"What do you think, Your Majesty?" At last, one of the soldiers couldn't keep his curiosity – and paranoia – in check anymore and raised his voice, muffled by the cloth the man was using to cover his face with.
The panic in the village, people's pale faces, closed doors and shutters in spite of the bright sunshine … The bad mood had quickly infected the visitors.
Especially upon the sight of the sick girl. While it wasn't the symptoms of a great plague as the village leader had made them fear first, it was quite clear that they were faced with a very bad sickness here that they could only pray to not be contagious. You could hardly even imagine at this point that this had once been a pretty, ash-blond ten-year-old with a cheeky tooth gap. Blood marred her lips, dripping from her small nose too, again and again, and from her ears. Even the fluid streaming from her remarkable deep blue eyes was a deep red. The girl was breathing heavily and running a high fever.
"So far, all I know is that the little one is doing very badly. You can take the cloth off, by the way. It's of no use here. You would only scare the girl if she woke up."
Aragorn let his hands wander searchingly over the child's fragile body once more and finally found on its side what he had been looking for: One kidney was swollen while the surrounding tissue seemed far too soft as if strongly affected by an infection. Every touch had the girl startle even in her sleep. A suspicion grew in Aragorn that sent ice-cold shivers down his spine. That couldn't be happening, not again …
"Are there enough guards watching the carriage?"
"Your Majesty?" Looking confused, the soldier straightened his posture and looked out of the window. "Everything is in order."
"So far. Tell the Queen not to accept any food or drinks offered to her."
Aragorn's growl kept the guard from asking what he thought to know; the man hurried away immediately.
Instead, the girl's father approached from the side, looking furious. "What are you talking about, Your Majesty? Are you seriously accusing the citizens …?"
Aragorn only looked up from his work for a moment of clarification, necessary but already far too long. "I'm not accusing anyone of anything, but it seems, your daughter has been poisoned. After the most recent incidents in Minas Tirith, I'm not taking any risks. If you're not comfortable with my approach, I can leave; then you'll have to wait for healers of the city to arrive. I can already tell that they would probably come too late though."
In this situation, talking diplomatically with the girl's parents wouldn't do any good. They were beside themselves with worry, and for good reason. They had to understand that hurt pride had no place here right now.
Before the man whose face had turned even whiter than before could say anything, a movement on the simple cot attracted everyone's attention.
The unfriendly voices had woken the girl up unexpectedly. Intimidated, she blinked up at Aragorn's much larger figure hovering over her through her red, sticky eyelids.
She only calmed down when she spotted her mother on the other side. "Mommy, who is that?"
"This is the King, sweetheart. I told you a lot about him, remember?" The woman could hardly hold back her tears when she caressed the child's cheeks. "He and his friends destroyed the evil ring and made our land safe again."
"Like Frodo of the nine fingers? Is Frodo here too? And Samwise the Brave?"
A delighted gasp turned into a pained scream. The bleeding of the girl's lips became worse immediately, and she started to cry away quietly. "Hurts …"
"Frodo is not here, sweetheart. He and his friends are back in the Shire." Aragorn gently pushed the little one back on the bed by her shoulder and signaled her mother to bring him a mug of water.
"Here, try to drink something. I know it hurts, but you need it." He gently stroked the girl's hair and took a closer look into her fogged eyes.
"Sam just got married, did you know that? No? How about you write a song about that once you're feeling better? And then you can come to Minas Tirith and sing it for me. And if Frodo and Sam ever come to visit us, we'll come to see you so that you can get to know them. There, well done."
He took the empty mug from the child's trembling hand and rested the other on the girl's back to support her when he realized she had to cough. He couldn't suppress a startled hiss when new bloodstains appeared on the child's shirt. It was even worse than suspected.
The girl's brief smile upon Aragorn's promises turned to sobs again. She reached out her hand to her mother. "Do I have to die now, Mommy? Like grandpa in the war?"
"I have come here to make sure, that won't happen," Aragorn answered for the woman who was completely speechless in her shock. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Amina ..."
Aragorn took the flower from his belt and held it out to the little one who eyed it interestedly in spite of her fear. "The Queen told me to give it to you. If you let me know what you did before you were feeling so badly, you can have it. What do you say, Amina? Tell me if anything was different? If you saw anything strange?"
