Eowyn paced impatiently within the confines of the Citadel stables, the skirts of her riding dress raising small clouds of dust and bits of hay as she walked back and forth, at a faster rate each time. Her eyes never left the entrance to the building, nor failed to note that the sun was nearly half on its way to the horizon. Soon, it would be too late to ride to Ithilien.
Where /was/ her uncle?
She crossed her arms, trying to fight back her growing sense of frustration. It was wrong of her to be so restless, for she knew Prince Imrahil had many important duties to attend to this day. All morning she had heard the talk-that the Haradrim would be leaving tomorrow, that the talks had failed, that there would be no peace with Harad in the future that could be seen. Her heart ached for Faramir, for she knew how saddened he would be at this news, but it also yearned all the more now for the beauty and quiet of Ithilien, where she might gain a better understanding of how to comfort him when he learned of this reverse.
Perhaps Imrahil will not come, she thought as she paced, unable to quell her troubled musings. Perhaps Aragorn learned of their plans and forbade the journey because of the still-present danger. Perhaps-
The sound of voices reached her ears, and she stopped short, her breath seized in her throat. Before she could move, Imrahil entered the stable, clad in his riding garments. Scarcely had relief begun to overcome her when she saw more figures appear behind him. They included Gimli and a tall dark-haired soldier she had seen before but could not name.
She opened her mouth, but Imrahil held up a hand, a smile on his gentle face that reminded her at once of Faramir.
"Fear not, my Lady, we still ride today," her uncle assured her. "Pray forgive my lateness, I was locating our traveling companions and military escort. You remember Lieutenant Faelor?"
He indicated the dark-haired soldier, who bowed to her.
She nodded in reply, prying a nervous smile onto her lips. "Certainly," she said. "And Master Gimli, you are most welcome as well."
"Don't think I'd be lettin' you go out there without the protection of a Dwarvish axe, my lady," was Gimli's response. "I've brought several of my choicest blades, just in case."
"I also have four of my men waiting for us outside," Faelor added.
Eowyn felt a little thrown, and looked at Imrahil. "It's not going to be a nice quiet ride to the river, is it?" she asked with a slight laugh.
The Prince shrugged. "I fear it will be a little more crowded than we had anticipated," he admitted, "but the protection may be needed. And, King Elessar insisted upon it, I'm afraid."
Eowyn's eyes grew wider at this unexpected announcement. "He knows we ride to Ithilien?"
Imrahil's smile grew a little broader, and he relaxed enough to lean one hand on the nearest post. "If you will believe it, my dear niece, he imagines this was his idea. We were disbanding this afternoon's council meeting-quite a long, tedious affair, and those of us who'd hoped for peace were most downhearted-and the King took me aside to express his gratitude for the assistance of myself and Faramir in this matter, although we did not prevail. Then he mentioned his concern for you, that he had seen how pale and weary you seemed of late, and asked if I might not see that you were able to leave the city walls and get some air, so that you would be well when Faramir returns."
Her eyes remained round, but they were now rimmed with grateful tears at her friend's kindness. Blinking them away, she drew a deep breath and smiled, unable for the moment to speak.
The Prince gave her a sympathetic smile and gently took one of her hands. "So, it seems we are now under the King's orders, my Lady," he said in a soft tone, "and we shall depart whenever you wish."
Before half an hour had passed, the group was free of the City, pounding across the Pelennor towards Ithilien.
Eowyn smiled to herself as she rode, feeling the pain and misery melt away from her as she flew across the plains. She had no words to describe how wonderful it was to have the wind blowing upon her face, her long golden hair streaming behind her, and to feel the muscles of her mount churning beneath her as it carried her forward. It could not completely ease the ache of her heart, but she did sense her melancholy lift at least a little. It would not be fully banished until she once more held Faramir in her arms.
After an hour's ride, Ithilien stretched before them, and Eowyn caught herself straining to catch the first breath of its fragrant air. Even before they entered its borders, she felt herself enveloped by the heavy scents of jasmine, heather, and wildflowers. As they entered into its lush forests, she allowed the aroma to softly enfold her, soothing her spirit because it reminded her so much of her husband.
She paid little heed to Imrahil's activities as he dismounted and gave instructions to his men. She imagined he was commanding them to seek out any signs of Orcs, but her mind was turned elsewhere. Spurring her horse up the nearby grassy hill, she soon found the site where they had been not two weeks before, where she and Faramir would build their home after he returned.
