snorted.

"I will believe that when I see it. You meekly going along with the healers – that will be a first!"

"I shall check with them each day to make sure he does." Elrohir said with a stern look at Tarkil. "My brother and I leave next week to escort my father and sister here. I will put him in your charge at that time ... perhaps you can put some sense into his head." With a nod to Haldon, the Peredhel left the two brothers alone.

Haldon ran a hand through his hair, "Tarkil, you have to be the most stubborn, pig-headed mule. Will you please promise me you will do as lord Elrohir says and obey the healers?"

Tarkil rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, Hal, I will." He sighed when he saw Haldon's scepticism, "I give you my word, I will not argue with the healers."

"And…"

"And I will drink any of the foul potions they hand me." Tarkil frowned. "Well, unless it is poppy tea – I do not want to have to go through that again."

"That's fair enough. And you must promise not to try to get out of bed without help – and you must return immediately after," Haldon sternly lectured. "And once you are released from here, you will not ride a horse or do anything strenuous until I tell you that you may."

Tarkil scowled at his brother. "I promise I will not try to get out of bed without someone to help me and I will return immediately after. I do not have a horse to ride anymore, but yes, that too." Tarkil sighed again as he stared at the ceiling. "You know it was not that long ago our places were reversed, and I sat here beside you while you lay in this very bed – I remember that stain on the ceiling."

Haldon glanced up. "Yes, I think you are right, but I think you will be able to examine that spot for a lot longer than I had to. I only spent two nights here."

"They were two very long nights for me, though. At the end of a very long week."

"It was a very long week – for everyone." Haldon leaned back, tipping his chair against the wall. "From the ride through the mountain and down to the water, and then the fight on the Pelennor. It was a long week for us all. Now stop talking and close your eyes. Get some sleep, little brother."

Overcome with exhaustion and pain, Tarkil slipped into a troubled slumber, his memories of that night weaving through his dreams.

&-&

Tarkil stood on the quarterdeck as the ship approached Minas Tirith, watching the fires catch and burn the great city. "How can stone burn so?" a Lamedon soldier near Tarkil wondered aloud.

Tarkil stared at the huge beasts lumbering across the fields wreaking havoc in their path. He grabbed the arm of the captain of the troops that filled the ship. "These beasts - what is their weakness? Do they have one? How do we fight them?"

The captain shook his head in resignation. "The Mûmakil? None that we know. Find a tender spot such as their eyes, if you can I suppose. But their hides are thick, and our arrows are like pinpricks to them."

As the ships drew closer, Tarkil studied the strange forces attacking the outnumbered Gondor warriors. Some were stern, fierce men who did not have the sallow complexions of Orcs; swarthy like the Corsairs the company had fought on the way to Pelargir. The Ranger watched as soldiers, clad in bright scarlet uniforms, flashed their white teeth at their victims as they viciously attacked the defenders, while others reminded Tarkil of trolls but were not. "Who are these men that we fight? I have never seen the like of them before."

The captain followed his gaze. "The ones in the red are the Southrons, the rest are Variags and Easterlings, and from the looks of it the Dark Lord has even brought troll-men from Far Harad. He has spared no force to sack and plunder Gondor. They are fierce opponents, all. The battle today will be hard-won, my friend, have no doubt."

"What battle is not?" Tarkil wondered aloud.

"You have me there!" The captain from Lamedon pushed back through his men to start ordering his forces as they neared the quay at Harlond. Tarkil heard muttering amongst the ranks once the captain had fallen from sight.

"Look at what we face. Mûmakil. And trolls! It is a massacre we sail to," a soldier muttered behind him.

"We will fight them, otherwise they shall take over the whole land," Tarkil rebuked them. "Look at those men down there by the oars – do you see the welts on their backs? Would you want your sons to be marked like that? Or your wives and daughters sold into slavery and worse?"

Several of the soldiers around him reprimanded those few who muttered and spoke for the rest who nodded their heads. "We will fight. To the last man. Gondor will not fall to the Dark Lord while we stand."

Tarkil turned back to watch the flotilla of vessels around him, trying to determine who led each one. When they won the battle at Pelargir, Aragorn had assigned a ship to each Ranger; Tarkil drew one in the middle of the fleet carrying a contingent of men to help fight for Gondor once they arrived. They had worked late into the night loading supplies and soldiers from the villages under Angborn's charge before he allowed himself to collapse in a corner to sleep an untroubled sleep for the first time in a week.

