CHAPTER 4
RAGING WATERS
More than a week it took to prepare the journey, but on November 15, 3024, a contingent of three thousand armed men leaded by the very Monarchs of Gondor was set and ready to cross the gates of Minas Tirith and march towards South Ithilien.
Standing by the hefty gateway were the hobbits Merry and Pippin, waiting to bid farewell to the assemblage, and ready to begin their own journey towards the Shire. They would have liked to join the King and Queen on their unusual trip, and Aragorn even suggested it, more than once. But they had been away from their homes and obligations for many months, and quite frankly they felt homesick already.
Elessar and the Evenstar both halted their steeds, stopping the whole entourage as well, upon seeing the two noble friends, their own mounts set and ready to depart towards the west. They dismounted and walked towards them, a tender smile on both the sovereigns' faces. "It is a beautiful morning to travel, don't you think, little masters?" Aragorn greeted first.
Pippin took a deep breath, closing his eyes to feel the air of the sunrise. "It is indeed, Strider friend," the young hobbit said, loosening his stance to receive Aragorn's friendly embrace, and patting the man's broad back with equal affability.
"There, there, Aragorn!" Pippin said with strangled voice. "No need to smother the hobbit. We will meet again, since you owe us a visit to the Shire."
Aragorn released him, becoming conscious he had been inadvertently squeezing the life out of his little friend. "I apologize, my friend. And I promise to honor you as my hosts. Until that day, you'll be greatly missed," the King said, moving to embrace Merry, more measured of his strength this time.
Meanwhile Arwen offered a flock of butterfly kisses to the blissful face of Peregrin. "My Lady, not even the lasses in Hobbiton greet me so effusively," Pippin said, reddening just a bit.
Arwen straightened herself, chuckling softly. "Well, then they don't know what they miss."
It was then that the face of Peregrin turned as red as a beet. "My Lady, you flatter me. It is 'almost' embarrassing."
"Embarrassment?" Merry said with a snort. "I thought you knew not such thing, Pippin."
The smug smile on Meriadoc's face disappeared as soon as the Queen lowered herself upon him, ready to grant him the same treatment she had given to Peregrin. But the Queen noted the shade of sadness crossing the hobbit's eyes, something resembling a bittersweet memory coming to his mind. Holding his face between her soft hands, she inquired him. "What ails you so, Master Meriadoc? Is there something I can do to lessen this ache?"
"There is, my Lady. And I will be so daring as to ask a favor from you," Merry said, almost somberly.
"Pray tell me, dear friend. If it is within my reach, it will be done," Arwen said, concern evident in her serene voice.
"The White Lady of Rohan. You are to meet her, are you not?" Merry tried.
"Yes, I am," Arwen said straight-faced, suddenly understanding the Hobbit's behavior.
"If you could be so kind as to carry with you a blessing for her, and a message as well, I would be forever thankful."
"And it will be my pleasure," Arwen stated earnestly, noting how Pippin had moved to place a hand upon his cousin's shoulder, an offer of silent support. Everybody close enough to Merry knew of the meaningful bond he held with Eowyn of Rohan, and the deep feelings he had for his sister in arms at the Pelennor Fields.
"Tell her.... that she is always in my memory. Both the bravest knight of Rohan, Dernhelm; and the fair splendor of the daughter of kings, Eowyn will live in this heart forever. And if she at any time finds herself in need, behold! I am here, the one who would do the undoable to give back the hope she once gave me at the darkest hour of my life."
"Your words will reach her as if carried by the wings of the wind, Master Meriadoc, unchanged and as they were uttered," Arwen said, planting only a soft and reverent kiss upon the hobbit's forehead.
"May your steeds be swift and your road easy," Aragorn said, climbing on his mount. "May you find your homelands safe and thriving."
The hobbits touched their chests, greeting the King and Queen in the elven way. "Same to you, my friend. That no weapon or intrigues forged against you prosper."
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The army left the city, the gleam of metal under the morning sun contrasting with the green and yellow of the crop fields. The crowd was fully attired; the horses outfitted with silver and new leather, the officials uniformed with golden and red; holding the proud banner of the tree high up for the world to see; the branches and stars standing out over the black velvet background.
Just under a thousand soldiers were on horse, forming the mighty cavalry; fifteen hundred archers with long bows and thick arrows; and over fifteen hundred trained infantry soldiers brandishing long swords, carved shields and lances for short-range, man-to-man combat. Aragorn insisted in keeping the walking columns together with the cavalry contingent, despite Hadathor's claims of unnecessary delay; and so the entire group advanced sluggishly through the fields of Gondor joined tightly, adjusting to the pace of the soldiers walking with heavy armors and gear on their backs.