As she reined in her horse and slid from its back, she glanced around. So much had changed already; summer had fully ripened here, the trees were more full and lush, their bright green leaves now deepened to an emerald hue. The scent of flowers and grass was even thicker upon the warm air, and in the dense shadows of the trees and bushes that ringed the space, she could see insects darting in and out of the cool darkness. Butterflies and birds fluttered in and out of the sunlight; the whole area hummed with life.
She stood still for a few moments, quietly absorbing the tranquility around her. Then she turned back to her saddle and, ever mindful of the present danger, carefully lifted her sheathed sword from its resting place. She knew that soldiers were patrolling the surrounding woods and they would prevent any harm from coming to her, but she also was aware that it never hurt to be prepared.
Holding the scabbard in her hand, she slowly walked out to the middle of the clearing where their house would be built, part of her musing upon the day that would happen, and the other part keeping a watchful eye out for trouble.
Soon Eowyn reached a sun-drenched, soft patch of ground, and as she lay the sword down beside her and sank down upon the cool grass, she felt her heart soar within her. Surrounded by such wondrous beauty, it seemed impossible to think that Faramir would not soon return, and they would lives the rest of their lives here, together. This seemed to have been created for them, waiting only for his presence to become their home.
She closed her eyes and smiled, bending her face to the sunlight and willing its warmth to cleanse away the darkness that had so plagued her soul. A lazy drowsiness overcame her, and she relented to it, permitting her mind to drift on the gentle summer breeze, carrying her far away in her half-waking dreams to be with him.
-------------------
Faelor paced back and forth along the mouth of the Morgul Road, casting his eyes down the rocky path that led to Mordor and trying his best to ignore the misgivings hovering at the edge of his thoughts.
Henvain had been gone for over two weeks now, and Faelor hadn't thought he'd miss him this much. It seemed odd to turn around and not find him there; they'd been together since first joining the Army, except for Henvain's illness during the final days of the war. There were plenty of other soldiers to practice battle with and go drinking with, but still he missed his comrade. He even missed all the complaining.
His lip twitched with self-disgust as he marched back and forth across the road, keeping watch for any signs of Orcs. His mind had been going from not worrying about Henvain - he was a perfectly capable soldier, after all, and Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas were both highly skilled in battle - to being very worried indeed. Not only had his friend gone into Mordor, but he'd made that foolish jibe about wanting to gain some battle scars during the journey.
Faelor shook his head at the memory. After so many years in the army, he mused, a person would have thought that Henvain would know better than to tempt fate by saying such things!
"Is the road secure, lad?"
Faelor looked back towards Ithilien to see the sturdy form of the Dwarf Gimli coming down the road towards him, axe casually in hand.
The soldier nodded, turning his eyes back to the rocky valley before him. "Aye, Master Gimli, it is," he sighed. "No Orcs or other beasts about, it appears."
"Ah! Curse the luck," growled the Dwarf as he came to stand beside Faelor, following his gaze into Mordor. "I've a mind to cleave an Orc or two today, after so long sitting in those blasted negotiations." He almost spat the word. "And tree stumps have proven most unsatisfying."
Faelor found himself nodded with a smile, relieved to find some amusement if only for a moment. Battle would almost be a relief, after so much idleness, but having seen a good deal of it, Faelor knew better than to actively wish for conflict. Such desires never ended well.
"So," he heard Gimli say, after they had watched the road in silence for a short time, "no sign of life at all, eh?"
The dark-haired man shook his head. "None. Even the insects seem to stay clear of Mordor's air."
"Hm," grunted the Dwarf in reply, in a manner that suggested to Faelor that he was somewhat disappointed. "Well, I suppose that is both good and bad. At least there are no foul travelers upon that road."
"No," agreed Faelor as he settled into a wearied posture. "Nor friendly ones either, sad to say."
Gimli nodded. "Aye, that is true," he muttered, leaning upon his axe as he gazed wistfully down the wide path.
Silence fell for a short time.
"I wonder where they are now," Faelor mused softly, still looking ahead. "Probably having a high time of it, chasing Orcs around."
"No doubt," answered the Dwarf, "and when they get back, we'll have to sit and listen to them recount the grand adventure they had while we sat here and waited. The Elf will be insufferable!" Here Gimli shook his head with such vehemence that his armor rattled.
"Henvain won't be able to shut his mouth for weeks," bemoaned Faelor. "Always has to be the center of attention, you know. He'll be the hero of barracks. And it'll be even worse in the taverns - he'll have every lady in the place fawning all over him."
"Ha! You've got that wrong, my friend," insisted Gimli. "They'll be running after that Elf. And their fawning was bad enough before, with every lass in the City putting on airs in front of him. It'll be intolerable."