He knew Halbarad and his sons accompanied Aragorn on the main ship, along with Gimli and Legolas. He spied Angrim just ahead and they exchanged a short nod. Gethron sailed a few ships back, Tarkil believed. But he could not see on which vessel Haldon sailed. His search through the fleet stopped when a banner on the lead ship unfurled, catching his eye as it glittered in the morning's sun. The white tree with its seven stars and crown. He watched as Halbarad carried it from the ship once they docked.

"The flag of Elendil" Tarkil breathed. "So that is what Halbarad carried with him!" Father, it is coming true! You spoke so many times of wishing to see the crown replaced, and I know you said grandfather spoke of it also. Eru, give me strength to help Aragorn fulfill his destiny!

But too soon his attention turned back to the battle when their ship bumped against the quay. Sailors threw ropes down to those who waited. Some soldiers drew their swords, while others loosed arrows into the orcs that charged in rage at seeing Elendil's flag being carried onto the field.

Battle-lust filled Tarkil at seeing the standard attacked. He hefted his sword and hurdled over the side of the ship to charge into the fray, slashing his way to the banner that shimmered across the field as a beacon of hope. The others stormed after him, swarming beside as they joined in the battle.

Black blood and red dripped from his sword as he worked his way north, grimly despatching opponents. Fierce foes they faced, just as the Captain of Lamedon had warned him. Strong men, battle-trained. These were no farmers gathered along the way, forced to fight for the Dark Lord. These were soldiers. Warriors who gave no quarter.

Tarkil saw a great orc lunge at a Ranger who battled a different foe, unaware of the danger behind him. Tarkil snatched his long knife and threw it, hearing a solid thunk as it pierced the neck of the Orc, felling him in his stride. The Ranger looked around in surprise; Tarkil saw Herudil nod in thanks, turning back quickly to slash his blade at yet at another enemy who pushed to attack Halbarad and the flag of Elendil.

The Dúnedain pressed hard against the enemy. A massive Orc arrow whistled past his ear; Tarkil heard the wet crunch of it hitting flesh then bone. He glanced behind him in time to see the banner falter and start to fall before other hands once again lifted it high. But the jeers and calls of nearby orcs confirmed his fears that the arrow had hit its target and when the throng briefly parted he saw Aragorn bending over Halbarad who lay upon the ground, the arrow piercing his throat. Herudil now held the banner high above the field, a fierce look on his face at the loss of his brother. A brief moment of anguish clenched Tarkil, quickly replaced by anger. The Rangers closed ranks even tighter about their captain and grew grim in their outraged determination. The orcs felt their wrath as the Dúnedain blades flashed in all directions, felling any who dared to come near.

Acrid smoke from the fires drifted over, stinging their eyes. Southrons and Haradrim challenged, unwilling to give up the fight as they grappled over the hillocks and beside the lonely ruins of farmsteads destroyed long ago. The Dúnedain found themselves driven apart to fight in smaller groups, until Tarkil found himself fighting alone.

His sword grew heavy in his hand; Tarkil grabbed respite where he could as the enemy gradually thinned.

Yet still he pressed on till the sun hung red over the mountains, matching the blood soaking into the fields at his feet. When it plunged behind the Mindolluin, Tarkil finally looked up to see the battle won, the fields around him seeming silent after the roar of the day's assault though the stench of death surrounded him. He tugged off his helm as he gazed back over the path he had hacked his way through to gain ground and found he stood far north of the river. A few tussocks of grass stuck out in a jarring green against the battle-churned mud. The fields were littered with corpses of men, Orc and Mûmakil that befouled the air and the earth.

"Glad to see you are walking still, Tarkil," he heard a voice rasp behind him.

"Gethron!" He wanted to smile at his friend as he glanced over his shoulder but stared in shock instead at the red blood covering him. "Are you hurt?

"Nay, it is not my blood, lad." Gethron stopped and heaved a great sigh. He wiped a hand over his face, trying to hold his emotions in check. "He fell, did you see?"