Arwen took the opportunity to admire the raw beauty of the countryside. Leaning contently on Asfaloth's soft back, her long fingers played absently with the steed's mane, while her eyes lingered on the flourishing crops, the peaceful herds, and the honest simplicity on the faces of the farmers and shepherds. This was it, she thought; this was what they were traveling to defend and protect. It was so different from the landscapes she had known as an elf, so far away from the ancient forests and the elegant buildings. And yet, as she looked upon the curious eyes of a child who had stopped helping his father in caring for a group of lazy, plump sheep, just to look in awe at the impressive army passing by, she knew that it was all worth fighting for.
She liked to travel, at least the first hours, for it took her mind away from her constant concerns and fears. Moreover, she enjoyed that her husband was always by her side, telling her of his adventures in Rohan and Belfalas, when he was known as Thorongil and all that mattered to him was adventure and epic deeds. He also told her of the creatures and trees that inhabited those lands as they found them, most of them unknown to her but not to him, for he in his mortal lifespan had seen more of the world than her in her long centuries, and everyday she learnt something new from him and the land he so much loved.
Three days they journeyed southward, and Arwen started to feel fatigued and somewhat sick. It was odd, for she had always been extraordinarily resilient to long trips and outdoor life, but she blamed it on the long and slow journey and the fact that she was no longer immune to the mortals' ails. She would often prompt Asfaloth to go ahead of the group, sickened by the heavy heat and smell that a three thousand soldiers group emanated, and yearned for fresh air and solitude. This was much to the dismay of Aragorn, who would start crying out her name and searching frantically whenever she disappeared from his sight. He for sure tried to stop her little flights; but she was a sneaky one, and so was her blasted horse, as the King liked to call the stealthy Asfaloth.
The group was about to reach the bridge at Pelargir when general Hadathor left his position in the midst of the cavalry to go forward and speak with the King and Queen. He greeted them, as flatteringly as he could, and continued to discuss some minor array issues with Aragorn. Then, he noted the disgusted face of the Queen, who had some problems controlling her sickness and discomfort from the long journey.
"You seem somewhat distressed, my Queen," he said, moving his horse closer to Arwen's.
"It is nothing, sir," she said, reluctant to stand the man's examination.
Hadathor allowed some distance between him and the Queen, but not before commenting. "It must be the long journey, and the vitiated air from the multitude," he said thoughtfully. "You know, my liege, there is a lovely river shore just east of here. Maybe the fresh waters of the Anduin can provide soothe to our weary queen," he suggested sympathetically.
Arwen's face brightened at the prospect of a cool landscape, and a splash of fresh water on her face. Aragorn didn't think it was a good idea to diverge from their course. "Yes, I remember that shore. The current is fast and the water's fierce. Maybe we should wait for a calmer stream."
"Please, Aragorn, we don't have to bring the whole army. Just allow me to race there and I'll catch up with the crowd quickly afterwards."
"No, it is too dangerous."
Arwen sighed disappointed, but not defeated. "Then order a group of horsemen to follow and protect me."
Aragorn was not yet convinced, but as Arwen came near, brandishing the best of her pleading eyes, he knew his determination was doomed. "Very well! But I will go with you," he groaned, signaling a cavalry leader to set apart an escort.
"I would like to go as well, if you don't mind," Hadathor said, smiling harmlessly. "I also need some renewal."
......................................
The small convoy of less than ten men quickly got away from the main group, heading straight east towards the Anduin's riverbed. Arwen on Asfaloth leaded the group, since her horse was the swiftest of them all. Promptly enough, she could hear the powerful waters roaring just ahead of her, reminding her of the constant lull of the rivers that crossed her homeland Rivendell from side to side.
Finally, the sight of a tall and thick forest that consistently grew alongside the Great River greeted her. The cool shade of the mossy trees and the welcoming scent of green infused wellness and joy to her at once, so much that she did not heed a sense of being watched that came to her as soon as she entered the trees, nor the feel of a strong presence lingering all over the setting. No, all she cared for was the sight of white water and cold spray from the furious stream.
She dismounted, hearing Aragorn and company as they entered the forest only steps behind her, but unwilling to wait for them. She walked as in a dream, spotting a protrusion of the terrain that stretched over the waters that seemed to call for her, luring her to go near. Her mind went numb, concerned only to get a handful of that water to splash on her face. Her feet stepped boldly on the precarious strip of land hanging over the raging waters, and she kneeled at the very edge of it, stretching her body to reach down the foamy current.
It was a strange feeling, to care about nothing else, to think of nothing more than the simplest of actions. A deep part of her tried to wake from the anomalous slumber in which her mind had fallen into; but the spell was strong and her awareness unprepared to face such force.