Faelor nodded. "Unbearable."
"Maddening."
"Unfair."
There was a pause, after which they both quietly sighed and continued to stare down the empty road. A powerful twinge of sadness wrenched Faelor's heart, and he wondered if Gimli wasn't thinking the same thing he was - that as bad as the situation would be when their friends got back, it couldn't happen soon enough.
"Well," Gimli said, after clearing his throat and hefting his axe onto his shoulder, "suppose I'll go see how the Prince is faring. Carry on, lad."
He gave the young soldier an encouraging pat on the arm, then turned and walked back towards the clearing.
Faelor watched him go, then turned back to his duty. He had been unsuccessful in keeping the melancholy at bay, so now, alone again with his thoughts, he simply surrendered to them, and sank into a somber mood of deep contemplation without a struggle.
The days ahead look almost as dark as that road to Mordor, Faelor mused as he eyed the path keenly for movement. Certainly the City would be a gloomy place for a while, what with the peace talks failing and the prospect of continued trouble with Harad on the horizon. Many were glad the Southrons were leaving, but there were also those who were bitterly disappointed. And as much as his fellow soldiers tried to make their burden light, there was still too much awareness of how many had fallen, and how few of them were left now to protect the land.
'Henvain's certainly going to find things hatefully dull when he gets back,' Faelor told himself, heaving another sigh.
After Faelor had stood pondering in this way for a short while, a movement caught his eye, far in the distance on the road, at a point where it bent and disappeared into Mordor. Faelor straightened a bit, puzzled, watching the speck as his earlier lethargy flew away at once. Was it an Orc, or merely a trick of his bored eyes?
'Whatever it is, it's moving slow enough,' he thought, and turned. Licking his lips, he gave a whistling call, then directed his attention back to the road.
After a few moments, there was a rustle, and two more Gondorian soldiers of Faelor's age appeared, coming to stand behind him. They were from the escort that had accompanied them all to Ithilien.
"The Prince sent us over to see if anything was happening here," said one in a casual tone. "It's rather boring back there, at the moment."
"What are you peering at?" asked the second with sharp curiosity, following Faelor's gaze.
In response, Faelor pointed. "Am I going mad, or is someone coming down that road?"
The two men looked.
"Your mind is as sound as it ever was, Fae, for what that is worth," said the second soldier with a wry grin. "I'll go tell the Prince - it might be an Orc."
He turned and ran off, as the other two ducked behind some covering bushes at the side of the road, keeping an eye on the moving figure.
"Looks like two of them," Faelor noted.
"Hm," the first soldier grunted, scratching his chin. "Strange how they're just walking in the middle of the road like that in daylight, don't you think? Usually they at least pretend to be clever, going behind trees and rocks and like that."
"Yes." Faelor was frowning. "And look how oddly they're moving, so slow, like they've been inj-"
The words stuck in his throat as a sudden realization struck him like a thunderbolt. His eyes widened painfully as he stared at the now-larger forms.
Without moving his head, he groped behind him with one hand, found his comrade's arm, and clutched at it with all of his might. He was trembling.
"Athir, go find the Prince, and Master Gimli," he choked; his throat suddenly felt very tight.
He could almost hear the other soldier blink in confusion. "But - Calen just went to tell him - "
"I know, I know!" Faelor cried, stumbling into the road and pulling his friend with him.
"Fae!" his comrade gasped. "What in-"
Faelor whipped his head around, peering at Athir with a gaze that could sear metal. "You've got to find the Prince and Gimli at the double-quick and bring them here NOW," he insisted. "That's a most highly urgent order!"
He released the other man, who staggered a bit, then composed himself swiftly and saluted. "Yes, sir, I'll do it, but-it's just a couple of Orcs."
"Those aren't Orcs," was Faelor's highly agitated reply, as he peered in disbelief at the two approaching figures. But he knew he wasn't wrong. "It's Lord Legolas and Henvain!"
Then he was gone, pounding down the road as fast as he could run. He knew somewhere in the cloud of dust he left after him, Athir was gaping in confused astonishment. But Faelor couldn't help him; he had no answers himself. He only knew he had to get to them.
It was a long way, much longer than it looked from the mouth of the road, but with every thudding step Faelor drew closer, his confusion increasing with every step. As he got near enough, he could see that he had been right, it was definitely Legolas and Henvain. He shouted and waved as he ran, not knowing where he got the breath, not caring if a hundred Orcs heard him. He only wanted his friend to know he was coming.
