Author's Note: Whoops. Sorry, I forgot to do a slot for Eaoden in the last chapter. I'll try to make up for it in this one.
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The next morning, the remaining members of the Fellowship and Berethor's company awoke with feelings of dread. In about two or three days' time, they would be riding into one of the biggest battles during this war. Eaoden's sword felt as though it weighed a ton, and his shield seemed to tug unpleasantly at his shoulder.
The Outrider wasn't certain why he was so nervous. He had been in battles before. Certainly this couldn't be anymore intimidating than Helms Deep, when they were face-to-face with their enemies, outnumbered and some inexperienced. Maybe he was nervous because most of the battles were really just skirmishes in the Plains of Rohan- plenty of room to maneuver, and never more than fifty or so Orcs.
This wasn't a skirmish. This was a battle. A battle beyond battles, with hundreds of thousands of Orcs, Wargs and Cave Trolls. This frightened him. Eaoden suddenly felt ashamed of himself. How could he be frightened, when there were worse deaths? How could he be frightened when he had the choice of fighting or becoming a slave to Sauron if he won the war?
Very easily, that's how.
Shaking his head and rubbing his temples, Eaoden attempted to clear his thoughts. Don't be frightened. Be proud. Even if you do die, it will be with honor to your name. He told himself as he stumbled to the stables. Elegost, Gimli and Hadhod waited there. They had not gone to bed the night before. When Eaoden inquired to them about this, Elegost merely shrugged.
"By the time we were finished preparing," He responded. "It was three hours until we set off. It would have been silly to try and sleep, only to be awoken three hours later. So we simply stayed up and talked, like a few others." Eaoden now saw that other men were loitering around the stables sullenly, moving as though they were the walking dead. Their demeanors did nothing to calm the Outrider's nerves. Gimli must have sensed this.
"Nervous, lad?" The Dwarf asked, taking a puff from his pipe. The smoke ring coiled through the air around Elegost's horse, and the majestic creature stomped his hooves and snorted irritably. Eaoden nodded as Elegost tried to calm his horse and sent Gimli an annoyed glare. "Aye, it's to be expected. This is no small fight. Some tens of thousands out there," He paused, his face deadpanned and he took another puff on his pipe. "And then there's us."
"(1)Ai Elbereth, not again." Elegost groaned. Gimli ignored him.
"We'll be fighting five hundred against ten-thousand something Orcs, trolls and the heavens know what else. I'm surprised we're even going at all." He continued. Eaoden paled slightly and slid down the wall onto a bale of hay.
"Excellent job cheering him, Gimli." Hadhod muttered, noting the change in color of the Rohirran's face. Gimli snorted.
"I wasn't trying to cheer him," He responded, as though Eaoden had left. "I was telling him the truth. You'd all pin me down later for lying if I told him I was one hundred percent sure we'd win." Eaoden promptly went back to rubbing his temples and musing to himself about the coming battle as the two Dwarves spoke. Ai, He thought. Something tells me I shall not live to see the outcome of this war.
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When all the soldiers, and their wives and children who were coming to see them off, were assembled, the army took off for the camp where they would merge with some two to three hundred other soldiers. Aragorn and Berethor's companies rode toward the front with the King, Eomer and Eowyn, while the others followed behind.
Idrial, of all places, was riding next to Legolas and Gimli. She tried hard to keep her eyes on Theodan's back, but occasionally she would glance out of the corner of her eye at the elf next to her. And, to Idrial's increasing curiosity, every time she looked over she could have sworn she saw Legolas turning away from looking at her.
Idrial had been mentally berating herself for glancing his way for the last few hours of the ride. Perhaps unconsciously, her wordless forgiveness of Berethor's actions was causing her to grow closer to her Ellon (2) companion. Which, as was already mentioned, was something that Idrial did not want. Not now, not during the war that could kill every man around them.
But if indeed Legolas was thinking of courting her, then he probably didn't care about the conditions. If this was the case, Idrial privately, partially berated him for it. Though the other side of her was telling her to lighten up and court him right back. That little part of her, the part that was dying to act outwardly interested in the Prince, was afraid she might come off as trying to give him the cold shoulder. Elbereth knew she was certainly capable of it.
The part about Legolas' consideration of the war was brought to Idrial's mind when he spoke to her. "Did you see the sun this morning?" To anyone else that was not familiar with Elven customs, this would seem like a typical, if not slightly romantic conversation starter. But to Idrial and Legolas, it was a bit more significant.
"Yes," Idrial replied. "Red. Maybe the Wildmen killed more refugees." Legolas' brow creased with worry.
"Perhaps," He said. Idrial sensed the tension in his voice, and her eyes narrowed.
"What do you think?" She asked softly. Legolas paused, as thought wondering how to word himself.