She heard the distant and hazy voice of Aragorn calling her name. "Arwen, get away from there!"
She heard the cries, but cared no more. She stretched further over the edge, so that the very tips of her fingers could finally touch the frosty water, and an immense joy came to her upon feeling the achievement of her strange obsession. It was then that the veil was lifted from her mind and she heard, loud and near, the desperation in her husband's voice calling for her. But still, in her wake, she could not comprehend or realize the danger she was in. Then, everything around her turned indistinct and disturbed, and the stab of freezing cold surrounded her.
Aragorn let out a bawl of sheer panic as he saw the woman that was everything to him falling into the furious river. He was near, only steps away, so he could see the confusion and unawareness in her eyes as the ground buckled beneath her. He ran, with all his might, trying to dive into the murderous river, convinced that he could struggle against the raging waters that were so hastily dragging his Queen away from him. But a pair of determined arms seized him and knocked him to the ground, just before he could reach the waters.
"Your armor, my King!" he heard Hadathor yell, while he struggled against the General's grip. "The weight of it will sink you to the bottom at once!"
Aragorn let out a holler of rage, digging his fingers into the mud of the river while he saw Arwen going further away, her head barely surfacing out of the waters.
"Reconsider, my lord! She may still survive, but you would certainly die. Don't make her a widow!"
Three soldiers dived in, out of the love for their Queen. The three of them were helplessly pulled down by their heavy armors, and died.
Aragorn forcefully pushed Hadathor off of him and got up, racing frantically towards his horse, closely followed by the General and the remaining men. They tried to follow the river shore, but the terrain was steep and lopsided, making impossible for the steeds to compete with the pace of the river. Soon enough, there was no sign of the Queen and only the rampant waters could be seen.
...................................
A powerful slap of awareness came to Arwen as she fell in the icy waters, and her survival instincts took over her body and mind. She lunged up with all her might, as the air had left her chest upon the drop, and she was in desperate need of it. Her face surfaced and she could breathe air with a loud gasp, but the weight of her drenched garments pulled her down again, and she cursed herself for wearing such dense clothes. She waved her arms frantically, panicking as her legs begun bumping into the river rocks, faster and harder with every second that passed. The idea of death crossed her mind, and she reasoned that if she didn't drown, the edgy rocks would break her body.
She thought of Aragorn, while she struggled to balance her body, trying to get herself out of the spiraling vortex of the river as it dragged her further downstream, towards even more violent waters. She would not let go of him, at least not without a fight.
But the waters were pitiless and potent, and soon enough the strength and will to survive started draining from her. The strokes of her arms became slower, her kicks feeble, insufficient to keep her surfaced. She thought of a last prayer, overwhelmed by the fear of mortal's death and uncertainty as her body sunk with ease towards the dark green depths of the Anduin.
She closed her eyes, surprised by the silence beneath the turbulent surface, abandoning herself to her untimely fate. But it was then, when all hope had left her, that she felt an outstanding force pulling her back up towards the surface and life. A force so great that it was capable to defeat the ruthless river. It retrieved her from the depth she had fallen into, pulling by her long, black tresses until the light of the day filled her eyes and the roar of the river hammered her ears once again.
Arwen coughed out the water she'd swallowed, gasping forcefully to draw breath. She felt and saw an arm holding her across her chest, towing her vigorously towards the shore. Then, she was lifted by two strong arms and she could do nothing but instinctively hold on tight to her rescuer's neck, leaning her head on his warm shoulder until he carefully placed her on dry land and safety.
She looked upon her savior, expecting to see Aragorn's face, or even a brave soldier of Gondor, but the face she saw stunned her.
It was a young man, tall and handsome, fairest of all the men she had seen in her long lifespan. She was taken aback by his exceptional features, by the blackness of his hair, the mysteriousness of his gray eyes. So special he was, that if it wasn't for his incipient and youthful stubble, Arwen thought, he could have been mistaken for an elf of the elder days.
The man looked at her with concern. "Are you well, lady?"
His voice was also measured and pleasing to her ears, like the voice of a prince; but as she straightened up, Arwen noted he was dressed in old and worn-out clothes.
"I am well now, my lord. Thank you, thank you for saving my life," she said earnestly, scrutinizing the stranger's eyes.
The man kneeled beside where she was sitting, examining her from afar. "You are either very strong or incredibly lucky," he said, noting that the rocks had not injured her. Then his eyes focused on her face. "Of course, you are of elven blood."
Arwen was about to ask for his name when the sound of pounding hoofs and cries of distress reached her from behind the trees, as Aragorn and company raced madly downstream, looking for her.
"My lord!" a soldier called, spotting the drenched Queen seated near the shore.