At once he saw one of the figures wave, and a very faint answering cry came to him on the air. A stab of relief pierced his heart, but it was quickly overwhelmed by an oppressive dread as a hundred questions flooded his mind, one chief among them.
Where was Lord Faramir?
He was getting closer now, closer, his long stride creating a rapid rhythm on the hard ground matched by the hammering of his heart, and he was thinking, mother of Morgoth, what happened to them? They've been in battle, an ambush or capture or something, Henvain can barely walk, there's a sling on Lord Legolas' arm, is Lord Faramir dead? Dear Valar, what will the Prince and Lady Eowyn do-
Only a hundred feet now, and he could see the dried blood and torn clothes, the bandages and bruises. They were supporting each other, walking with great weariness and pain, covered with dirt and grime, and as he closed the last yards Faelor was struck with a new question: When had all this happened?
As he skidded to a dusty stop in front of them, he heard Henvain give a loud groan, and Faelor held his arms out just in time to catch them as both Henvain and the Elf collapsed. All three fell to the earth, Faelor doing his best to keep hold of the other two. There was much grunting, moaning, and coughing as they fought to settle themselves into the least painful positions possible.
"By Eru, Faelor!" he heard Henvain choke out as the plume settled, his hands gripping Faelor's arms. "That was some fast running! For once I'm glad you've got those great long legs that make you so much taller than me!"
"Henvain!" was the only coherent reply Faelor could come up with at the moment. Urgently he searched the traveler's faces, brushing Henvain's fair hair away from his friend's eyes, trying to see how badly he was hurt. Henvain blinked and scowled irritably at him, but didn't push him away, a fact that worried Faelor greatly. They both looked so much worse up close, bloodied and pale and obviously exhausted. They seemed unable to move now, or do anything but gasp for air.
"Valar, Henvain-Lord Legolas-what-how-" Shaking his head at his own speechlessness, Faelor pulled off his canteen and handed it to Henvain, feeling thankful that it was full. "What happened?"
Lord Legolas turned to him, and Faelor was shocked at how drained the Elf looked. He thought Elves never tired.
"We came into foul fortune," was Legolas' quiet reply, his voice weak and breaking as he panted for breath. "We found Karil's lair, but during the return journey, the Orcs discovered us."
"I'll tell it, sir, you drink," Henvain broke in, pushing the still-full canteen at Legolas without taking a drop. "You need it more than me."
This surprised Faelor, as he'd always fancied Hanvain to be rather a selfish fellow, but he was equally surprised as how the Elf seemed to grope a bit before his slender hand found the canteen. Almost as if he couldn't see it.
"As long as somebody tells me the tale!" Faelor said aloud in exasperation, as Legolas began to drink from the canteen. "Lord Faramir-where is Lord Faramir? Has he been slain?"
Henvain's expression darkened, and it seemed difficult suddenly for him to speak. Instead, he sniffed and wiped at his face with one dust-covered sleeve.
"He fought so bravely, Faelor; oh, you should have seen him," his friend finally managed to utter, his voice thick with sorrow. Faelor had never heard him speak in this way before. "But there were too many of them, seemed like hundreds. He sent as many of them as he could down to Morgoth, but in the end, he couldn't hold them off."
A terrible coldness swept over Faelor, and he had to force his next words out of his throat. "Is he dead?"
It was Legolas' voice that calmly answered. The Elf had stopped drinking and was regarding Faelor with an expression of tremendous grief.
"Not slain," he said, "but he has fallen into the power of the enemy."
Faelor felt his heart almost stop; to most soldiers of Gondor, becoming a captive of the Orcs was far worse than death. He seized Henvain's arm. "They took him prisoner?"
There was a pause, then Henvain nodded ruefully. "Saw him taken away myself," he declared in a mournful tone. "He fought 'em every step, though. And look-"
Here Henvain yanked out a very dusty leather pouch he had slung over his shoulder.
"He made sure to hide the map we made." A faint smile crossed Henvain's sweat-stained face. "We know where Karil is, Faelor, and that's where they've taken him. We've got to go get him out of there, and put a stop to that army."
Faelor stared at him, not liking the dire sound of his friend's voice. "You saw Karil's army?"
The other man pursed his lips and nodded, a serious gleam coming to his pale eyes. "It's enormous, four or five thousand at least," he replied gravely. "Mostly Orcs, and I imagine they're spoiling for a fight something awful."
There was an interruption as Legolas handed the canteen to Henvain.
"The rest is for you, my friend," said the Elf, and this time Henvain did not hesitate to accept it.
