A/N: Seven months. No amount of apologies can mend that huge debt. My excuse? Life in general, I suppose. Broken relationships, decisions and piles of work. Writer's block left me crippled for a time - fear not, the last chapters are written, but not finished - and AS-levels have left me feeling more stressed than I would like. Perhaps in the next installment you will hear the outcome of my desperate attempt not to fail physics AS (after half a year without a decent teacher, the future is bleak), but in the meantime, I humbly offer what products these months have created.
Of course we need a cliffhanger! Even still, apologies. Again, the original chapter was too long, and this is the result, having broken it into two pieces. The next chapter is written, so do not expect a repeat of this recent delay, but it will still be a while, what with everything else on my worry pile.
To my readers still out there, thank you again. To know that people still read and take pleasure in my work is worth it all.
Chapter 10 – The Crossing of Poros, part 1
Halandil stretched his arms and yawned, blowing out the solitary candle by his bed. Having just finished his evening route of the city walls, he was tired, not to mention soaking wet from the rain.
Her Lady had retired to her chambers not soon after the Steward had left. He always included the areas of her chambers in his circuit now, after the incidents. Not because of worry for Eowyn, no... but... he liked to make sure.
And the Elven Lord had patrolled with them for a time. Legolas of Ithilien had been disconcertingly polite in his manners; courteous and unaffected, he had said something like he 'wanted to help around the place' and Halandil had wondered if he ever planned to sleep. The man was not at all condescending, you could like him for that alone, and he had talked to him amiably. They chatted over a bowl of soup, laughing as they dodged the rain, talking of their families and homes.
Yet it was difficult to get used to him, Halandil thought. Perhaps it was that Elven Radiance, or the fact he did not have an inch of blemished skin on his proud, beautiful features. He signified a beauty and a people that were slowly vanishing from Middle earth, and it was easy to notice the sadness that sometimes came upon him. His slight figure and easy grace, not to mention his perpetually youthful looks, made him an object of envy among some of the guards, and Halandil had to berate a few of the training youth for making suggestive remarks alluding to the Elf's masculinity. Uncouth brats. It was his job to make men out of them. It was his duty, as a most trusted guard, footman, herald – hell, he'd done all the jobs. He was one of the closest subjects to the Lord and Lady, though he was no noble blood, and he was proud to know he earned their trust. Before he had entered their service as a royal guard, he had served in Osgiliath by Faramir's side, as a ranger. His years were long, and his responsibilities many.
Still, it would be quiet, with the Prince gone. He sat down on the wooden cot, typical soldier's fare, and peeled off his dripping clothes. He often slept in palace quarters, being unmarried and having little family in the city. With Shaliwar, he had entertained some scant childish hopes, but he was too old and she was gone, and the only mistress in his life now was the White Lady of Ithilien.
A knock on the door made him jump. It wasn't time to change shift for another two hours. He wrapped a fleece rug around himself and opened the door.
"Ah!" he cried when it swung open, almost dropping the blanket, "My Lady! This is strange indeed!"
"Halandil." Her voice was urgent, "This is a bleak time to come, but listen and obey, lest tragedy befall us or our Lord."
"My Lady?"
"How many soldiers, men of arms are on call – how many can you gather?"
"What – now?"
"Yes. Now."
Halandil scratched his head sleepily, "Erm... a few hundred are in the city. Lord Faramir was very clear in his instructions in leaving more than enough men to, er, look after you. I remember, as he left with half as many troops than he planned originally." He noticed the flash of –worry? - across Eowyn's face.
"My lady, is something wrong?"
Eowyn was thinking quickly, "I need you to call those guards. Around a hundred men at least, more, if you can. Halandil, I need them now. We are going to my husband."
The aged guard's face was blank shock, "N-now? But... why?"
"Now..." Eowyn thought back to Denethor's warning. Perhaps it had only been a dream. Would she take to heart the ravings of an ancient ghost? But then she looked down at the scar forming sharply across her white forearm. The feelings, the memories, they had all been so real. And the image he had shown her -- that rich snippet of filial bliss and perhaps, he had hinted, the future. That too had been real. If it was a dream, she had been awake. But how did she explain a séance with her dead father-in-law?
