Disclaimer: I don't own them… damn, these disclaimers get boring to write after a while…
Things Worth Fighting For
Chapter 11
When they came to Dunharrow they were met by Dúnhere, chieftain of the folk of Harrowdale, and Grimbold of Westfold.
"My lord, I have with me 300 riders from Harrowdale," Dúnhere said.
"I bring 500 men from Westfold, my lord," Grimbold said, "and 300 have come from Fenmarch."
"Good," Théoden said.
"But where are the riders from the Snowbourn?" Éomer asked.
"None have come, Marshal," Grimbold replied.
The king and his heir rode side by side trough the encampment. "We need more riders than this shall we be of any good to Gondor," the king said.
"But there will come more, my lord," Éomer said. "I have sent orders to Aldburg that the riders I left there will wait for us on the Great West Road when we leave Dunharrow. Also the riders from the Folde will come ere the sun has set tonight."
Théoden nodded. "You are right. More riders will come ere we ride to Gondor."
"But if you would take my council you would remain here in the safety of Dunharrow until the war is over, lost or won," Éomer said in a low voice.
"Nay, my son, for so will I call you, speak not the soft words of Wormtongue in my old ear!" Théoden said. "Long years in the space of days it seems since I rode west; but never will I lean on a staff again. If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall, spending my last strength? But we will leave this now. Tonight I will lie in the Hold of Dunharrow. One evening of peace at least is left us."
Éomer said no more, although he wished his uncle would not go to war and perhaps die. If he survived the war he needed Théoden to help him to become a worthy heir of the throne of Rohan, and in the future the king.
Lothíriel was brushing Thalion and Éomer was not far from her as he unsaddled Firefoot. Éomer took the saddle and was about to put it away when Legolas and Gimli came.
"The horses are restless and the men are quiet," the Elf said.
"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," Éomer said and put the saddle away.
"That road there… where does that lead?" Gimli asked. He did not really look at Éomer. The vision of the marshal and the soldier at Edoras was still in his mind.
However it was not Éomer who answered. "That is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain," Legolas said.
Lothíriel looked at the road they spoke of. She looked at Éomer again. She could not determine whether he looked concerned or perhaps frightened.
"None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil," Éomer said. Legolas and Gimli nodded and left him with Lothíriel.
She looked at him. "The road to the Dimholt... is it the Paths of the Dead?"
Éomer looked at her, rather surprised that she had heard of it. He nodded. "So it is called. What do you know about it?"
"Only the few things I have heard," she replied. "What do you know about it?"
"What lies beyond that road no man knows, yet ancient legends, now seldom spoken, has somewhat to report. If these tales speak true that have come down from father to son in the House of Eorl, then the Door under Dwimorberg leads to a secret way that goes beneath the mountain to some forgotten end. But none have ventured in to search its secrets, since Baldor, son of Brego, passed the Door and was never seen among men again. A rash vow he spoke, as he drained the horn at that feast Brego made to hallow new-built Meduseld, and he came never to the high seat of which he was heir," Éomer told her.
Lothíriel nodded, finishing the brushing of Thalion. She had heard some of the Paths of the Dead, but not as Éomer told her, and then it had never been much. She cast a last glance at the Road to the Dimholt. She looked at Éomer again. "I know you have much to do with the king tonight, but can we not at least meet a while later. Let's saddle our horses and meet under the trees we passed on our way here, so that none may see us."
Éomer gave her a smile. "We will meet tonight then, my lady."
Éomer was seated at a fire with Éothain, Gamling, Legolas and Gimli. From a tent nearby he heard his sister's voice. "There. A true esquire of Rohan."
"I'm ready." It was the Hobbit, Merry.
Éomer shook his head. His sister was determined to make a rider out of that Hobbit. Swords and war was for soldiers. Men that had trained a long time to become riders. It was not for small Hobbits that had lived all their lives in a distant realm, with no war to worry about.