The child eagerly stared at the flower, enchantingly lustrous even in the bad lighting, and tugged on the bedsheet in embarrassment, throwing its mother a quick glance. "I …"
"It's alright. We won't get mad, honey, I promise." Amina's mother sat down next to her again and carefully put her arm around her shoulders. "Tell the King what happened. Only then can he help you."
The child took a scared look around, then snatched the flower and pressed it so firmly against their face as if Arwen's gift could protect them. "But he said, I can't tell anyone. He said bad things will happen to you if I do."
"Who, honey? Who told you that?" The voice of Amina's mother sounded unpleasantly shrill immediately.
Her father on the other hand looked like he was about to draw a weapon and hunt whoever had talked his daughter into believing something like that and might have done other things to her that only the Valar knew about.
"The man in the woods." Amina talked more quietly by the syllable, only whispering now.
Aragorn leaned forward and gently grabbed her chin. "Where was he exactly? What did he do?" His suspicion took shape more and more. If he was right, the problem with the Stewardaides had become so much worse than he'd ever thought possible. "What did he look like, do you remember?"
"His hair was bright, and he had a scar. A really big one." Uncaring by nature as only a child could be in the presence of a ruler, Amina ran her little hand down Aragorn's left cheek, to his chin. "There, a really thick one."
Of course, she couldn't understand why Aragorn's expression suddenly darkened. She probably thought it was her fault; backing away, she almost seemed to shrink compared to her mother.
"He had … he had honey and cake and …" Coughing again, she blinked away tears and swallowed thickly. "He gave me some, but afterward, he forbade me to tell anyone." More and more tears, still streaked with blood, entered her eyes.
"Will the man come back now, Mommy? Is he going to hurt you?"
Her mother was far too wrecked to say anything; instead, Aragorn stood up, clenching his fists so hard that it hurt. The pain helped to keep a clear head in spite of his wrath.
"No one will harm any of you. Don't be afraid."
The description of this guy exactly matched Barhit, the Stewardaides leader, from how Faramir had described him. These bastards had actually dared to drag children into this.
Well, it would not happen again. This time, these people had gone too far.
Aragorn called one of his soldiers over and gave him a list of some herbs he needed urgently for attempting a treatment and that he didn't have on him. Lossarnach's meadows were fortunately rich with healing plants; it wouldn't take long to collect the desired items.
Another guard, he instructed to send a third man away immediately to get Minas Tirith's most capable healers here.
When the man returned, he had to leave again right away. "Get the Queen," Aragorn ordered harshly, his thoughts already being with the healing, and with trying to make sense of this new trap and its purpose.
"But Your Majesty, she could get infected …"
"It's not an infection, it's poisoning, and someone exposed the girl to it on purpose. What do you think that means? Someone wants to have us here. The question of how that someone could know about a trip that I only just decided to take yesterday will be troubling us enough soon. In the meantime, the Queen cannot be out in the open like this." With narrow eyes, Aragorn watched the man run off, the fear for the Queen now taking hold of the soldier as well.
He needed a moment to take a deep breath, to suppress his anger. He would need all of his skill now, everything the elves had ever taught him about healing. No matter what kind of poison it was, it was affecting the small body quickly, causing a lot of destruction. He had no idea if he could help the child at all that was already laying in its mother's arms again, sobbing with pain.
"Listen, Amina." He sat down next to the girl and caressed her head. "The Queen will join us in a few minutes to take care of you. If you ask her nicely, she might sing for you a little. Elves have very beautiful voices. I'm sure you'll love it."
"Really?" In spite of her torture, the little one smiled excitedly.
"I'm sure, if you just look at her once with your pretty eyes, she'll be convinced."
Aragorn could only hope desperately that all of this wouldn't be a shock too big for Arwen. He couldn't and wouldn't let his wife out of his sight any longer either though, not while the very real danger existed that there were Stewardaides close by.
"So? What about His Majesty?"
"Busy for now. We're getting rid of the messenger as well." Satisfied with the trip's results, Barhit spared himself the rebuke for once that he hated to be showered in questions as soon as he entered the base.
Judging by the smell of too much alcohol and roast chicken, the carrier pigeon hunters had been successful once more. As hard as it was, hitting these beasts, they made for an excellent supper. Which was an advantage when you were constantly on the run because your face was being known in all big cities from posters and from descriptions of soldiers, and you had a hard time buying even simple groceries. Not least because your financial means were slowly but surely running dry.