"We must take the map to Aragorn," Legolas continued as Henvain drained the canteen. The water seemed to have revived him. "An army must be raised and taken to Karil's fortress at once, so that we may deliver Lord Faramir and put an end to Karil's insanity."
Faelor shook his head. "First we're getting you both to the Houses," he stated. His head was swimming with all that had happened, but he strove to set it all in order. "You've both been through enough for now; the King and the Council can take care of the map and the Orcs. Concern yourselves about nothing else; your troubles are over for now."
The sound of rapid hoofbeats reached his ears, and he turned to see a large group of riders thundering down the road towards them. At the front he could see Gimli, his features wild with worry; Prince Imrahil, his aspect stoic and grave; and Lady Eowyn, a deeply stricken expression plainly visible on her ashen face. Even from where he was, Faelor could see her wide, anxious blue eyes.
"For the rest of us, I fear," Faelor muttered as he watched the party approach, "the troubles are just beginning."
-------------------
The tranquility of the end of another day in Minas Tirith was abruptly broken as soon as the horses bearing Henvain and Legolas rode through the Great Gate.
As desirous as Imrahil was of making a quiet entry, it was impossible to conceal the identity and condition of the returned travelers. So it was that tongues that had been speaking all day of the failed peace talks and the imminent departure of the Haradrim now turned to frantic speculation as to what had happened to Lord Faramir's scouting party.
Word flew as swiftly as messengers could run or ride up the levels of the White City, and while Imrahil and Eowyn bore their injured friends to the Houses of Healing, news of their arrival spread like the fire of the setting sun.
The King and Queen had settled down to dinner, Arwen doing her best to console the disappointed Aragorn over the failure of the negotiations. Then before the first bite was consumed, Captain Irolas had burst into the room, his usual attention to decorum completely absent. Within moments, the room was empty, and the servants urged by the departing King himself to enjoy the royal meal, lest it go to waste.
Eomer had been in the stables, tending to his horse after a long, frustrating afternoon of council meetings. He had been mulling over the failed treaty with little sadness, and anticipating his return to Rohan, when a chorus of shouts caught his attention. He stepped outside just in time to see Imrahil and the others ride by to the Houses of Healing which lay up the street. After hastily relegating the rest of the tending to the stableboy, Eomer was soon seen tearing up the street after the riders, his long golden hair streaming behind him and an expression of utter dismay on his face.
In a fine house a few levels below, Lord Tuornen was hosting a celebration for his like-minded fellow councilmen over the ending of the peace negotiations with the hated Haradrim. Word soon came that Lord Faramir's party had returned, injured and without him, but that there was no word yet as to what had happened to them. This information was greeted by initial surprise by the host, followed swiftly by a healthy round of self-congratulation, for it was obvious to Tuornen that Faramir's party had been set upon by Haradrim and Orcs acting in accord with the treacherous Adir, who must have arranged it all as a trap. The talk of the gathering instantly turned to a speculation over what would happen now that the Haradrim's treachery had been exposed, and a good deal of wondering about whether Adir's peace delegation would be arrested, or simply executed.
---------------
"A force of five thousand? Are you certain?"
Aragorn's words filled the stone hall in the Houses of Healing. Some time had passed; Henvain and Legolas had both been bathed and dressed in new clothes, and they each now reclined on a raised bed while being seen to by a swarm of healers and attendants. At one end of the room roared a large fire in the chamber's enormous fireplace, with several iron pots of medicinal liquids hung over the flames on hooks and set to warm on the hearth. The entire room was cast in a warm glow, helped along by the torches and lanterns set along the wall, yet despite the bright light, the mood was dark indeed.
Gimli had not left Legolas' side since reuniting with the Elf upon the Morgul Road. At first, the dwarf was so beside himself with joy, grief, and rage that his speech was reduced to mere wordless sputterings. When his tongue regained its ability to form words, concern had caused the resulting flow of language to be unceasing, varying wildly from agonized queries after Legolas' health to snarling vows of vengeance against those responsible.
Only now had he fallen silent, too wearied and hoarse to say any more. Yet still he stood by Legolas' side, refusing to move except for the healers, and even then he was never more than an arm's length away, his blue eyes watching his dear friend closely.
Legolas bore all of this with a fond, half-waking smile. His broken arm had now been properly set, the wound in his side closed and wrapped, and the healers had declared that his sight would likely return to normal soon, as it had already improved markedly from the day he was injured. He now lay upon the bed, propped up on many pillows (half of which had been placed there by Gimli), and was endeavoring, along with Henvain, to inform Aragorn of all they had seen.