Tarkil grabbed the older Ranger's arm, a cold hand of fear clenching his heart. "Who? Who fell?"

"Halbarad. The standard he carried drove the Orcs and Easterlings mad; it drew them to him like bees to nectar." Gethron won his battle and the stern Ranger's mask slipped into its place, though Tarkil could see the grief linger in his eyes.

"I saw. I fought nearby but then the fighting grew so fierce I was separated from the rest. What of the Captain? What happened with him?" he finally dared to ask.

"He is unhurt – I saw him meet up with Rohan's prince and another knight dressed in blue and silver. They rode off north to the city just a few minutes ago." Gethron paused when he saw an orc attempting to move beneath a pile of bodies and removed that threat from the field as he stuck his blade through the snarling foe.

They trudged in silence through the fields, before Tarkil finally ventured. "Have you seen Haldon? Or the others? Do you know aught of them? Have you seen Angrim or Meglin?"

"Meglin, I saw. He will need a few stitches most likely, but he is well. Angrim and Haldon I have not seen. When we came off the boats, I lost track of who went where, lad."

"Same with me. Do you know which ship Haldon sailed on? That might give me an idea of where he fought."

Gethron shook his head, "Sorry, I did not see. Most likely, he will show up soon; it does no good to worry."

The rangers continued their slow trek, despatching those orcs that still breathed, bending over when they saw fallen comrades, checking to see if they lived, calling to healers and helping those that could walk back to the safety of the quays.

Exhausted, they finally arrived at the docks. Six of their comrades gathered around Halbarad's shroud-covered body, guarding it, scowling at any who dared to come near.

They nodded wearily to the Dúnedain, and sat beside Angrim on a pile of rubble, while they caught their breath.

"Angrim, what news is there?" Gethron asked. "Is any of it good?"

"We are still here. And Aragorn lives – he has headed to the city with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer. What better news can there be?" Angrim leaned his head against the remains of a pillar.

"Éomer is king? What happened?" The import of the words slowly penetrated the fog of exhaustion that filled Tarkil's head. "Théoden King fell? So much loss!" Tarkil looked about the wharf in search of his brother. "Have you seen Haldon?"

"No, I have not seen him for several hours now. A Mûmakil came charging through, and a fell beast attacked shortly after, scattering us. I have not seen him since." Angrim pulled a flask of miruvoir from a pouch on his belt and took a swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then waved his arm in the opposite direction from where Tarkil and Gethron had just travelled. "We were to the east of here at that point - that way."

This news worried Tarkil, so he set off in search of his brother, heading in the direction Angrim indicated, tossing the enemies' bodies off of the fallen, growing more desperate at each step he took. Haldon, where are you? He anxiously scanned the fields, hoping to see Haldon walk towards him, flashing his bright grin, with a quick remark about his little brother's lack of faith in his skills.

"Tarkil! Tarkil, they have found Haldon! They have brought him back to the quays," Gethron called across the plain.

Tarkil ran through the gloom towards the lanterns that now flickered at the edge of the river, jumping over bodies and debris in his desperation to get to his brother's side. They have brought him back to the quays. Which means he could not walk there himself. Oh, Haldon, please do not be among the slain!

He gasped to see his brother's still form lying on the ground, a healer bent over him.

Gethron grabbed Tarkil's shoulder and stopped him. "It is all right, lad. He is alive. He is unconscious right now, let the healer do his work."

"Captain?" Tarkil ventured late that night as Aragorn turned away to work on the next wounded man in the crowded sick room far above the battlefields.

He paused and looked back at the young Ranger, "Yes?"

What can be said at a time such as this? What comfort can mere words offer?

Tarkil hesitated, "I just wanted to say thank you for helping my brother … and I am sorry about Halbarad. I know you two … I am sorry we failed him." He shook his head in frustration as he stumbled over the words.

"No, you did not fail him, Tarkil." Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples before looking back at the Ranger, "Look after your brother, make sure he rests tonight. And make sure you get some rest, too."

"Yes, Captain. Thank you again."

The fresh fragrance of the forests that both brothers loved to roam lingered in the room, remnants of the athelas leaves the Captain had crumbled into steaming water earlier. Tarkil breathed deeply, trying to ignore the acrid smoke and fetid odours of death that clung to him still from the field, finally feeling his spirits rise as he sat on the floor beside his brother's bed once more.