Aragorn pulled the reins of his mount, turning sharply towards her, and lunged himself to the ground upon reaching her. Arwen could see the fear in his eyes, already being washed away by the tears of relief and happiness upon finding her breathing.
No words left the once eloquent King's mouth as his arms encircled the one he loved most, pulling her against his chest and feeling life coming back to his body. They stayed like that, just holding each other in a celebration of life, until both heartbeats stilled to normality; and they understood everything would be all right.
Aragorn pulled back, noticing the tall figure standing respectfully only steps away. He lifted up his eyes to the imposing young man, looking at him with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Arwen drew the strands of her disheveled and soaked hair away from her face. "Aragorn, this is." She cleared her throat. "Now I realize I don't even know his name, but this is the one who pulled me out of the waters."
The King looked at the raucous river, more violent and tumultuous than upstream, and then his eyes searched the young man, who was drenched and pale, still breathing heavily from the strenuous exertion. He unfastened the scarlet cape from his royal armor, and wrapped it lovingly about Arwen's still trembling body. Then, he stood up and walked towards the stranger.
The young man bowed his head, undoubtedly recognizing the power of the one before him. "I knew not I was helping one of such high position."
"And that makes your deed even greater," Aragorn said, placing a hand over the man's shoulder. "Lift your face and bow not, friend. It is I who should bow and even kneel before the one I owe my everything."
The stranger lifted his face, and Aragorn also noted the exceptionality of his features; proud and fair, with an air of ancientness that reminded him of the very Lord Elrond. He was tall; his body lithe, but well-muscled under the scruffy clothes he wore; his dark and thick hair was cut very close to his head, dissimilar with the shoulder-length manner that was usual and widely spread over middle earth. But the young man's rareness was the least important matter in Aragorn's mind; all he cared for was what he had done.
"What blessed providence sent you to our lives?" the King whispered. "Who are you, noble hero?"
"I am neither a noble or a hero, my lord; nor was I sent by anyone's will or word. I was barely in the right place, at the right time," the stranger said coolly, but politely. "And if you ask who I am, know that I am no more than a homeless wanderer of this world, and my name cannot claim estate or heritage."
"I still don't know your name," Aragorn said with a smile, already fond of the lad's unassuming nature. "But if you won't give me your name, I will call you brother, for today you have become my kin, whether you like it or not. Your unparalleled bravery and prowess earned you a place of honor among the proud bloodline of Númenor."
"I do not deserve or need such recognition, sir. I barely saw a soul in deathly distress and was bound to aid, for I could not just stand and let her die. I gave no second thought before going into the water, and I believe anybody with a sense of humanity would have done the same."
"You refuse to take credit, and that makes me want to give you more of it," Aragorn said, then he turned around to look at the roaring waters. "Look at that stream, brother; look at the might of that river. I have not met a man that can go into those waters and get out while still breathing. You did so, and your strength was enough even to bring out another with you. I know no man that would go into such a death trap with no hesitation, for if three of my soldiers gave their lives while trying to do so, it was out of love and loyalty to me and their Queen. But you, you did it out of compassion for a stranger. Tell me, had you no fear?"
"No, my lord, fear never reached me, for I ran and swam faster than any fear."
Aragorn found himself perplex with admiration. "Have you no regard for your own life?"
"I had nothing to lose."
Aragorn remained silent, remembering the days long gone when he was very much like the young man. "You fear nothing not because you own nothing, but because you love nothing," he finally said. "But to live without loving is not a complete life, and you will learn that in time. I want you to experience love, so you can be a whole man, and that is why from now and on you are no longer homeless. I offer you a place of honor in my country, lands, possessions, and a high rank in my army, for such bravery and prowess can be very useful protecting the well being of our realm. Other than that, I'll give you anything you ask me for. But tell me, please, what is your name?"
The man remained silent, brushing his fingers over the sharp piece of dark metal hanging from an ordinary leather cord around his neck.
"You do have a name."
The young man wiped his face with the cloth a soldier offered him. "I do, my lord," he said, raising his head and fixing his bright eyes upon the King's.
"My name is Neithan."
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AUTHOR NOTE
You do remember Neithan, right? In case you don't, he was introduced briefly on Chapter 2, "The Time Has Come".
Well, this is going to get interesting from now and on, but it's going to take a while. The plot in my head is so thick that I'm finding it hard to organize logically, but I'll work on it as much as I can, I promise.
Next chapter, Legolas finally becomes a player, making a spectacular entrance to the plot and to the lives of Aragorn, Arwen and Hadathor. All I can tell you is that they will all be deeply impressed with the new King of Elves, and hopefully you will be as well.
Peace.