After so many setbacks, you could almost call it a fluke that the King had actually left the city again at last. They would now be able to solve the annoying matter of this dirty Dúnadan's helpers among the Elves without further disturbances. And by the time anyone would hear from the King next, some fundamental restructuring would already have happened in Emyn Arnen.
"Report."
Shedding his cloak, unwrapping the bandage from his face, getting out of his sweaty clothes … All of these movements became second nature to you if you were traveling most of the time. Even the smallest gestures like stretching your arm to the side to have someone hand you a mug of wine that a hardworking man allowed himself after a long day. And upon return, Barhit's first steps took him to a remote corner on principle. In the case of this still quite new residence, that was an alcove by the waterfall, where he could have someone tell him what the men had been up to and especially everything they had been talking about, the whoosh drowning out the words too much for the others to hear. When you could only just barely keep a group motivated anyway, control was the highest priority.
That something unusual had happened this day was easy to notice, thanks to the men's whispers and the subtle aggression filling every darkest corner of one of the many former bases of Faramir's Rangers.
Indeed, the parchments given to Barhit by his substitute were the first truly remarkable news in a while. The animals, the carcasses of which the shooter was enjoying right now, had carried important messages for a change instead of the elvish philosophic nonsense or the mushy love letters that Barhit had to deal with far too often. Two letters, worded basically identically, by Gandalf the Wandering Wizard. Letters that should have warned both Gondor and the residents of the elf settlement about the Stewardaides' plans … and about a certain elf from the realm of Lord Elrond who might be playing a significant role in these plans but seemed in truth to be spying on the Stewardaides.
"The men wanted to ghost him immediately, but I thought you wanted to take care of it yourself." A grin of anticipation on his lips, the other Stewardaid pointed at the most controversial member of the group.
Apathetic as ever, the elf sat by the fire, with his knees drawn close to his body, not blinking even once. The other men's words, though they sounded warier towards him than they had in a while, ricocheted off this being like the waterfall on the rough rock. If he sensed that he was busted, he didn't seem to care about that any more than about anything else he'd been forced to do since pledging himself to Barhit.
Barhit lowered his hand that had indeed already touched the handle of his dagger and threw the parchments into the fire, watching the neat, bright blue writing and the seal of a distant elven realm melt into an unrecognizable grey mass within seconds. "No."
"What?" the other man shouted in protest. "But he has …"
"You only realized that now? If you tell me, you actually believed that scum for even a second, I'll plunge you down the waterfall myself," Barhit barked at him, the good mood from earlier gone. "Have you learned nothing from me?"
"Then why did you let him stay the whole …?" His mate stopped, shook his head in disbelief when he realized that, admittedly, Barhit had risked much to get some valuable information.
"You're going to get us all killed."
"If I wanted that, I would allow you to try and attack someone right now who's superior to us even when he doesn't weigh more than fifty pounds soaking wet. This bastard isn't worth sacrificing even one of my people. You don't like it? None of you is forced to stay here. If you want to miss the fun of being at the front line? There's the exit. You're welcome." Barhit pointed at the waterfall once more.
"It was only a matter of time. Actually, I should thank this confused old magician for confirming my suspicions so selflessly and in detail. Now we have all the time in the world to plan on how to make the best of this. Besides …" The pure, lustful bloodthirst lighting Barhit's expression had even his friend of many years bit back another protest. "Besides, I want him to lose that damn apathy at last before I blow his lights out. I want to look him in the eye when life leaves them. We're waiting for the right moment. Don't you think he should be with the others of his kin when they find their end?"
"Whatever you say." There were people you didn't argue with if you valued your life and the life of your family; that was something, these men had fortunately quickly understood. After the recent successes, Barhit's substitute also just simply didn't believe that anything could still go wrong. After all, they only had to watch out for a single elf who was well on the way to getting himself killed anyway.
The man steered far clear of him anyway when he went to the others to pass on Barhit's orders.
They were still waiting for any kind of reaction from the elf in vain. Didn't they say, Firstborn could even hear whispers too quiet for mannish ears? The reddish, blurred light of the flames was the only movement mirrored in the elf's pale face. Questions or remarks from the others were being ignored, just like the obligatory offer to have some dinner. None of the Stewardaides had ever seen this being eat.