Éowyn practically pushed Merry out of the tent. "To the smithy. Go!" she smiled as the Hobbit walked away from the tent, waving the sword around him.
"You should not encourage him," Éomer said, not looking at her.
"And you should not doubt him," his sister repliedin the same tone.
"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm." It was true. The Hobbit was brave, but he did not belong in war. What difference would he make? How many hours of sword-training did he have when he was a boy? How many hours had he spent trying to become best with his sword and spear, and with his horse? Éomer knew that Meriadoc Brandybuck was not a soldier.
"Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you," Éowynsaid, her voice cold as steel. Then she continued with a more gentle voice. "Why should he not fight for those he loves?"
Éomer looked into the fire. No, Merry was no soldier, but he had a brave heart. He wanted to fight, but it would be his death. Their discussion had not gone unnoticed by those around the fire, but Éomer choose to ignore them. He rose and went over to his sister. "Sweostor, I mean not to say he does not want to or that he lacks courage, for that he does not. But I will ask you how many hours he has spent on the training field. How much time has he used to learn how to fight? Was his days filled with sword practice and learning how to kill Orcs when he was growing up? You know yourself how it was to learn to wield a sword. He did not grow up as we did." Éomer was about to walk away.
"Éomer, wait!" Éowyn stopped him by grabbing his arm. "I meant not to sound so harsh. I know what you mean. Perhaps he was not brought up to fight as you were, but I tell you that with the courage in his heart, perhaps he does not need more. He wants to defend his people and his loved ones. Perhaps that is all that needs to make a soldier."
"It motan beon so." And then he left.
Éomer quickly saddled Firefoot and rode to the woods where he had agreed to meet Lothíriel. He couldn't see her, but her white horse was nearby.
"You're late."
He turned around. Lothíriel was standing there, her hood thrown back and a seducing smile on her face.
"I am not; it is only you who are early," Éomer protested.
Lothíriel grinned. "Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not." Before he could think of a reply she had closed the space between them and kissed him.
Éomer smiled as they broke apart. "That was too long ago."
"My dear Marshal, you kissed me this morning," Lothíriel laughed.
"I know. It was too long," he muttered against her lips.
"The time we use to ride to Gondor will not be any easier," she said.
He looked at her. "You're not coming with us."
"Oh, I certainly am," Lothíriel said. "You said I could come…"
He cut her off. "I allowed you to come to Dunharrow. I did not use the words: 'of course you may come to Gondor with us and fight the Dark Lord to what will for certain be your death'. Have you lost all your senses? You are not coming."
"I can fight, I can take care of myself, and it's my decision, not yours! You don't own me, Éomer, son of Éomund! It is no less dangerous for you to ride to battle than it is for me. We have already had this discussion twice now. I am coming, and there's nothing you can do about it," she stared angrily at him.
"Why?" that was the only thing he asked.
"Why? Because Gondor is my country and I don't want to see the White City fall. I want to defend my people, just like you do." Lothíriel said. "And I don't want to be separated from you," she said in a whisper.
Éomer looked at her, gently wiping away a tear from her cheek. "Why do you cry, Liriel?" he asked gently.
"You ask a lot of stupid questions, Éomer," Lothíriel said with a small laugh, but it quickly faded. "I cry because I will die if you do not return. I cry because I cannot bear to be apart from you. If you do not return, I will die, Éomer. If we die, we will die together. That is why I must come with you," she looked him in the eyes. "I love you."
It was only a whisper, but he heard. He did not reply he simply kissed her very passionately. She responded to him and threw her arms around him, not daring to let him go. It was like the sky exploded above her head, for none of their kisses had ever been like this one.
When they parted he smiled at her. "We will not be parted," he whispered. "If we die, we die together. I love you too, Liriel."
Lothíriel smiled through her tears. "Amin mela lle."
"Ic freogan ge," he responded, before he kissed her again.