"I cannot explain my reasons, Halandil, but I need you to do as I say. Something is amiss within my husband's camp tonight. There is danger. He needs me there." She paused, "Perhaps I am just over-worried. But I need to know. I need to know he is well. Something will happen." She realised a little how ridiculous she sounded.
"This is all very peculiar, my lady, I don't know whether the guards will..."
"Halandil," Eowyn stared him in the eye, "Help me. I need to find him. Tonight."
His expression shifted subtly, became harder. Stiffly, he bowed, "Very well, my lady." He returned into his small room and a few seconds later came out in his Ranger's garb, to her surprise.
"My lady, they will have arrived at the Crossings by now. It has taken them at least half a day to travel there. They left before noon, and now it is ere deep night. How can one hope to arrive there in time? They will leave cross Poros with the Elessar's Gondorrim convoy tomorrow. Morning will dawn before we get there."
Eowyn waved a hand dismissively, "They travelled slowly because of their heavy load and wagons. If we go unburdened it will take less than half the time. I know there are still twenty or so horses available in the palace stables. Get me the fastest horse and I will ride to him. I know this land well. There are seven farmsteads on the route. Five of them have stables. We stop twice, exchange horses and keep on, ride hard. Take provisions for the longest stretch along the plain and we can arrive some hours ere dawn. It will be hard. But it is possible. We will need men, armed and horsed. See how many you can gather."
Halandil looked wary, reluctant, but he bowed, and obeyed.
"My lady, I cannot let you do this in your condition!" Eowyn turned. It was the voice of Legolas. He had been patrolling the walls – how did she not see him? - and had heard every word. Eowyn tried to stay calm, not to let her exasperation show. He strode up to them, his height towering over her, staring her down, "Lady, for your child and your husband's sake, look after yourself! Do not propose something so ludicrous!"
Instead, she took a breath, and drew back a fist, before hitting her Elven escort over the jaw with a resounding crack. She had not meant to hit him hard, but the shock made him stumble back. The slender Elf Lord looked upon her silently, swallowing his shock.
"I apologise for that." She said stiffly, kneading her hand, "But this is important to me. A warning of treachery has come to me this night. I need to ensure Faramir's safety. My own brother too is with him, and lame. For one night, do not assume responsibility over me." She was utterly calm, knowing he would not disobey, "Gather your things and meet me in the stables. Spread the word. We will ride in ten minutes."
Faramir sat down at his camp bed. Most of the troops had gone to bed, tired by the day's ride. They had gone as slow as possible, and had managed to set up camp before the sun's light died across the sky, leaving now only the small blisters of campfires across the arid land. The camp was on the border of Ithilien's lush earth, by the river that separated Middle earth and the unknown lands. For some of the younger soldiers, it was the farthest they'd ever gone from home. They stopped by the Crossing of Poros, where nearby woods afforded them fuel for fire, and they could wash in the clean water of the river. Here they would wait until Aragorn's troupe arrived the next morn.
Eomer was lying heavily on his bed, having eaten his fill of dried pork and bread. A footman stuck his head inside their tent. He was carrying an evening platter of cheese for the two lords to savour.
"King Eomer is, I assume, is full?" Faramir asked at his compatriot, who shook his head. He turned back to the man and said "Leave me some soup. That'll be enough for now." The soldier bowed and left a steaming bowl in front of the Steward.
"Oh come now, surely a little ale would stir you to life!" Eomer called. He was ruddy in the face. After a few dozen pints from the rationed barrels they had brought, he had decided a wheelchair was a good idea after all. Faramir only felt sorry for the poor soldier who had to push him around during the day.
"It is time to retire to our cots, I think." Faramir said, ignoring his compatriot, "The hour is no longer early. Have a sentry keep watch for wild animals and such. Have them alert me if there is anything amiss." The soldier bowed again and obeyed, leaving the two lords alone.