"'Kil?" he heard his brother murmur.

"I am here, Hal."

"Did we win?"

"Yes, Hal, we won. You get some sleep." Tarkil straightened the covers around his brother and settled back against the wall.

"I thought you would not want to leave him so I brought you a bedroll; you should try to get some sleep too." Herudil held out his pack. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Thank you." Tarkil tucked the pack beside his brother's bed. "Nothing is broken, just a few cuts, but apparently he took a nasty knock to the head." Tarkil paused. "I am sorry about your brother, sir."

"Halbarad died protecting Aragorn. I cannot think of another way he would have chosen. I think he knew he was doomed, though he would not tell me more than what he said at the mountain that day." Herudil glanced around the room. "I'm amazed there were not more of us hurt today."

"How are the rest of the company?" Tarkil asked. "I didn't see many by the docks – did anyone else fall?"

"No. Amazingly, most of the injuries are about the same as your brother here – a few bumps and cuts. For the most part we are fine. What do the healers say about when your brother should be able to return to duty?" Herudil sniffed the air. "Why does it smell like pine in here?"

"The Captain used athelas when he heard that Haldon had been near a Nazgûl. They will not be able to tell how soon he will be fit to return until he wakes up tomorrow. And it smells like maple to me, sir." Tarkil grinned.

"Athelas, eh? That explains the scent – the great pine stands around Rivendell it always smells like to me. It smells like maple to you?"

Tarkil chuckled. "A maple forest surrounds my family's village – my father taught me a lot of my tracking skills there. I guess we are both woodsmen then. I have heard people talk of smelling fresh fields and flowers, and others of the sea. But for me, whenever I smell athelas, I am always back home in the forest."

"Well, I am going to head back down – we are setting up tents on the fields outside the city." The commander laid a hand on Tarkil's shoulder. "You get some rest, you need it too."

"Thanks for bringing the bedroll, sir." He rolled out his pack to lie down, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the stain on the ceiling, finally falling into a deep sleep himself.

Tarkil left Haldon in the Houses of Healing the next morning and returned to the fields to find the grim-faced Dúnedain still closely guarding their commander's body. Tarkil expressed his and Haldon's condolences to Halbarad's sons, Anardil and Ciridon, and then returned to find the rest of their company.

Between the captains of Gondor and Rohan, an agreement had been made to create a mound by the city walls where their dead would lie side by side in equal honour. The Grey Company offered to help by taking turns preparing the earth, their grey cloaks blending amongst the green of the Rohan guard and black and silver of the Gondor Tower guard, as they laboured to create a burial spot worthy of the fallen.

Once their Captain had finally returned from his meetings, the Rangers assembled while Aragorn met privately with Halbarad's sons and brother. When they emerged from their seclusion, Aragorn, Herudil, Anardil and Ciridon lifted the pallet bearing Halbarad's body and, surprising the dour-faced Grey Company, carried him to the gates of the great city where Imrahil and his Swan Knights stood waiting to escort them. Up through the great stone circles they solemnly marched. A rank of Tower Guards joined them as they marched across the citadel to Fen Hollin where Tarkil noticed a dark patch at its doorway. Had the fighting reached even to this level? Tarkil wondered. For surely that is a bloodstain.

"Rath Dinen this is called," Aragorn quietly told them as they walked down the stairs to the silent street. The great King's Hall stood at the end of the path, and on their left stood another, its roof collapsed and charred. "The house of the Stewards, sad is its state thanks to the Dark Lord's manipulations," Tarkil heard Aragorn quietly say before he turned right and led them to another building where he paused beneath its vaulted ceiling. "This hall is set aside for the King's kin. Here shall Halbarad rest for though I do not claim my crown yet, he is also a descendent of Elendil and rightfully does he belong here, as Prince Imrahil has agreed. And though I know he would be equally happy to be amongst the fallen in the mounds by the city gates, I wish for him to be properly honoured for the sacrifice he made in coming to Gondor's aid."

Elrohir and Elladan sang a quiet lament as the Grey Company bid their comrade a final farewell. They journeyed back through the circles in silence to find the burials preparing to start on the fields below. The ceremonies lasted long into the night as the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan carefully placed body after body in the mound and lamented each man till finally all the soldiers stood at attention while Mithrandir blessed the burial spot.