Of the two patients, Henvain had seemed much more unsettled by the experience of being seen to by so many healers. He had vague recollections of his time there when he had been suffering from dysentery; this was entirely different. Then, they had mostly left him alone; now they seemed all over him at once, bandaging his injuries, treating his twisted leg, asking him a thousand questions. He did not mind the treatment-it felt indescribably good to finally be clean, fed and a little rested-but he had no idea what the correct response was. As a result, he simply lay back and watched it all happen with wide eyes and an expression of complete bewilderment.
The farther one went from the center of the room, the more quiet the chamber became, but the air was still rife with unspoken feeling. Aragorn paced back and forth nearby the beds, his tall, lean frame set in a posture of building anguish. Anger, sadness, and resolve roiled together within his green eyes, and his handsome face had lost all traces of softness since first hearing of the travelers' return and the news they carried. Spread out on a table nearby was Faramir's map, and Aragorn glanced at it from time to time as he paced, the firm cast of his face indicating the grim thoughts now coursing through his mind.
Gondor would soon go to battle.
At the very edge of the room, farthest from the light and half-cloaked in shadow, nothing moved. There upon a bench sat Eowyn, her features hard and unreadable as she watched the group, save for an unmistakable aspect of the most profound sorrow. No tear stained her cheek, nor did any trembling afflict her frame, to signal the fathomless depths of agony flowing through her heart. Only the tumultuous aspect of her eyes, and the tight grip with which she held the hand of the Queen who sat beside her, gave any hint to the true state of her soul.
Standing next to Eowyn beside the stone bench was Imrahil, still dusty from his swift ride back from Ithilien, open concern plain upon his weathered brow as he studied the King, one hand placed lightly upon Eowyn's shoulder.
Behind Eowyn stood Eomer, his arms folded, as still as his sister. Unlike Eowyn, however, the emotions of his heart were clearly written upon every inch of his face. His eyes flashed like fire, and an attitude of deadly intent was marked large across every inch of his body. The fury in his countenance was unspeakable, and bode very ill for those responsible for Faramir's sufferings.
"Four thousand at the very least," Legolas said in reply to Aragorn's question, his voice much stronger now that he had rested. "It was mostly Orcs, but I saw many Uruks among them as well. They were building siege towers and trebuchets, and my guess is that he intends to once more attack the City."
Aragorn sighed and ceased his pacing, shaking his head. "Madness!" he whispered to himself, before looking up again at the two patients. "Did he appear to have many Haradrim in his numbers?"
Henvain, who was doing his best to ignore the healer who was cleaning one of the deep cuts on his forehead, looked at Aragorn and shook his head a little.
"No, sir-ow! Sorry-" here he threw an apologetic look to the healer who was tending the wound- "No, sir, at least I didn't see many. It was almost all Orcs."
"The Haradrim appeared to be acting as overseers to the efforts of the Orcs," Legolas added, as an attendant adjusted the linen sling in which his broken arm now rested. "But I saw no more than a hundred. If Karil was depending upon the support of his people, it seems he was disappointed."
Aragorn's lip twitched in wry amusement. "Some council members I know will be disappointed as well, to know that Karil's army is not composed entirely of bloodthirsty Southrons." He thought for a moment, then looked at Henvain and Legolas. "I must commend the both of you again for your strength and courage in the face of such hardship. Through your dedication and perseverance, we possess the means to deliver Faramir and destroy Karil's army."
Legolas' weary expression changed to one of melancholy. "It was our duty, my friend," he replied quietly, "and no more than Faramir would have done for us, had our fates been reversed."
"Lord Legolas is right, sir," said Henvain sadly. He was now holding a hot, wet cloth against his forehead while the healer prepared her treatment. "I mean, I'm very grateful for the King's kindness, but it's Lord Faramir who was truly brave, sir. Even after the Orcs tied him up and marched him off, he looked fit to spit in their eyes, every last one of 'em."
The King smiled a little. "Yes, as you said before," he murmured, sorrow pervading his voice. "I never would have expected less of him. Alas, that he should have met such a fate!"
There was a pause, then Aragorn lifted his head, his features set with steadfast resolve. "But fear not," he went on, his tone taking on the ring of steel, "for his bravery shall soon be rewarded, when we march upon the fortress, subdue Karil's forces, and open wide the door that now stands barred against our friend."
Turning, he strode across the room to Eomer, stopping before him.
"Gondor's army has grown since the end of the War, but our numbers are still far from what they were," said Aragorn, looking into his comrade's face.
Eomer regarded him in a somber manner, grief mingling with resolve in his dark eyes. "There is no cause to voice your need, my friend," he answered. "Set alight the beacons, and I will send forth riders to hasten the Eored along. You shall ride to Mordor with Rohan once more beside you, and together we shall bring our brother home."