"Pah, you are too responsible," Eomer said sullenly, "But I am tired... perhaps I shall sleep now."
The few candles were extinguished, and Faramir lay down, thinking now and then of his wife back home, and how she must be coping, with only Legolas keeping her company. A less trustworthy husband would not leave such an elf alone with his wife, he thought, with some irony.
Soon, he fell into deep sleep, that even Eomer's tumultuous snoring could not wake him.
A very deep sleep. And as the camp slumbered, dark figures slid in between the dead fires and hollow tents until they came to the slightly larger marquee that held the Steward and the King of Rohan. One of the figures stopped and crouched low, checking no one was near. And then, from his black garb, he took a long rolled up leaf, thin and smooth like a straw and hollow, filled with a brown powder. Silently, he lit one end from the embers of a cooking fire that the soldiers had abandoned, and held it away from him, covering his mouth. The leaf fumed a thin, fragrant trail into the night. Carefully, the figure pressed the stick against the canvas of the tent, burning a small hole through it, before pushing the smoking end into the interior. The leaf matter had started to give off a misty lilac smoke. His mouth still covered, the figure crept back into the night.
Around the camp, the others had also finished their tasks, until a faint pall of aroma now hung over the camp. Then as one, they slid back into the shadows. The sentry on guard, his head nodding softly against his chest, sniffed and blinked vigorously. He was called Galendir, and this was the first time he had come on such a mission. Pity he was so tired. It had not been an easy journey on foot. Sleep nearly came upon him again, when rustling sounds in a far corner stirred him, and he stood up straight. Perhaps he was imagining it, but there was movements around the edge of the camp.
"Who is that there?" he called out, "Declare yourself!" but there was no answer, and the figures ran on into the darkness. Galendir moved after them, but stumbled. Suddenly, his head seemed... blurry. He blinked hard again and again, breathing deeply, but it did not seem to get any better.
"Come back!" he yelled hoarsely at the vanishing shadows, "Show yourselves!" he tried running again, but his mind wasn't working properly. All he wanted was to sleep. His vision was becoming a little hazy. He stared out into the darkness, not certain how long he stood there, wavering into a sleep-like state, until he was sure he could see encroaching figures coming towards him.
"Who goes there?" he cried, "Speak! Declare your intentions!"
This time, a voice called back, a rich low rolling tongue in a foreign accent, "Greetings!" the unctuous voice replied, as figures came into the light of his torch, "We are emissaries of Khalifah, sent to you!"
Galendir shook his head. He did not remember either of the lords saying they would be visited by Khalifah's men. But it would be rude to turn them away at this time of night. He didn't have the energy to argue. The small train of men approached, all dressed in black, some with hoods covering their faces. The one in the middle was short and wirily thin, a strange expression on his face. He bowed.
"Khalifah sends his blessings, and us. We come seeking Prince Faramir and King Eomer." He bowed again, "My name is Ezekh."
The earlier rain clouds had departed the sky as quickly as they had come, leaving an brief and eerie emptiness above. At this time, the black men were approaching the camp of Faramir and Eomer with stealth. At the same time, the troops of Eowyn massed. Halandil had outdone himself, with nearly all the city guards and more, horsed and armed. Some had to be left behind, obviously, to guard the city. The man was nervous, Eowyn could see, but her will held resolute.
There were many men, and Eowyn knew they could not waste any more time. She must make it to Faramir and Eomer before dawn.
The rest could wait.
"Halandil, I will ride first," She ordered calmly, "Legolas will ride with me. Is that fair with you,Master Greenleaf?"
The Elf nodded silently, the hood of his cloak hiding the slight bruise on his jaw.
"I will take ten guards with me. No more. We will ride fast. Halandil, you will gather and lead the rest of the men and follow behind."
Eowyn mounted her horse, Legolas following. Accompanied by only a small group, they rode out of the sleeping city, south over the plains of Ithilien as the larger faction of riders tailed them slowly.