Heavy-hearted they were when Aragorn called them to pause, gathering them close as he finally announced the decisions reached in his meetings that day.

"My friends, you battled bravely yesterday upon the fields in defence of Minas Tirith, as you did at Pelargir and on our journey to the south. In two days, we must ride out for the Black Gate where I shall call Sauron to come forth and we shall battle all his forces. I would ask for your help one more time for we need to draw his eye to the north." Tarkil exchanged a glance with Gethron as they remembered the rumours that had circulated amongst them about the hobbit's quest.

"It is a foul, barren land that will take us seven days to reach, and we know not where we might face his armies -- for surely he will attempt to divert us from our path. And once we arrive at the Morannon, Southron and Easterlings, Orcs and trolls will face us in countless numbers. I know you are exhausted from your battles and journeys but we stand at the edge of the abyss and we shall surely topple into it if we do not continue in our resolve. Sauron must be defeated and though you are only thirty men, you are my kin, and I know of your steadfastness and your indomitable courage that has allowed our people to guard the land for so many years. I know you worry about your families since the defences around your villages have been weakened much in the past months. Should any of you wish to return to your homes in the north, you are free to do so for there is a need for battle-trained men to fight in defence of our people. Do not answer me tonight, but think on it, making your decision firm in your mind, and tell Herudil in the morning of your final destination. I am appointing him to be Halbarad's replacement while you are here in Gondor. And whether you accompany me or no, I shall think no less of you. I am proud of you all for what you have accomplished while fighting at my side."

Few men discussed what their Captain had said that night; all resolving to continue to ride at Aragorn's side in his defence -- save for one pair high above the fields in the Houses of Healing. They argued late into the night before the eldest brother finally threw up his hands in frustration at his brother's stubborn nature for refusing to return home and both men spent a sleepless night staring up at the stain on the ceiling.

&-&

"How is he doing?" Herudil put a hand on Haldon's shoulder, rousing him from the nap he took at his brother's side. "I did not realize you had left the celebrations until a little while ago when Elrohir told us what happened -- King Elessar asked after him too."

"He is sleeping now. He overdid things - as usual for him." Haldon frowned. "He thinks people will call him weak if he does not push himself."

"Yes, I watched him last autumn after a battle with orcs. Gethron said the same thing at that time. He is the youngest of your family, is he not? At least the youngest boy, if I remember what you mentioned before." Haldon nodded. "That is usual – they keep comparing themselves to you older brothers, trying to measure up. And usually you older fellows taunt them a bit too. I know I see it in my boys back home." Herudil pulled up a chair and uncorked a flask offering it to Haldon. "Here -- I have a few drops of miruvoir left. No use letting it go to waste."

Haldon nodded and took the flask. He took a swig and passed it back to Halbarad's brother. "Yes, he is the youngest of five boys. Celepharn was already out on patrol by the time 'Kil was five, so they were not very close. But Mallor and I, yes, I suppose we did tease 'Kil a bit. Him and Valandur both."

"Go back to our quarters, Haldon, get some sleep. I will sit with him for a while and make sure he is all right."

"No, I think I will stay here – at least until he wakes up."

The commander stood, "Suit yourself, but once he is awake, I want you to report back and grab some sleep. No use working yourself up till you are sick and lying in bed beside him."

Haldon grinned wryly, "Yes, sir, besides 'Kil is right, the healers and the help here are not the pretty faces I prefer to wake up beside. I cannot say I would want to wake up to old Ioreth's face in the morning."

Notes:

Re the discussion between Gethron and Tarkil about what ships they arrived on: The Last Debate – ROTK: And then to each of the great ships that remained Aragorn sent one of the Dúnedain, and they comforted the captives that were aboard, and bade them put aside fear and be free.

Battle of the Pelennor Fields – ROTK: "For now men leaped from the ships to the quays of the Harlond and swept north like a storm. There came Legolas, and Gimli wielding his axe, and Halbarad with the standard, and Elladan and Elrohir with stars on their brow, and the dour-handed Dúnedain, Rangers of the North, leading a great valour of the folk of Lebennin and Lamedon and the fiefs of the South.