Elwe
RAGING WATERS
More than a week it took to prepare the journey, but on November 15, 3024, a contingent of three thousand armed men leaded by the very Monarchs of Gondor was set and ready to cross the gates of Minas Tirith and march towards South Ithilien.
Standing by the hefty gateway were the hobbits Merry and Pippin, waiting to bid farewell to the assemblage, and ready to begin their own journey towards the Shire. They would have liked to join the King and Queen on their unusual trip, and Aragorn even suggested it, more than once. But they had been away from their homes and obligations for many months, and quite frankly they felt homesick already.
Elessar and the Evenstar both halted their steeds, stopping the whole entourage as well, upon seeing the two noble friends, their own mounts set and ready to depart towards the west. They dismounted and walked towards them, a tender smile on both the sovereigns' faces. "It is a beautiful morning to travel, don't you think, little masters?" Aragorn greeted first.
Pippin took a deep breath, closing his eyes to feel the air of the sunrise. "It is indeed, Strider friend," the young hobbit said, loosening his stance to receive Aragorn's friendly embrace, and patting the man's broad back with equal affability.
"There, there, Aragorn!" Pippin said with strangled voice. "No need to smother the hobbit. We will meet again, since you owe us a visit to the Shire."
Aragorn released him, becoming conscious he had been inadvertently squeezing the life out of his little friend. "I apologize, my friend. And I promise to honor you as my hosts. Until that day, you'll be greatly missed," the King said, moving to embrace Merry, more measured of his strength this time.
Meanwhile Arwen offered a flock of butterfly kisses to the blissful face of Peregrin. "My Lady, not even the lasses in Hobbiton greet me so effusively," Pippin said, reddening just a bit.
Arwen straightened herself, chuckling softly. "Well, then they don't know what they miss."
It was then that the face of Peregrin turned as red as a beet. "My Lady, you flatter me. It is 'almost' embarrassing."
"Embarrassment?" Merry said with a snort. "I thought you knew not such thing, Pippin."
The smug smile on Meriadoc's face disappeared as soon as the Queen lowered herself upon him, ready to grant him the same treatment she had given to Peregrin. But the Queen noted the shade of sadness crossing the hobbit's eyes, something resembling a bittersweet memory coming to his mind. Holding his face between her soft hands, she inquired him. "What ails you so, Master Meriadoc? Is there something I can do to lessen this ache?"
"There is, my Lady. And I will be so daring as to ask a favor from you," Merry said, almost somberly.
"Pray tell me, dear friend. If it is within my reach, it will be done," Arwen said, concern evident in her serene voice.
"The White Lady of Rohan. You are to meet her, are you not?" Merry tried.
"Yes, I am," Arwen said straight-faced, suddenly understanding the Hobbit's behavior.
"If you could be so kind as to carry with you a blessing for her, and a message as well, I would be forever thankful."
"And it will be my pleasure," Arwen stated earnestly, noting how Pippin had moved to place a hand upon his cousin's shoulder, an offer of silent support. Everybody close enough to Merry knew of the meaningful bond he held with Eowyn of Rohan, and the deep feelings he had for his sister in arms at the Pelennor Fields.
"Tell her.... that she is always in my memory. Both the bravest knight of Rohan, Dernhelm; and the fair splendor of the daughter of kings, Eowyn will live in this heart forever. And if she at any time finds herself in need, behold! I am here, the one who would do the undoable to give back the hope she once gave me at the darkest hour of my life."
"Your words will reach her as if carried by the wings of the wind, Master Meriadoc, unchanged and as they were uttered," Arwen said, planting only a soft and reverent kiss upon the hobbit's forehead.
"May your steeds be swift and your road easy," Aragorn said, climbing on his mount. "May you find your homelands safe and thriving."
The hobbits touched their chests, greeting the King and Queen in the elven way. "Same to you, my friend. That no weapon or intrigues forged against you prosper."
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The army left the city, the gleam of metal under the morning sun contrasting with the green and yellow of the crop fields. The crowd was fully attired; the horses outfitted with silver and new leather, the officials uniformed with golden and red; holding the proud banner of the tree high up for the world to see; the branches and stars standing out over the black velvet background.
Just under a thousand soldiers were on horse, forming the mighty cavalry; fifteen hundred archers with long bows and thick arrows; and over fifteen hundred trained infantry soldiers brandishing long swords, carved shields and lances for short-range, man-to-man combat. Aragorn insisted in keeping the walking columns together with the cavalry contingent, despite Hadathor's claims of unnecessary delay; and so the entire group advanced sluggishly through the fields of Gondor joined tightly, adjusting to the pace of the soldiers walking with heavy armors and gear on their backs.