She led the way, Legolas struggling to keep up; for so long he had been a Elf of the woods, and could not match her Rohirric spirit. She paced the night, holding herself as not to hurt the child in her belly, yet her horse was a smooth mount, and she need not have worried. Behind her she heard the cantering sound of hooves, feeling an exhilarating rush at the pleasure of speed that she had not realised for a long time, secluded in the herb gardens of Emyn Arnen.
There was a little guilt. She thought back to Legolas' concern for her. He did not deserve her treatment like that. But she could explain later her reasons. She had to get to the camp at Poros.
In-between moments, when they stopped for rest and torecover or swaphorses at the designated farmsteads (the inhabitants always curious and wary, but obedient to her cause and paid well for it), she wondered why she was doing this – braving into the night to save her husband when carrying his child – but she remembered Denethor's warning. It had seemed all too surreal afterwards, to sit and try to rest in nervous anticipation, choking down water to rid the thirst from travel; yet in some part of her she found it impossible to doubt his words. He had been telling the truth. She felt it innately without fault. Yet by riding away, she was leaving her fortress unprotected, its men-at-arms depleted. Eowyn sincerely hoped she was doing the right thing.
Time! Time! There was so little of it, and after the short rest they were again speeding away at her command, watching the terrain around them change from fertile meadows to dusty plains . Perhaps Noraliwi and his henchmen had already reached her husband – would they be able to overpower him and Eomer both? They would use trickery, she knew. Take them away to some far woods and a neat execution... she shuddered, accelerating again.
"My lady, It would be better if we found you a sedan." Legolas called, out of breath, from his stallion on her left. He rode fiercely, though still unable to match her speed.
"Unless it is a chariot of the Easterlings, I will be sitting on nothing but equine flesh!" She yelled back, digging her heels into the hot animal under her, letting the speed carry memories of the night back to her.
Eowyn had to go, for the sake of herself, her husband, her brother and even her deceased father-in-law. It was somewhat chilling, yet she had to remember the warmth in which the ghost, no, spirit, no, steward had talked to her. She trusted him, because for some reason, he reminded her of Faramir.
And suddenly a small niggling memory came back to her: Denethor had said 'I am not the only one guarding him ' when talking about her child. The thought of the implication brought a short thrill of bewilderment, and then a quiet giddiness, which she tried to suppress. It passed. Now was not the time. Eowyn felt the reassuring chill of the concealed knife at her side, before speeding on, dust at her heels, riding on under the starlit open sky.
In the end, it was not Eomer's voice that woke Faramir.
"My lord! An agent of Khalifah!" It was the same footman that brought the soup. Faramir blinked away the spinning whiteness of his dreams.
"What? Now?" he said, still cloudy from sleep. His mind was unusually hazy. And weary. How he wished he could lie back and tumble again into sleep...
"My lord, yes. One of the sentries is with them now. They have come to see yourself and King Eomer."
Faramir rubbed his eyes, wondering why his mind felt so blurred all of a sudden. Even the footman looked a little vague in his expression, although it was probably all the ale. He got up with difficulty and pulled on his tunic and cloak. Across the room Eomer was also a little fuzzy in the mind.
"Five more minutes," He said grumpily when Faramir shoved him to get him up.
"Come now, my brother. It is an envoy of Khalifah's. We must attend to them, whatever the hour. It is only polite. We represent the Elessar as well as our own realms."
"No one spoke anything of this to me." He said, getting up reluctantly. He tried standing, but his left leg buckled under the pressure of his weight, and he fell heavily on the ground with an "Oof". Faramir considered this in some part of his mind. It was true, he did not remember Khalifah having said anything about sending envoys to meet them. Aragorn had not mentioned it either. How strange.
The two lords, both leaders of wealthy lands came out of the tent together. Despite the rich embroidered tabards and the ornate sheaths that hung by their side, they looked distinctly the worse for wear. The King of the Riddermark, for one, was pushing himself along in a wheelbarrow-like chair with wheels, and both rulers looked as if they had immense hangovers. The head of the emissary party however, seemed positively thrilled to greet them. He too saw the signs of their apparent weariness, and knew it was so hangover they were suffering from.