"I think," He said, "That we may have missed the beginning of the battle at Minas Tirith." Idrial scowled.
"D-mn Denethor. D-mn his pig-headed pride to Udun. It may be because of their beloved Steward that the people of Minas Tirith perish." She said scathingly. Morwen, who was riding nearby and heard the Elleth's comment felt grim satisfaction, and felt a surge of camaraderie with the elf.
You have no idea how deep his pig-headedness runs, my friend. She thought roughly. You have no idea. Up ahead, Berethor rode along stiffly and silently. He too had heard Idrial's comment, and agreed completely. Wrath and fury threatened to boil over in his heart, and he swore that he'd shorten the Steward's life considerably if a single hair was harmed on any member of his family's heads. And he would enjoy it immensely.
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The ride took until mid-afternoon, when the camp came into view. Hundreds were there already- possibly more than the King or anyone else had thought was possible.
The soldiers pitched their tents, conversed with others, and then awaited for the next day. They had the night ahead of them to truly prepare for the actual battle, though some more than others didn't even want to touch the subject of the battle. They, like Eaoden, were nervous beyond all reasonable belief. Currently, the Outrider was sitting in his tent and doing what he had been doing all day- rubbing his temples and praying to any God listening he wouldn't die.
Berethor and Elegost watched him at a distance, Elegost shooting the Outrider a pitying look. "The man's going to give himself a heart-attack," He mumbled, turning and prodding at the fire in front of him. Berethor nodded, and also turned from Eaoden.
"I would have thought he'd have seen battle before, being an Outrider and all," He said. Elegost sighed.
"Nothing like this though. The armies of Rohan and Minas Tirith haven't had to train their soldiers for anything this big for centuries. Not since the last war." He explained.
"Understandable," Berethor muttered. After all, why train an army to fight an evil overlord that was alleged to have died an age ago? Just then, Morwen appeared, looking amazed.
"Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli- wait, Eaoden! Get over here! Don't make me have to shout!" She called to the Rohirran, who trudged over to the fire.
"What is it?" He muttered grumpily. Morwen was breathless for a moment, and then she found her words.
"Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli are planning to tread the Paths of the Dead!" She gasped. Eaoden paled noticeably, Berethor's jaw dropped, and Elegost went stiff.
"Why," Berethor began slowly, "Would they want to travel… that path?" He said, lowering his voice conspicuously when he referred to the path. Eaoden was still very pale, so Elegost continued.
"Yes," He added. "The Paths of the Dead are a dark place. A dark place indeed." He said.
"Let's be realistic," Morwen said flatly. "We have about seven to eight hundred soldiers here. That's not enough to stop the thousands from Mordor, and the Corsairs that are rumored to be coming. We need more reinforcements. And," She added, looking each of them in the eye in turn. "Aragorn is Isildur's heir. He can hold them to their Oaths."
"Insane," Eaoden finally choked. "I'd rather face the Witch King of Angmar a hundred times over. Going through that path is suicide." Morwen cocked an eyebrow at this.
"Then Idrial and Hadhod must be suicidal," She commented, jerking her head towards Aragorn's tent. "Because they've agreed to accompany them." The three men exchanged fleeting looks, then jumped up and ran to the direction Morwen indicated. There they found Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Idrial and Hadhod saddling their horses. Aragorn looked up when they approached.
"I take it Morwen has informed you of our destination?" He asked. Berethor stopped about a foot away from the Ranger.
"You mean you intend to get yourself killed?" He hissed. "Or are you simply mad, because no sane man, elf, or dwarf would make for the Paths of the Dead the night before an important battle!" Now Berethor was almost shouting. Aragorn put up a hand to silence him.
"I have heard this before, Berethor, and I will give you the same answer I gave all the others- This army will not last against Mordor. We need reinforcements. We need many soldiers that fight like fire, and have little to no chance of running out quickly." He turned to the others. "You're welcome to come if you wish," He said.
"No thank you," Eaoden said, still a bit paler than usual. "I'll be fine here." Morwen waved the question off.
"You have my answer," She said coolly.
"I would rather die whilst slaying Orcs," Berethor murmured, still eyeing Aragorn as though he were mad. Elegost stepped forward.
"I will join you," He said. "The legend about the Paths has always intrigued me." Berethor looked uneasily after the Ranger as he untied the rope that held his horse.
"Very well then," He said. "Morwen, Eaoden and I will ride in tomorrow. If you're not there by sundown, I will ask Theodan to declare you officially dead." The Gondorian warned. Aragorn smiled, and the men clasped shoulders. The six riders mounted their horses, and then rode off into the misty night, leaving their three companions in their wake.
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(1): The Elvish Equivalent of "Oh God" or "Oh Lord".
(2): Ellon- Male elf