Arwen took the opportunity to admire the raw beauty of the countryside. Leaning contently on Asfaloth's soft back, her long fingers played absently with the steed's mane, while her eyes lingered on the flourishing crops, the peaceful herds, and the honest simplicity on the faces of the farmers and shepherds. This was it, she thought; this was what they were traveling to defend and protect. It was so different from the landscapes she had known as an elf, so far away from the ancient forests and the elegant buildings. And yet, as she looked upon the curious eyes of a child who had stopped helping his father in caring for a group of lazy, plump sheep, just to look in awe at the impressive army passing by, she knew that it was all worth fighting for.
She liked to travel, at least the first hours, for it took her mind away from her constant concerns and fears. Moreover, she enjoyed that her husband was always by her side, telling her of his adventures in Rohan and Belfalas, when he was known as Thorongil and all that mattered to him was adventure and epic deeds. He also told her of the creatures and trees that inhabited those lands as they found them, most of them unknown to her but not to him, for he in his mortal lifespan had seen more of the world than her in her long centuries, and everyday she learnt something new from him and the land he so much loved.
Three days they journeyed southward, and Arwen started to feel fatigued and somewhat sick. It was odd, for she had always been extraordinarily resilient to long trips and outdoor life, but she blamed it on the long and slow journey and the fact that she was no longer immune to the mortals' ails. She would often prompt Asfaloth to go ahead of the group, sickened by the heavy heat and smell that a three thousand soldiers group emanated, and yearned for fresh air and solitude. This was much to the dismay of Aragorn, who would start crying out her name and searching frantically whenever she disappeared from his sight. He for sure tried to stop her little flights; but she was a sneaky one, and so was her blasted horse, as the King liked to call the stealthy Asfaloth.
The group was about to reach the bridge at Pelargir when general Hadathor left his position in the midst of the cavalry to go forward and speak with the King and Queen. He greeted them, as flatteringly as he could, and continued to discuss some minor array issues with Aragorn. Then, he noted the disgusted face of the Queen, who had some problems controlling her sickness and discomfort from the long journey.
"You seem somewhat distressed, my Queen," he said, moving his horse closer to Arwen's.
"It is nothing, sir," she said, reluctant to stand the man's examination.
Hadathor allowed some distance between him and the Queen, but not before commenting. "It must be the long journey, and the vitiated air from the multitude," he said thoughtfully. "You know, my liege, there is a lovely river shore just east of here. Maybe the fresh waters of the Anduin can provide soothe to our weary queen," he suggested sympathetically.
Arwen's face brightened at the prospect of a cool landscape, and a splash of fresh water on her face. Aragorn didn't think it was a good idea to diverge from their course. "Yes, I remember that shore. The current is fast and the water's fierce. Maybe we should wait for a calmer stream."
"Please, Aragorn, we don't have to bring the whole army. Just allow me to race there and I'll catch up with the crowd quickly afterwards."
"No, it is too dangerous."
Arwen sighed disappointed, but not defeated. "Then order a group of horsemen to follow and protect me."
Aragorn was not yet convinced, but as Arwen came near, brandishing the best of her pleading eyes, he knew his determination was doomed. "Very well! But I will go with you," he groaned, signaling a cavalry leader to set apart an escort.
"I would like to go as well, if you don't mind," Hadathor said, smiling harmlessly. "I also need some renewal."
......................................
The small convoy of less than ten men quickly got away from the main group, heading straight east towards the Anduin's riverbed. Arwen on Asfaloth leaded the group, since her horse was the swiftest of them all. Promptly enough, she could hear the powerful waters roaring just ahead of her, reminding her of the constant lull of the rivers that crossed her homeland Rivendell from side to side.
Finally, the sight of a tall and thick forest that consistently grew alongside the Great River greeted her. The cool shade of the mossy trees and the welcoming scent of green infused wellness and joy to her at once, so much that she did not heed a sense of being watched that came to her as soon as she entered the trees, nor the feel of a strong presence lingering all over the setting. No, all she cared for was the sight of white water and cold spray from the furious stream.
She dismounted, hearing Aragorn and company as they entered the forest only steps behind her, but unwilling to wait for them. She walked as in a dream, spotting a protrusion of the terrain that stretched over the waters that seemed to call for her, luring her to go near. Her mind went numb, concerned only to get a handful of that water to splash on her face. Her feet stepped boldly on the precarious strip of land hanging over the raging waters, and she kneeled at the very edge of it, stretching her body to reach down the foamy current.
It was a strange feeling, to care about nothing else, to think of nothing more than the simplest of actions. A deep part of her tried to wake from the anomalous slumber in which her mind had fallen into; but the spell was strong and her awareness unprepared to face such force.