Gratitude, though not surprise, flooded Aragorn's features as he clasped Eomer's arm in wordless thanks.
Gimli's deep voice next pierced the silence. "With your leave, Eomer King, I would have your messenger carry a word to my people now dwelling in the Glittering Caves," he said. "There are many Dwarf-warriors there who would no doubt welcome the chance to join our numbers, and turn their axes once more against our enemies."
"The Elves of Ithilien shall also go," added Legolas, pulling himself a bit more upright as he spoke. "You will find none more able to overtake the Orc sentries unseen and unheard, and thus clear the way for our soldiers to approach Karil's lair without detection."
"I shall summon my men in Dol Amroth as well," offered Imrahil. "My swiftest rider shall leave tonight. I have no doubt that they will rise to the call, not only for Gondor's sake, but for Faramir's as well, for he is much loved among us."
The King released Eomer's arm and grasped the Prince's shoulder. "It will be an honor to have the Swan Knights among us once more," proclaimed Aragorn, his tone rife with gratitude.
Then after a pause he looked down to where Eowyn sat, staring away into the fire, her face pale. Arwen still held her hand, and Aragorn met his wife's eyes as she sat beside her. There was understanding there, for the Queen had long lived with the possibility of never again beholding the man she loved, and knew its exquisite agony well.
Slowly Aragorn knelt before Eowyn, taking her hand as she drew her gaze from the fire and looked at him. Tears glittered in the corners of her eyes, but did not fall.
The King paused, considering what to say, before looking up at her. "We will return him to you," he vowed softly, "though the darkest powers of Morgoth stand in our way."
Eowyn stared at him, parted her lips slightly as if to speak, but said nothing.
Tenderly Aragorn placed his other hand over hers, his eyes never straying from her face. "If there is aught to be done that will ease your heart," he continued, "say the word, and I will see it done."
She blinked, and drew a long breath before saying, in a low but unwavering tone, "There is but one boon I would ask of you, my Lord."
Aragorn nodded slightly. "Speak, and I will grant it," he urged gently.
The next words were spoken by Eowyn without hesitation, her grip upon Aragorn's hand growing tighter as she pronounced them. "I would ride with you to Mordor."
It was not an unexpected request, but still Aragorn appeared wary as he studied her. Yet before he could protest, he response was interrupted by a short, bitter laugh from Eowyn herself.
"You need not utter the refusal I see hanging on your lips, my Lord!" she said. "You wish to remind me that it is dangerous, and that you would not risk the loss of both Faramir and myself. Yet danger I have faced, and survived, and would face again a hundred times more if it allowed me to be with my husband even a moment sooner than otherwise."
Aragorn peered at her. "My Lady, your bravery is not in doubt," he affirmed, "yet my heart is still broken over the fate that has befallen Faramir. Should you come to harm as well, I shall find no forgiveness for myself."
She gave him a mournful smile. "Yet I have already come to harm," she replied in a far more quiet voice than before. "There is no wound they can deal me that could do more to cleave my heart. Yet do not fear, for it is not my wish to ride to battle. I understand it is the custom for a small number of healers to follow your troops upon their campaigns; my place shall be with them, to lend them both my skills and my blade, if need be."
Silence fell as Aragorn seemed to consider this, then slowly nodded.
"Your boon shall be fulfilled," he promised. "I know Faramir would wish it, and I would not repay his suffering and yours by allowing you to be parted a moment longer than fate demands." He clasped her hand warmly between his won, and said softly, "Be at peace, my Lady, for I vow you will see him soon."
One tear slipped down Eowyn's cheek even as she smiled gratefully at the King. He returned the smile, rose, and gave her a brief kiss upon her brow before releasing her hand.
He turned to face the room, the mantle of leadership settling once more upon his shoulders.
"Tomorrow we shall begin our preparations," he announced. "A Council of War will be called, and a course of action set. When our armies are gathered, we shall depart, and not return until Faramir is safe and the last of Sauron's darkness swept away forever."
Silent expressions of unyielding determination met his words. After a moment, Aragorn turned his lips and turned to Imrahil.
"I shall leave you in power here, my friend," he said. "My next task will be to ride now to the camp of the Haradrim, and speak with Adir about this new matter. He may have knowledge that will aid our cause."
Imrahil nodded. "As you wish, my King," he answered. "But - will you still allow them to depart? Though I feel he is blameless, there will doubtless be those who feel the Chieftain is somehow involved with my nephew's plight."