If they had never seen this morbidly thin, tall body become a living weapon within seconds, no matter how absent-minded the person inside had been just a moment ago, they would have treated their treacherous mate with far less respect. Many of the Stewardaides had walked away from challenging this elf in battle with painful wounds and scars; a few ears and fingers had fallen victim to him already, and Barhit himself had been pissing blood for a week after a duel. These were the kind of lectures you remembered.
If these people had been as well-educated as Barhit who had had to deal with Faramir never shutting up about his Firstborn friends back then though, maybe he hadn't been the only one to know that today, something was different about their uninvited guest after all. Contrary to some alternative tales, even Firstborn were blinking every now and then. If they didn't do it for such a long time, they had a reason for that, one occurring only rarely with this folk. Tonight, even the weakest Stewardaid would have had good chances to teach the guy a lesson who had fooled most of them so much.
It was the first time since Erestor had joined them as a full-time member that he was sound asleep in their midst.
This wasn't only a dream. There was a voice in Erestor's mind not part of his own subconsciousness. A voice that he hadn't heard in a while, and not the one he had expected, should anyone actually manage to contact him. But the only elf close enough to him for something like that had probably said farewell to these realms by now, and rightly so, to not have to watch this whole misery anymore.
Erestor couldn't really tell what he was supposed to make of the company he was being faced with instead. "Where are we, Ilya? Is this really happening?"
"Only in your head. Under certain circumstances, Firstborn are allowed to talk to each other across some distance even without a mental bond. Shouldn't you know that? I thought I'm the uneducated one between us." Excitement, childish amazement that turned to irony within a few syllables.
"I can't see you. I can't see anything."
"That's alright. I see you. We're in the cave that you showed me back then, in Imladris. Do you remember? I wanted to stay there." A hint of yearning at the memory of a time when everything had seemed as easy as it never had before and never had again afterward.
"The stalactite in there are too bright. You'd turn blind if you lingered there for too long."
"Yes, that's what you used to tell me." Impatience, and quick sobering. Exactly what he'd wanted to protect her from so badly back then and what no one could have prevented either way, as he'd only understood far too late.
"Some elves are too blinded by their own light to be able to see. Is that what you tried to teach me back then? The only one you trust, the one who sent me here, told me the same. Strange, isn't it?"
"I trusted you, too."
"And you still regret that." Hurt pride that was actually not for someone who had voluntarily given away the gift of love, treating it with contempt until it had been destroyed irretrievably. "Is Glorfindel wrong? Did you never get over this? Is this seriously your reason to keep on destroying yourself and everyone who ever cared about you?"
"This was never about you. I only wanted to take these criminals to the King safely, without further bloodshed. When last I had to witness a riot brewing in a realm's underground, my whole city went up in flames. I didn't want to let that happen for a second time. But I never stood a chance. They had their eye on me from the start, Ilya. Why do you think I was acting like such a bastard to you? Why do you think I tried so hard to get you away from the city, from your husband? Why I didn't ask Glorfindel for help? They would have killed anyone I would have dragged into this, starting with the people I care about. I wanted to prevent that. Instead, even more people have died, again and again. I have to make up for this somehow."
"By making sure that I almost lost my baby a second time? By threatening the whole country with poison?" A complete lack of understanding, nothing had changed about that. It probably never would.
"I was looking for information, and there are certain brews that quickly loosen a tongue. No one could know. The Lord and the King would never have approved. Sometimes dubious methods are what it needs to prevent worse. Someone who saw Gondolin fall knows that. But I couldn't go see the prisoners even a single time. These people were watching me far too closely. I only used these receipts once, for a harmless sleeping draught for the soldiers. The Stewardaides would have killed them all, would you have liked that better? I had it all under control, until … They fooled me, and then the book was suddenly gone … They won't do that again. This time, I will take them out when they think themselves safe."
"Did you seriously think they'd dance to your tune? And still you think you can defeat them alone! What else needs to happen before you can admit that you're wrong?" Pent-up anger that was abruptly interrupted when the dream faded, like a long blackout after suffering an especially bad injury.
A flickering growing brighter, finally a light to hold on to. Something real, after this world of non-reality, without rhyme or reason, a world of emotions – a word that had long lost its meaning as if written in a language that no one could translate.