She heard the distant and hazy voice of Aragorn calling her name. "Arwen, get away from there!"
She heard the cries, but cared no more. She stretched further over the edge, so that the very tips of her fingers could finally touch the frosty water, and an immense joy came to her upon feeling the achievement of her strange obsession. It was then that the veil was lifted from her mind and she heard, loud and near, the desperation in her husband's voice calling for her. But still, in her wake, she could not comprehend or realize the danger she was in. Then, everything around her turned indistinct and disturbed, and the stab of freezing cold surrounded her.
Aragorn let out a bawl of sheer panic as he saw the woman that was everything to him falling into the furious river. He was near, only steps away, so he could see the confusion and unawareness in her eyes as the ground buckled beneath her. He ran, with all his might, trying to dive into the murderous river, convinced that he could struggle against the raging waters that were so hastily dragging his Queen away from him. But a pair of determined arms seized him and knocked him to the ground, just before he could reach the waters.
"Your armor, my King!" he heard Hadathor yell, while he struggled against the General's grip. "The weight of it will sink you to the bottom at once!"
Aragorn let out a holler of rage, digging his fingers into the mud of the river while he saw Arwen going further away, her head barely surfacing out of the waters.
"Reconsider, my lord! She may still survive, but you would certainly die. Don't make her a widow!"
Three soldiers dived in, out of the love for their Queen. The three of them were helplessly pulled down by their heavy armors, and died.
Aragorn forcefully pushed Hadathor off of him and got up, racing frantically towards his horse, closely followed by the General and the remaining men. They tried to follow the river shore, but the terrain was steep and lopsided, making impossible for the steeds to compete with the pace of the river. Soon enough, there was no sign of the Queen and only the rampant waters could be seen.
...................................
A powerful slap of awareness came to Arwen as she fell in the icy waters, and her survival instincts took over her body and mind. She lunged up with all her might, as the air had left her chest upon the drop, and she was in desperate need of it. Her face surfaced and she could breathe air with a loud gasp, but the weight of her drenched garments pulled her down again, and she cursed herself for wearing such dense clothes. She waved her arms frantically, panicking as her legs begun bumping into the river rocks, faster and harder with every second that passed. The idea of death crossed her mind, and she reasoned that if she didn't drown, the edgy rocks would break her body.
She thought of Aragorn, while she struggled to balance her body, trying to get herself out of the spiraling vortex of the river as it dragged her further downstream, towards even more violent waters. She would not let go of him, at least not without a fight.
But the waters were pitiless and potent, and soon enough the strength and will to survive started draining from her. The strokes of her arms became slower, her kicks feeble, insufficient to keep her surfaced. She thought of a last prayer, overwhelmed by the fear of mortal's death and uncertainty as her body sunk with ease towards the dark green depths of the Anduin.
She closed her eyes, surprised by the silence beneath the turbulent surface, abandoning herself to her untimely fate. But it was then, when all hope had left her, that she felt an outstanding force pulling her back up towards the surface and life. A force so great that it was capable to defeat the ruthless river. It retrieved her from the depth she had fallen into, pulling by her long, black tresses until the light of the day filled her eyes and the roar of the river hammered her ears once again.
Arwen coughed out the water she'd swallowed, gasping forcefully to draw breath. She felt and saw an arm holding her across her chest, towing her vigorously towards the shore. Then, she was lifted by two strong arms and she could do nothing but instinctively hold on tight to her rescuer's neck, leaning her head on his warm shoulder until he carefully placed her on dry land and safety.
She looked upon her savior, expecting to see Aragorn's face, or even a brave soldier of Gondor, but the face she saw stunned her.
It was a young man, tall and handsome, fairest of all the men she had seen in her long lifespan. She was taken aback by his exceptional features, by the blackness of his hair, the mysteriousness of his gray eyes. So special he was, that if it wasn't for his incipient and youthful stubble, Arwen thought, he could have been mistaken for an elf of the elder days.
The man looked at her with concern. "Are you well, lady?"
His voice was also measured and pleasing to her ears, like the voice of a prince; but as she straightened up, Arwen noted he was dressed in old and worn-out clothes.
"I am well now, my lord. Thank you, thank you for saving my life," she said earnestly, scrutinizing the stranger's eyes.
The man kneeled beside where she was sitting, examining her from afar. "You are either very strong or incredibly lucky," he said, noting that the rocks had not injured her. Then his eyes focused on her face. "Of course, you are of elven blood."
Arwen was about to ask for his name when the sound of pounding hoofs and cries of distress reached her from behind the trees, as Aragorn and company raced madly downstream, looking for her.
"My lord!" a soldier called, spotting the drenched Queen seated near the shore.