The King sighed. "Such a thought has arisen in my mind as well," he admitted, "but I can find no cause in all of my dealings with Adir to suspect that he is in any way responsible for this. In my long years I have come across many men fair and foul, enough to recognize a dark heart cloaked in righteous robes, and I have discerned no such falseness in him."
There was a cough behind him. "Um-beg pardon? Your Majesty?"
At Henvain's timid summons, Aragorn turned and looked at him, somewhat surprised.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" said the King indulgently, his attitude marked with respect for the young soldier who had endured so much for Gondor.
Henvain seemed rather uncomfortable, for reasons that had nothing to do with the healer now wrapping his injured leg. "I'm sorry to eavesdrop, sir, but when you mentioned Adir, I remembered something that might be important. The Orcs mentioned him, right after they took Lord Faramir prisoner. I heard 'em plain as daylight."
Aragorn's gaze grew keen as he stepped over to Henvain's cot. "You have no need of repentance for overhearing us, my friend," he assured the soldier. "Can you recall their words?"
Henvain nodded firmly. "Yes, sir, and I don't think we have to worry about him bein' on their side. They called him a bastard traitor - er, pray excuse the language - " Here he threw an apologetic look to Arwen and Eowyn, before facing Aragorn once more - "and they seemed mighty keen on havin' Lord Faramir tell them where Adir was so's they could find him and kill him for tryin' to stop Karil. Not somethin' they'd do if he was actin' with him, I think. And they didn't know I was listenin', or they'd have killed me sure, so I don't think it was any sort of play-actin' on their part." He hesitated, then looked up. "That's all, sir."
"It is enough, Lieutenant," said Aragorn with an appreciative inclination of his head. "If Adir were truly allied with Karil in his madness, I am sure it would not be a secret from his troops. I shall go speak with him now; if he shows any signs of falseness, I shall take the proper action, but he and his people will be free to return home if I find no reason to keep them here."
He laid a hand lightly on Henvain's shoulder, a movement that caused the soldier to go wide-eyed and motionless with amazement.
"My thanks again to you, my brave friend, for your assistance in seeing Lord Legolas safely home, and seeing that Lord Faramir's sacrifice was not in vain," said the King. "I leave you both in the best possible care, but I should very much like to speak with you again, when all of this is past."
It took a few tries before Henvain was able to force out the words, "Yes, sir. Thank you, Sire."
In the next moment, a knock came at the door, and Irolas entered, his dark blue velvet cape swirling behind him as he walked in. His long blonde hair was slightly disheveled as if from a hasty ride.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing deeply before Aragorn, "your escort to the Haradrim camp has been assembled and awaits you."
"My thanks, Captain Irolas," returned Aragorn. "How stand the mood of the streets tonight?"
The young man frowned a little, and his efficient facade seemed to slip a bit, revealing a hint of uneasiness beneath the calm exterior. "The people are restive, your Highness, to be sure," he answered. "Lord Faramir's capture has aroused a good deal of anger towards the Haradrim; we have had to stop three seperate parties of armed men from going out to find and confront the delegation. There is talk of war with Harad."
The King shook his head. "It is with one renegade son of that land that our quarrel lies, and he shall be dealt with soon enough. Send forth word that a severe penalty awaits any who seek to cause harm to those who have entered our borders in peace."
Irolas nodded. "It shall be done, my King, and I have also sent more men to stand watch over the Haradrim camp, although it was a difficult matter to manage. Most of the soldiers agree with the people, and long to seek vengeance on any who would do Lord Faramir injury."
"And they shall have that chance," the King promised firmly, "but until I have reason to believe ill of them, Adir and his men are under my protection."
An uncertain expression flickered across Irolas' face for an instant. but if he had any reservations, he quickly hid them behind a perfectly executed military bow.
"I shall make it known, sire," he said. "We will depart when you are prepared to do so."
With these words, Irolas turned and went as swiftly as he had entered.
Aragorn now looked at each of the room's occupants in turn. "I leave you in excellent hands, my friends," he said, his tone light and encouraging. "Take your healing and rest now, so that together we shall have the strength to face the days of testing that still lie ahead."
Aragorn nodded his farewell to those assembled, and left his friends to their private thoughts of anxiousness, grief, and hope.
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Author's Note: Just a warning, it's going to be a little while until we get back to Faramir. This is because there's a lot going on in Minas Tirith in a short span of time that I wanted to write about, involving the preparations to march to Mordor. But don't worry, we will be rejoining Faramir eventually!
Thanks again for all of the reviews, I really appreciate every one!
Sue :)