"My lords! Khalifah the future Guardian of our lands sends his blessings!" Ezekh bowed low, and the men behind him followed suit, some a little stiffly in their movements. Eomer and Faramir returned the bow, both a little glassy eyed.
"Where is he, ah, at this moment?" Faramir asked, suppressing a yawn.
The envoy's eyes gleamed, "Why, my lords, I do have a surprise for you! He is right here! Not a few hundred yards from this site, he is settled, and waiting to meet you both." But the reaction of the faces of the two lords were unusually blank. Ezekh repeated the statement to be sure, even raising his voice, but apart from a raised-eyebrow and a 'uh huh?', the pair were in a state of total apathy. Save a few drowsy bodyguards, none of the other soldiers were stirring in their tents.
He sniffed again from the small bottle that hung around his neck. This, the master had said, would prevent him from becoming intoxicated from the incense, but it was a little difficult. Only a few minutes in the camp, and he had to breathe regularly from the salts so not to fall into that drunk state.
He looked back up at the two lords. Their postures were slouched and were looking at him with a amiably blank expression on their faces.
"My lords, how are you feeling?" he said tentatively.
Faramir and Eomer looked at each other vaguely.
"I fare well," Eomer said slowly, "How do you feel, Faramir?"
Faramir grinned sleepily, "I too feel well... how fare you, Eomer?"
"Well," Eomer said, blinking, "How do you feel Faramir?"
"WELL, that is good news," Ezekh said, raising his voice a little, trying to urge them away as quickly as possible before the effects of the incense wore off. The two lords looked back at him, their expressions cheerily vacant. He raised an arm, pointing away from the camp, into the black night, "Why not come this way with us, my Lords? Lord Khalifah is waiting."
"I do not see why not," said Eomer, to his brother-in-law, "Do you, brother?"
"I see no reason not to," Faramir replied, rubbing his eyes, "What of you, Eomer?"
Ezekh interrupted with a loud cough, "This way, Lords." Seeing the two men's bodyguards following, though dizzily, he stopped.
"Lord Faramir and Eomer go alone." He said, and the three guards halted, blank and unresponsive, and obeyed, staying behind.
The cloaked men carried lanterns to light the way and the two rulers followed Ezekh away from the camp, Faramir shuffling in his steps and Eomer in his chair, pushed along by a black-cloaked man.
At this time, less than a half-league away from the river, sweating and breathing hoarsely, Eowyn and her troops rode hard across the plains, closing in on their goal. It had been a hard ride, and many men had had to stop and turn back. Three horses had thrown a shoe, or faltered from exhaustion, and had to be led back. Those who could not go on or turn back, stayed instead and made camp where they were, to wait for news and the rest of the group to return. The rest, stalwart mounts of Rohan bred, they could lose no time. And now, the weary remainder had almost reached their destination.
Minutes since, they had passed the Haudh-en-Gwanur, the Rohirric twin-mounds of the fallen princes in that battle long ago: symbolic gate of the southern boundary of Gondor, and, for Eowyn, a reminder of the skirmish they would encounter there. On the horizon lay the silhouette of the encampment. Faint mist hung over the canvas city, and as she came close there was a cry from Legolas behind.
"My lady, stop here!"
She clicked her tongue in her horses ear to slow it down, pulling hard on the horse's reins until the hooves had beaten to a halt. Behind her, her men had also stopped, panting, their breath misting in the night.
"What is it Legolas? What do you see?" she asked.
"In this case, it is smell. Can you not smell it?" he said. She took a deep breath. There was no apparent odour on the clear night air, but there was a faint trace of... something. For an instant it shocked her to the core. She gasped, straightening up on her mount. This fragrance... she remembered this, the dreamy aroma of purple that had brought so many nightmares. The condensed memories of Denethor, Noraliwi and the blonde girl came rushing back in a painful blow.