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were sitting outside Aragorn's tent near a fire. A question had been gnawing on Gimli since they left Edoras. He looked at Aragorn. Should I ask him, or should I not? I will perhaps get an answer, but the answer may not be a good one. Or perhaps it is quite common, but perhaps not healthy. It is like smoke! Both Men, Hobbits and Dwarves and even Wizards smoke, yet it is not healthy, or so Legolas tells me. Perhaps it is the same with a man kissing another man. It is not healthy, but for them it is as good as smoke. Oh, watch your thoughts, son of Glóín! It cannot be healthy to have such thoughts. I need an answer. Gimli turned at Aragorn. "Aragorn, I must ask you something."
"Of course, Gimli. Ask anything you want," Aragorn replied, not knowing how much he would regret those words.
"Is… eh… is it… I mean, you are a man, so you must know this," Gimli clear his throat. "Is it common for men to kiss men?"
The water flew out of Aragorn's mouth and he stared at his friend. Legolas looked shocked at him. He had cleaned his sword, but now his hands had gone still.
"What?" Aragorn did not believe what he had heard.
"Is it common for men to kiss other men?" Gimli repeated.
"Common? For men to kiss men? Why in the name of the Valar do you ask?" Aragorn asked.
"Well, it is only because I saw something…" Gimli started.
"What did you see?" Legolas interrupted.
"I, hm… I saw, well, it was a man kissing a man. That is what I saw once," Gimli said.
"What? When?" Aragorn asked.
"It was… well,at Edoras," Gimli answered.
"Who was it?" Legolas asked. He had never heard of such a thing before and he was repulsed by it. It was simply disgusting! In his opinion, men became weirder and weirder for each day.
"I do not think I should say it," Gimli said. "The man has a good reputation, and…"
"Do we know him?" Legolas asked.
"You may say so," Gimli answered.
"Who is it?" Aragorn asked.
"Éomer!" Gimli blurted out. It was not that he was under a lot of pressure from his friends to tell them, but he simply could not manage to be the only one who knew.
Aragorn and Legolas stared at each other.
"Let me see if I understand," Legolas said carefully. "We are talking of the same man now? He is tall, blond, young, Third Marshal and heir to the throne of Rohan?" Gimli nodded. "And you saw him kiss a man?" Gimli nodded again. "You must have knocked your head or something," the Elf muttered, wondering if his friend had been dreaming to come up with such a tale.
"It is true," Gimli protested. "I saw the Marshal kiss a man. All I wondered was if it was common."
"It is not," Aragorn muttered. He would never have thought such of Éomer. Since he first met him, he had respected the younger man very much. It was simply not a thing Aragorn would have thought about the other man. He looked at his friends. "Even if it is true, it is none of our business, and I hope we can keep it this way."
Éomer was still awake when riders entered the great encampment. He stopped them before they could come anywhere near the king's tent. "Halt! Halt! Who rides in such haste in Dunharrow? What is your purpose?"
A Man rode forth, but Éomer soon realized that it was not a Man, but an Elf. The Elf threw his hood back. "I am Elrond Halfelven, Lord of Rivendell. I seek the King of the Mark, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"And who rides with you, my lord? Surely you cannot expect me to give you permission to see my king, unless I know who are riding with you," Éomer said.
"With me ride Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North and thirty of his men. They are of Aragorn's own kin. With me are also my sons, Elladan and Elrohir. Will you now give me permission to see your king, soldier of Rohan?" Elrond asked.
"I will, for I believe you speak truthful and have no intention of doing the king harm," Éomer said and waited until Elrond had dismounted before he led the way.
"My lord?" Éomer asked and waited until Théoden told him to enter.
"Ah, Éomer, what brings you here at this hour?" the king asked.
"I will take my leave soon, my lord. This is Elrond of Rivendell," Éomer said.
Théoden looked at the Elf. "You may leave us, Éomer." Éomer bowed and left.