Aragorn pulled the reins of his mount, turning sharply towards her, and lunged himself to the ground upon reaching her. Arwen could see the fear in his eyes, already being washed away by the tears of relief and happiness upon finding her breathing.
No words left the once eloquent King's mouth as his arms encircled the one he loved most, pulling her against his chest and feeling life coming back to his body. They stayed like that, just holding each other in a celebration of life, until both heartbeats stilled to normality; and they understood everything would be all right.
Aragorn pulled back, noticing the tall figure standing respectfully only steps away. He lifted up his eyes to the imposing young man, looking at him with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Arwen drew the strands of her disheveled and soaked hair away from her face. "Aragorn, this is." She cleared her throat. "Now I realize I don't even know his name, but this is the one who pulled me out of the waters."
The King looked at the raucous river, more violent and tumultuous than upstream, and then his eyes searched the young man, who was drenched and pale, still breathing heavily from the strenuous exertion. He unfastened the scarlet cape from his royal armor, and wrapped it lovingly about Arwen's still trembling body. Then, he stood up and walked towards the stranger.
The young man bowed his head, undoubtedly recognizing the power of the one before him. "I knew not I was helping one of such high position."
"And that makes your deed even greater," Aragorn said, placing a hand over the man's shoulder. "Lift your face and bow not, friend. It is I who should bow and even kneel before the one I owe my everything."
The stranger lifted his face, and Aragorn also noted the exceptionality of his features; proud and fair, with an air of ancientness that reminded him of the very Lord Elrond. He was tall; his body lithe, but well-muscled under the scruffy clothes he wore; his dark and thick hair was cut very close to his head, dissimilar with the shoulder-length manner that was usual and widely spread over middle earth. But the young man's rareness was the least important matter in Aragorn's mind; all he cared for was what he had done.
"What blessed providence sent you to our lives?" the King whispered. "Who are you, noble hero?"
"I am neither a noble or a hero, my lord; nor was I sent by anyone's will or word. I was barely in the right place, at the right time," the stranger said coolly, but politely. "And if you ask who I am, know that I am no more than a homeless wanderer of this world, and my name cannot claim estate or heritage."
"I still don't know your name," Aragorn said with a smile, already fond of the lad's unassuming nature. "But if you won't give me your name, I will call you brother, for today you have become my kin, whether you like it or not. Your unparalleled bravery and prowess earned you a place of honor among the proud bloodline of Númenor."
"I do not deserve or need such recognition, sir. I barely saw a soul in deathly distress and was bound to aid, for I could not just stand and let her die. I gave no second thought before going into the water, and I believe anybody with a sense of humanity would have done the same."
"You refuse to take credit, and that makes me want to give you more of it," Aragorn said, then he turned around to look at the roaring waters. "Look at that stream, brother; look at the might of that river. I have not met a man that can go into those waters and get out while still breathing. You did so, and your strength was enough even to bring out another with you. I know no man that would go into such a death trap with no hesitation, for if three of my soldiers gave their lives while trying to do so, it was out of love and loyalty to me and their Queen. But you, you did it out of compassion for a stranger. Tell me, had you no fear?"
"No, my lord, fear never reached me, for I ran and swam faster than any fear."
Aragorn found himself perplex with admiration. "Have you no regard for your own life?"
"I had nothing to lose."
Aragorn remained silent, remembering the days long gone when he was very much like the young man. "You fear nothing not because you own nothing, but because you love nothing," he finally said. "But to live without loving is not a complete life, and you will learn that in time. I want you to experience love, so you can be a whole man, and that is why from now and on you are no longer homeless. I offer you a place of honor in my country, lands, possessions, and a high rank in my army, for such bravery and prowess can be very useful protecting the well being of our realm. Other than that, I'll give you anything you ask me for. But tell me, please, what is your name?"
The man remained silent, brushing his fingers over the sharp piece of dark metal hanging from an ordinary leather cord around his neck.
"You do have a name."
The young man wiped his face with the cloth a soldier offered him. "I do, my lord," he said, raising his head and fixing his bright eyes upon the King's.
"My name is Neithan."
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AUTHOR NOTE
You do remember Neithan, right? In case you don't, he was introduced briefly on Chapter 2, "The Time Has Come".
Well, this is going to get interesting from now and on, but it's going to take a while. The plot in my head is so thick that I'm finding it hard to organize logically, but I'll work on it as much as I can, I promise.
Next chapter, Legolas finally becomes a player, making a spectacular entrance to the plot and to the lives of Aragorn, Arwen and Hadathor. All I can tell you is that they will all be deeply impressed with the new King of Elves, and hopefully you will be as well.
Peace.
Elwe