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Your Heart Will Be True

By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 19

Entering Rohan Means Trouble

April 30

Southern Rohan

"You realize that every time we enter the plains of Rohan, it leads to trouble," Legolas commented.

"You realize that every time we do anything, be it enter Rohan or visit an inn or stroke a hobbit's pony, it leads to trouble. The conclusion is that we do not lead trouble — it already knows where we are going to be and it meets us there."

"It sounds better than my father's reasoning, I'll give it that. Better than Gimli's reasoning as well."

"Thank you."

Aragorn could tell from the way his scalp was prickling that someone was staring at him. Poor Tantur; it was to be hoped that this trip would not be too disillusioning for him. Aragorn supposed that he probably ought to be restraining himself more, but in spite of the delay at Kopairin and the all too literal 'run-in' with the dwarves, they were making good time and his spirits had begun to lift. The horses had helped a great deal. If things kept on like this, he would be home well within the time that the healer had given him. Arwen would be well.

"Strider?"

The king blinked away his thoughts and smiled at his friend, "What is it?"

"Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems history desires to repeat itself. Only," he added with a chuckle, "Tantur will have to fill Gimli's role. Whatever you do," this was directed at the guard, "do not threaten them, glare at them, or demand their names in a rude manner."

"What? Who?" Tantur asked, a little wildly. He came a little closer, one hand nervously touching the bandage on his other hand as he was wont to do, and Aragorn noticed that he was quite pale.

"An Eorred of Rohirrim approaches from the north," he explained. "We will let them sight us. Identities should be kept as secret as may be, but I don't wish to sneak through Eomer's lands like a bandit either. This is just as well."

"Yes, my liege," Tantur muttered nervously.

"'Strider', Tantur," Legolas corrected with a smile, drawing up his hood. "You are your uncle's nephew with a vengeance."

The man's weak grimace was hard to read and he ducked his head. It was one of the things that was making Legolas worry about him. Still, with all his time in Ithilien Legolas had gained a greater understanding of what stories ignorant men had told to their children concerning elves. Such unease as this was something he had become used to as an elf. It was perhaps a little more odd than usual, since Duurben had actually known Legolas personally… Perhaps Tantur's mother had told him strange tales. It didn't necessarily mean that Tantur was fleeing from his uncle.

As the Rohirrim drew closer, Aragorn frowned a little. Naturally borders needed to be well protected, but this particular border was shared with Gondor and he was surprised at just how many armed men were in the approaching company. It looked as though they had spotted him and his two companions, and they were definitely on the alert for trouble.

With a strong feeling of déjà vu Aragorn stepped to the fore and called, "Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

A thunder of hooves like an avalanche vibrated the ground beneath them as the riders charged up and surrounded the travelers and their three horses. They did not draw their spears, for which Aragorn was grateful — the horses were already nervous — but the baleful look their leader gave him from under his plumed helmet would have melted a lesser man.

"Your names, strangers, and speedily. An untruth I will see a mile off, and then I shall know you for what you truly are."

/And what might we truly be/ Aragorn wondered. Aloud he said, "I am Strider, a Dúnadan, formerly of the North, now of the South. This is Legolas; he comes from near Dale and the Lonely Mountain. With us travels Tantur, a guardsman of Gondor from Minas Tirith. We seek only to travel across Rohan in our journey to Lorien."

"And what seek you there?" the leader demanded, his voice not softening. "No one dwells there now; one might suspect you of a clumsy lie concocted in too much haste."

"One might also suspect me of private business that I do not desire to share with a stranger, even one of apparent rank."

"Apparent!" the man thundered, eyes flashing.

"Yes, for I have seen false faces inside trustworthy uniforms before now," Aragorn said calmly. "If soldiers of Gondor can bear beneath their masks the faces of corsairs and traitors, what is to say that such fiends might not procure the dress of the Rohirrim? Your pardon, my lord, but I have traveled in Rohan often. Marshal Elfwild owns these lands and frequently patrols them himself; and I do not recognize your face."

Watching closely Aragorn was able to see the change that crossed the man's features as he spoke. Something had apparently struck a chord with him, for he removed his helm. As Aragorn had guessed, the man was young; unusually so for a commander.

"If I was unduly harsh, you will forgive me. We have suffered from just such deceptions as you describe. I am Captain Theodran. I command these, the first two companies of the house of Elfwild, fourth Marshal of the Riddermark. My duty in patrolling here is to seek out our enemies, hidden or no, and slay them."