"You only forgot how to read it. But it's not too late yet. I can't give you what you need, Erestor, I never could. And I'm sorry that I ever tried. But maybe someone else can, and he's worried sick about you. Don't do this to him. I can only show you a way out of this. You'll have to choose it yourself."
"There has never been a way out for me that didn't lead to darkness."
The dream yielded to the unbearable heat of a too-close fire at last. They said that heat or coldness could usually hardly touch an elf, but what was the meaning of such laws of nature when you had long been leading the life of a short-lived? The flames were aggressive, flaring right towards him. Dancing sparks no longer leaving traces on his skin that stood out. Salty fluid from his forehead dripped into his eyes. Somewhere, not far from here, Men had burned tonight.
Which made it unnecessary to ask Barhit what his people were up to right now.
Erestor got up and left the cave to find a quieter place. The cold of the night was like the comforting touch of a healer when you felt pain for the first time in centuries.
Only in the Forbidden Pool of Henneth Annûn, the enchanted fountain, he found rest for a little while.
In the late evening, it became clear that Aragorn's worst fears from the afternoon had come true. The sun that was sinking behind the mountains more and more would soon go down completely. They had to leave immediately if they wanted to make it to the city before nightfall. They couldn't risk that the Stewardaides would take the chance for an attack under the protection of the dark, and they couldn't stay here as their presence would get hundreds of villagers into danger.
There was no doubt about that threat for them all because neither had the messenger come back nor had one of the many healers of Minas Tirith arrived. On his lonely ride, something must have happened to the soldier.
The ever-present worry went sky high when the guards constantly controlling the streets and the village borders didn't come back from their last patrol.
Frowning, Arwen watched the quickly waning orange light outside the window. She had spent the last few hours telling Amina stories from the elvish realms and sung her to sleep again and again when she had woken up from fever dreams. Now she was lacking focus though.
Actually, that was a job for Amina's mother anyway, but the poor woman was at an end. All she could do was sitting at the table, crying and praying for her daughter to survive.
Arwen could understand her well. Aragorn's withdrawn expression and that the wrinkles of worry around his eyes just didn't go away, frightened her, too. The healing wasn't being successful as quickly as hoped.
Arwen had caught herself feeling like putting a hand on her belly more than once. The situation brought it home to her mercilessly what these Stewardaides bastards would want to do to her baby once they learned about it. No matter how much Arwen had enjoyed the trip at first, now she regretted ever taking even one step outside the city gates. She'd happily have accepted the boredom of her secure chambers now if that had only meant that these scumbags would never have laid hand on this girl.
Amina was not a part of this senseless fighting. She wasn't even a citizen who had taken anybody's side. She was just a child with no idea of the terrible things happening in the realm. They had used her as a figure on a board for their next move.
Shuddering, Arwen stroked her thigh the holster under her dress, with the dagger that she had been given by her father after having been kidnapped by the Stewardaides. Deep inside her, she knew with frightening certainty that she would very soon have to use the weapon.
To distract herself alone, she broke into a song again, but this time, it was not a cheerful one.
how the Valar graced you with their light
never to be torn from this world
no one shall cast their eyes upon you
and fail to be struck in awe
my voice shall be yours
my eyes see for you
my heart though still is mine
spread my wings to leave
chasing for my soul
chasing for my home
know that I'll always return
After a few lines, she had to stop because her voice was breaking again and again. And only now she realized what she should long have spotted from the comer of her eyes. "Aragorn, something's wrong." Pushing aside the worn curtains of the child's room, she gasped in shock.
Smoke was arising from the village edge. The sky was now glowing red far more intensely, and no longer in the light of sundown.
"By the Valar … They really dared to do it again."
"What?" Alarmed, Aragorn raised his head, then jumped up so abruptly that he woke Amina up whereupon she started to cry again. "Fire. The woods."
The parents startled up as well. The man foresaw the catastrophe just as quickly as the King.
Taur Adab was one of those places in this area that hadn't been planned, it had grown. A few farmhouses at the edge of the woods had multiplied, more and more new buildings being erected in a semi-circle in the small woodlot itself. Thanks to the long heat of the last few weeks and rain falling only sporadically, the flames would spread everywhere within a minimum of time ... including this village.