"My lady?" Legolas asked, watching her carefully. Her face was hardened.
"We must keep on going." She said.
"Not in this manner." He said, resolutely, "If you recognise that scent, you know what it means and what it does. We will lose our minds if we go there unprepared."
"But I must reach them!"
To her surprise, he smiled. "Do not worry. I did not spend all those years beside Aragorn in the wilderness without learning a few things." From a coin purse hanging from his belt, he drew out a small parcel wrapped in paper. Inside were a few brown crinkled leaves, but Eowyn had had enough experience as a healer to know what they were.
"Athelas." She breathed. Legolas smiled at her in his enigmatic way.
"Do we boil them?" she asked.
"Burning would be quicker." It was Halandil. He and the rest of the men had caught up, and he rode up to Eowyn, out of breath.
"But less effective," Legolas disagreed, "If we had a helmet of water and soaked the leaves inside, boiling it on a cooking fire once we got inside the camp, then the vapours would diffuse more easily."
"Then we'll do that," Eowyn said impatiently, preparing to start her tired horse again. An Elven arm restrained her.
"Wait." Legolas said, his eyes glittering. She wondered at his expression.
"What do you see?"
He pointed to the distance, where Eowyn, squinting, could make out movement: a train of people. Scores of moving feet shuffled across the plain, having already passed the Crossing. Small flickers of orange showed they were carrying torches. They were approaching, no, marching towards the camp. The train had not seen the oncoming party -the riders were dressed darkly and carried no lamps -but it was still a chilling sight.
"They are soldiers, my lady." Legolas murmured, "Cloaked. They have been hidden in wait, I believe.They are not of Ithilien, nor Gondor, Rohan, Dol Amroth or any other realm friendly to the Kingdoms. There is no movement from the camp. I fear they may be hostile, but we cannot be certain."
Eowyn stared, whispering, "Have I come too late?" to herself. The men behind her were armed, though a little breathless like their mounts from the intense ride here. Time was passing quickly. They watched the distance in silence. The men were approaching, closer and closer. Then suddenly, arcs of light propelled towards the encampment. Legolas gave a sharp cry.
"My lady! They are setting the camp alight! I can see movements - the men are woken, but - ai! The camp is burning!"
Eowyn saw it: tents ignited in a burst of flame. Wisps of fire sailed vertically as the gaseous mist over the camp flared in the heat. She gave a suppressed gasp in the disorienting thought that Denethor had been right.
As if on cue, Legolas whispered by her ear, "Lady, we are many, and ready."
Eowyn nodded shortly. Her eyes still locked at the horizon, she muttered to him: "The camp must be protected. Fatalities must be minimised, on both sides, if it can be helped." She drew her sword slowly from her side, seeing the grim sky reflected in the shining blade. "All of us, we must value this treaty. Let not the peaceworking between Elessar and the southern lands be extinguished by the bloodied actions of a few."
Stars in the canopy above glittered eerily, reflected in the eyes of the Elf. "I understand." Legolas said softly.
And then Eowyn looked to the yellow fires before her, and raised the sword into the air. Behind her, the horsemen drew into a line, flanking her on both sides. In a slicing motion, she pointed the blade forward; at the same time the horsemen beside her drove into a run.
The sound of hoof beats drummed in her ear as she charged forwards, sword still in hand, the rushing wind of the ride blowing her hair into her face. At her side, she felt the softly radiating presence of Legolas. His hand brushed against her arm once, and he said, amid the noise: "Lady, please oblige me this, and do not cause me pain by endangering yourself." he paused as the riders galloped past, and then continued, "I will lead your men, and we will find Faramir and Eomer, and all will be well. Promise me, will you stay a distance, and keep safe?"