"A harsh task," Legolas murmured.

"Aye, but necessary," Theodran countered. "We are still recovering from the layers of deception that were placed upon us. Had the king not somehow known that our quarrels were orchestrated from the outside by the corsairs, we might even now be coming to blows amongst ourselves."

"You have a wise king," Aragorn said.

"This we do not need to be told," the young man said proudly. "And though I have advised you of all this in proof that I do not now think you to be corsairs, you have yet to give me a satisfactory reason for this passage of yours, Ranger. What can possibly draw three men to Lorien?"

"I know not," Legolas said, speaking before Aragorn could. "As I am not one." Reaching up, he pushed back his hood, revealing the fair face, sharp eyes, and delicately pointed ears that were so easily recognizable.

Had the men been on foot, they would have taken an involuntary step back. Theodran didn't even blink, bringing Aragorn's estimation of him up a good deal.

"Lorien once housed my father's kin." Legolas arched one eyebrow in an imitation of Thranduil at his most intimidating.

"I understand, Master Elf," Theodran said slowly. The title gave Aragorn an inexplicable urge to snort. "I think that will serve as reason enough, so long as you hold to our laws during your passage through. And I shall give you warning. The corsairs did not at first realize that they were unmasked, but even once we began to trace them and drive them out, they devised new ways of staying hidden and less subtle means of attack. Someone wishes to weaken us from within — perhaps to hinder our patrols here — and if Eomer King did not rule, I would not doubt their success."

"I thank you for the caution," Legolas replied. "Tell us, who would desire such weakening? Mordor is defeated."

"There is a rumor that Queen Mavranor of Harad is the root of our trouble, but I could not guess why. I am but a soldier."

Only a few more words were exchanged before Theodran assembled his men and moved on, his young eyes alert for signs of trouble. Aragorn's mount whinnied at the passing thunder of the hoofs of its kin.

There was a pause as they started riding again. Not a very long pause.

"'Master Elf'?"

"Aragorn," Legolas said warningly.

"Imagine what convulsions would have ensued if you had told them you were a prince."

"Aragorn!"

"No insult intended, my friend!" Aragorn grinned, pulling the reigns to sidestep a jab aimed at his shoulder. "I was pleased to see that the dramatic 'revealing of the ears' strategy still works. Gimli would be proud of you."

Legolas snorted loudly. "Oh yes, quite proud! I can just imagine. While we are supposing, think further how much more quickly we could have been extricated if your identity had been revealed."

"You know that never works. Kings attract even more side-missions than healers. Happily, your heritage was quite sufficient to save us from the delays of an enthusiastic young captain bent on discovering too much. I do not like this news he brought of Queen Mavranor, though…"

Tantur, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange, cast a nervous glance back over his shoulder. Aragorn wondered if he was still anxious about the Rohirrim's brief interrogation.

"What I do not understand is how Eomer would know," Legolas frowned.

"Eomer allows himself to think farther afield than Theoden and Thengel did. It is his way to learn such things — sometimes before my own spies have come to me. No, if Eomer believes that Mavranor is responsible, I would trust his judgment."

"What of Gondor?" Legolas asked quietly. It was a question that he knew would have long since occurred to Gondor's king.

"I worry for it," Aragorn said, strain coloring his voice, "but Faramir is there, our borders are strong, and Kopairin is neither destroyed nor taken. Food and supplies will continue to flow. There is also the possibility she is aiming solely for Rohan. Her husband was slain in this land. And her brother. Revenge is a powerful motivator." His forehead creased as he spoke. He remembered all too well the last time he had met the half-maddened queen. The hatred in her black eyes as she fingered the knife that had killed her brother. His knife. He wondered if, perhaps, the assassination attempt was more easily explained than he had thought. Could Mavranor have discovered who he was?

He shook his head. "Arwen first," he said. He urged his horse's pace to quicken.

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Tantur lagged a little, trying to plan. He had not expected this strange new side of Elessar to be revealed. It was disconcerting.

Elessar the statesman he knew. Also Elessar the judge, and even Elessar the tactician. But Elessar the warrior he had never before encountered, and the king's easy manner out here, away from Minas Tirith, did nothing to hide the danger. There was an aura of awareness and lethal capability about this 'Strider' persona that was too focused and too deadly for his liking. Combined with the elf, who he recognized as a seasoned warrior hundreds of years beyond his own skills, he knew it would not be easy to wrest from them the medicine they intended to bring back.