The Rangers had all dismounted and was giving their horses a rest. Éomer went over to them. "There is a stream over there if you wish to give water to your horses."
Their leader, Halbarad, smiled and nodded. "Thank you. The horses are as weary as we are."
Éomer nodded. "A long ride, I presume"
Halbarad nodded. "Indeed. I am Halbarad, Ranger of the North."
"I am Éomer, Third Marshal Riddermark," Éomer said and walked next to Halbarad as they lead their horses to the stream that came down from the mountain. "You havefine horses."
"We have, but I am sure the legendary horses of Rohan are no less than our own. It is said that the Rohirrim has the finest horses in all Middle-earth," Halbarad said and for as long as it took Elrond to talk to Aragorn, they discussed horses.
That night Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, the sons of Elrond, Halbarad and the Rangers left for the Paths of the Dead.
That morning Théoden said to Éomer: "Call the heralds, Éomer. Let the Riders be marshalled!"
Éomer nodded and went out, and presently the trumpets rang in the Hold and were answered by many others from below.
The King of the Mark mounted his proud horse, Snowmane, and readied to lead all his Riders on the eastward road. Hearts were heavy and many quailed in the shadow. But they were a stern people, loyal to their lord, and little weeping or murmuring was heard, even in the camp in the Hold where the women and children and old men from Edoras were housed, so that they would not be totally unprotected in Edoras. Doom hung over them, but they faced it silently.
On the wide flats beside the river were marshalled in many companies well nigh five and fifty hundreds of Riders fully armed, and many hundreds of other men with spare horses lightly burdened. A single trumpet sounded.
Then king raised his hand, and then silently the host of the Mark began to move. Foremost went twelve of the king's household-men, Riders of renown. Then the king followed with Éomer on his right. Behind them came first the men of Théoden's own éored and then came Éomer's éored. The other riders followed behind.
"From dark Dunharrow in the dim morning
with thane and captain rode Thengel's son:
to Edoras he came, the ancient halls
of the Mark-wardens mist-enshrouded;
golden timbers were in gloom mantled.
Farewell he bade to his free people,
hearth and high-seat, and the hallowed places,
where long he had feasted ere the light faded.
Forth rode the king, fear behind him,
fate before him. Fealty kept he,
oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them.
Forth rode Théoden. Five nights and days
east and onward rode the Eorlingas
through Folde and Fenmarch and the Firienwood,
six thousand spears to Sunlending.
Mundberg the mighty under Mindolluin,
Sea-kings' city in the South-kingdom
Foe-beleaguered, fire-encircled.
Doom drove them on. Darkness took them,
horse and horseman; hoofbeats afar
sank into silence: so the songs tell us."
Translations:
It motan bean so – It may be so
Amin mela lle – I love you
Ic freogan ge – I love you
Author's note: You probably know already that this song is taken from the books. I wanted to include the Rangers into this and the sons of Elrond, since they actually went with Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead. This was the only way I managed to accomplish that. Hope it worked. Dúnhere is an actual character from the books, so I don't own him.
Replies:
lady scribe of avandell: I loved writing that part about Gimli. Sounds like people liked reading it too. Again that breech/break thing was something I should have noticed. I'm afraid I'm too lazy to use my dictionary. I'm trying to change that. Hope this update is soon enough! I would have updated sooner, but school is taking a lot of my time. My holiday starts in fourteen days! Hurray!
Haldir's Heart and Soul: Well, none of the Rohirrim have actually been to Dol Amroth and seen the princess. Aragorn spend time in Gondor before she was born, and then he was not much in Dol Amroth anyway. Legolas and Gimli probably didn't travel so much in Gondor before the war, so it is not unlikely that no one recognize her.
Lady Anck-su-namun: I love how Gimli saw them too. It was so funny to write. Thanks for all your encouragement!
EruntaleofRohan: It seems like everyone liked the thing about Gimli. It was funny to write it too. Thanks for your encouragement and keep reviewing, then I'll keep writing.