And she looked at him, and was moved by his words. Sincerely, she replied "I will," and watched his smile break in relief, before he turned, and drove forwards on his mount, charging to the fore. She held back from the charge, letting the other horsemen ride on, feeling a familiar sinking feeling in her heart, mixed with the hurt pride. It had been like this in the battle for Helm's Deep, and when Aragorn had forbidden her from his party for the Paths of the Dead. Yet now she also felt relief, and fear for Faramir, for she was doing this for him. She knew how he would feel if she let herself into a battle, his child in her belly, and so she hoped and prayed for him. So, she turned her horse, instead, riding around the formation of horsemen, remaining at the rear, where it was safer.
The blazing tents came nearer and nearer. Eowyn could see men running, screaming, chaos, and knew that despite what she had promised Legolas, nothing could hold her back if she wanted to find Faramir. There were many awake now, but they were drowsy, fumbling over their armour and weapons and struggling to fight the onslaught. The cloaked men approached from the eastern direction of the mountains on her left. They were many, but outnumbered, now that Eowyn had brought reinforcements. But the men in the camp were disconcerted and ill-prepared, and already she saw the signs of fighting and several casualties. Had they come any later… She hoped Legolas' athelas would work. Smoke covered it, but the aroma of the incense was still nauseating for her.
While the rest of her men were still riding ahead, she veered the direction of her course: west, towards the side of the camp nearest the river. Just as she was speeding away from her riders, she heard the clash: amidst the roar of human voices, there was the jagged meeting of metal. The swords were out, and the battle had commenced. Yet she felt little fear. Halandil and Legolas were seasoned warriors. They would directany combat well. Hearing the battle around her, she desperately wished to be part of it, to partake in the struggle, but her maternal instincts forced her to sheath her sword. She would find her husband and her brother first. In the face of her determination, valour was inconsequent.
The heat of battle: Eowyn knew it well, but her last experience of it was so long ago. The fires had made her, already out of breath and sweating, even hotter. Her face quickly became dirty from ash, and she could smell it: the sharp rust-like stench of blood, already poured now. No -this blood-battle could destroy the fragile peace that Aragorn Elessar and the other diplomats were striving so hard to create! She stopped, restraining and hiding her horse behind one of the larger tents, and entered the camp on foot.
The southern side was mostly empty, the soldiers having left their doped slumber to the defence, and at the river bank, a bucket chain of a few men had been organised that was trying, with little success, to put out the fire. Against the distant mountains to the east, there was the orange of heat, and the black sounds of iron against iron. The marauders, having seen the cavalry charging from the northern plain, rose to meet them. They were none of them horsed, their intent that night being shock and stealth; but they knew how to deal with riders, and many of them had pikes: and so it was that a number of men were unhorsed that night, their steeds fallen, and others of Eowyn's seasoned riders had to leap from mount to prevent injury, and fight with hand and foot and sword against the black-clothed men. The core of the battle had moved from within in the camp to the northern fringes, and while the invading marauders were occupied with the new cavalry, recovered soldiers of Faramir's camp grouped, and pinioned the battle from behind.
In the hollow heart of the camp, Eowyn wandered, searching intact tents for signs of her husband and brother; asking any drowsy-looking men if they had seen either. She navigated desperately through the camp, avoiding the fires and broken timber – here and there men rushed, putting out fires, fighting attackers…
On the ground lay one ofIthilien's soldiers – she rushed forward to him. He was uninjured, albeit unconscious, but a little slapping to the face undid the stupor, and the soldier rose dizzily, saluting her in alarmed recognition. Eowyn moved on – another man, a youngish looking boy barely out of his teens, lay a few metres away, leaning against a wooden pillar. He was awake, and bleeding in the stomach, and only when Eowyn reached his side did she realise that he was one of the Haradrim raiders. When she tried to prise his dirtied hands away from his wound, he squirmed, and she saw that he was crying.
"Hush. Child, hush." She said, soothing him with her voice. She had worn an overcoat for the cold over her travelling britches, and this she took off, tearing a strip from thesleeve to bind the wound. The boy's expression had changed from one of fear to one of wonderment, and relief as she spread her coat over him. He murmured something in his own language, and Eowyn smiled. It had definitely sounded like a 'thank you'.