He would just have to see if a lucky opportunity presented itself. When it did, surely the obvious close friendship between the two could be worked to his advantage. He hunched his shoulders, feeling the dull ache from the poison he hadn't managed to clear from his body. The herb stash in his bag was already running low. And the only real advantage he had was simply this: that they didn't yet see the viper in the wheat field.

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The horses made good time on the flat ground of Rohan; much better than they had through the wooded hills and mountains that had crowed their first stretch of travel from Kopairin. They avoided towns. As dusk began to fall, they were forced to slow their pace, and in spite of his private assurances that he would reach his destination in plenty of time, Aragorn began to look anxious. Dark clouds covered the moon, leaving the golden plains black and desolate looking. It looked as though rain would be likely on the morrow — even though the waving barley about their horses' feet was currently dry.

Though he had ridden in worse conditions, rain, darkness, and unfamiliar ground was not usually a wise choice of traveling conditions.

But he could not stop now.

Behind him Legolas was looking about warily. The nighttime noises made it difficult to tell, but he thought he had heard a strange rustling. His keen eyes swept the dark ocean of grain. Unfortunately, everything seemed to be rustling. A light wind rippled past them, the horses' hooves thudded against the ground at a steady walk, insects chirped amongst the barley, and, though he was again lagging far behind the elf, Legolas could hear Tantur's teeth chattering.

Then, like a silent comet at the far end of the field, a flame suddenly soared into the air and fell back to earth, igniting the grain. The horses gave soft whinnies of surprise, Aragorn's hand went immediately to his sword hilt, but as if the first fireball had been a signal, nearly thirty more flaming arrows lit the night from all sides of the field around them.

"Corsairs!" Aragorn snapped, putting the pieces together.

Legolas heard a whinny and looked quickly over his shoulder in time to see that Tantur had gotten the right idea. The Gondorian had been far enough back towards the edge of the field that he'd already ridden clear of the flames and was disappearing into the darkness beyond at a full gallop. From the edges of the field voices shouted in strange languages and another circle of arrows was lit and drawn back.

"Come," Legolas called to Aragorn as he turned his own horse. "They are after the crops — not us!"

Almost before the words were fully spoken, one of the fresh arrows came buzzing like a crazed demon and struck the elf in the leg. Legolas cried out in pain. Fuel spattered from the impact, spreading the fire across his clothing and sending droplets of flame into the horse's brown coat like molten metal.

With a shriek the horse reared and Legolas leaned forward to compensate, feeling agony like a branding iron against his leg. The fuel had caught and held and the horse's blanket was alight, scaring the already frightened beast completely out of its wits. With desperate instinct, the horse let its legs buckle and tumbled towards the ground to try and stifle the flames.

"Get off!" Aragorn shouted, his own horse bucking underneath him in terror.

The warning came almost too late. Trusting his friend without hesitation, Legolas arched his body in a movement that defied gravity, twisting clear before his leg could become pinned under the horse's side, but he hit the ground hard, driving the arrow even deeper into his leg.

A cry that was almost a scream tore from his chest. He knew he needed to roll, to smother the flames as his horse was doing, but each movement sent indescribably agony straight through him. He could feel the unnatural fire burning inside the wound itself, carried in by the arrow tip.

Aragorn was off his horse in an instant, barely noticing when the animal bolted. Yanking his overcoat off, he dropped beside his friend, firmly patting out the flames. He did not flinch when his ministrations made Legolas cry out afresh — the sooner he finished, the less damage would ultimately be done. The last sparks were dying when he realized that the arrow in the wound was smoking and smoldering.

"Legolas," he said quickly, "this will hurt."

The elf didn't speak — only nodded once and set his jaw, believing that whatever was about to happen would be necessary.

Taking hold of the shaft, Aragorn braced his other arm against his friend's leg and pulled sharply. Risking a quick look at it in the glow of the growing fire around them, he tried to see if he had been fast enough in his removal. If there were still charred pieces of the arrow in the wound, infection would be guaranteed, even in an elf.

The orange light showed the shaft clearly and he blinked the smoke out of his eyes as relief brushed his heart.

"Behind you!" Legolas cried suddenly, his slender hands trying to reach the knives pinned under him.

Spinning around on his heels, Aragorn was just in time to catch the crash of a club across the front of his head rather than the back.

TBC…