A few words were barked at the recently-conscious soldier nearby. He seemed surprised to say the least that the Lady of Ithilien was here and ordering him to look after and tend to one of the fallen enemy, but the system of absolute monarchy in Middle earth meant that he did not question or refuse her command.
Eowyn moved on, satisfied that the two soldiers would be taken care of. A clean fresh scent on the air told her that Legolas had done his job: the purifying vapour of athelas settled over the camp like rainfall. Legolas had spread the word to leave as many alive if possible – all would be taken prisoner, but it was difficult, as she could see. Only one side in this battle were employing mercy, and this was proving a disadvantage. The Ithilien and Rohirric troops were having to use all of their skill and cunning to defend and overcome without causing major fatality to the enemy, a policy that went against all the instincts of a military man. Some had taken wounds, though minor, and the battle would be long.
She watched a few of the men, whose extraordinary tactic in subduing the enemy was to use a combination of trip rope and falling pots as a trap when they ran past (many of them, seeing Eowyn standing alone in the camp, had instinctively made a charge for her, resulting in rapid collision with the ground and several items of falling earthenware) and then wrap the struggling fallen with tent canvas and blankets before binding the writhing bodies like packages along the ground. These prisoners were then dragged into empty horse stalls, while the soldiers returned to the battle. The treatment seemed a littlehumiliating, for Eowyn, watching at the side (and sometimes inadvertently acting as bait), but it was effective: there was no reason to complain, and Elessar could still salvage his trade agreements and his peace treaties in the aftermath. Probably.
Some of the men looked like rangers – one of them recognised her and grabbed her by the arm .
"Lady, I thank the stars you are here! I thank the heaven that we arrived in time, but your presence is a miracle indeed!" he said quickly. Eowyn recognised him as one of Faramir's rangers. He had been sent with his fellows to track down Noraliwi days ago.
"Where is Lord Faramir, ranger?"
"I beg pardon, but I do not know. We were sent to find and capture Noraliwi, but there were so few of us," he panted, trying to get his breath back, "We had come this far but could not overcome them. Some of my men are still with him now, standing guard, but cannot act – I do not know where, but it is near here –they are outnumbered. I cannot spare aught to find them; barely had we come in time, when we were caught up in this skirmish! My lady should be grateful we were here too, or all the camp would be set aflame and slaughtered in their sleep! Damn these criminals!"
"But do your men not know of their whereabouts?"
"I do not know the whereabouts of my men! We were all separated when the attackers came. But do not fear overmuch! If we can keep them at bay long enough: I have already sent a messenger north – to find Elessar's scouts, or to the nearest beacon. King Aragorn will get the message!" But seeing her still concerned face, he added "If their Lordships are not in the camp, they must still be near. They may be hidden. The Haradrim men must know." and then he had to run, drawn away to aid a fellow comrade.
And still, Eowyn had traversed the whole breadth of the camp, and there was no sign of her husband, nor Eomer. Aragorn would be on his way once the message reached him, but it would be hours until he arrived, and it would be too late! Now the increasing worry was stretching to panic, up to the point of approaching one of the sacked and wrapped Haradrim, tearing the cloth from his face and yelling at him, "Where is my husband!" The man struggled and wriggled helplessly in his sackcloth prison, reminding Eowyn comically of a fish on dry land, and wailed indistinctly in his own language, which irritated her more.
"WHERE is he? Faramir! Eomer! Prince of Ithilien! Steward!" She growled, and then, with the justified rage of a hormonal mother-to-be, planted her foot several times in the bound man's side. The kicking brought on some more babbling, and then the man, almost reduced to tears, twisted his head to his right and nodded violently. Eowyn paused, then turned to where the man was indicating. East: in the distance, she could see a small forest of trees. In truth, she could not, as it was deep night, but what she did see was
"Light..." Turning back to the bound man, she growled again, pointing,"Faramir? Is he there?" and the bound man, with the instinct of one close to death, or at least, great pain and humiliation, nodded, and then in a strangled voice, cried: "Noraliwi!"
to be continued...
