Chance Encounter

Disclaimer: I don't own Balian, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas etc…not even Guy. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 30: The Pieces are Moving

Pippin listened to Balian's declaration with some distress. Hobbits had keen hearing and he could not imagine how it would feel to spend the rest of his life without sound. He didn't think he would be able to bear it, not being able to hear the chatter and singing of his friends. Gandalf was speaking very slowly and clearly to the blacksmith so that Balian could read his lips. He accompanied his speech with gestures to make himself more understandable.

Balian focused on the movements intently with his brow creased in a frown. Not being used to this, it took a while for him to comprehend what the wizard wanted to tell him.

"I want you to come with me to the infirmary," Gandalf was saying. He expected the usual barrage of protestations but Balian just nodded and followed him.

Like the rest of Minas Tirith, the Houses of Healing were predominantly white. Many men were already there, their hurts being tended to by bustling healers in stiff white caps and aprons.

Gandalf indicated for Balian to sit on an empty bed then asked for paper and a quill. The wizard figured it would be much faster to write down what he wanted to know than to teach the man to lip-read.

'When did you first notice that you could not hear?' wrote the wizard. Balian thought for a moment.

"After coming into Minas Tirith," he said "but I think I lost my hearing before that."

'What happened before?' wrote Gandalf. Balian frowned as he tried to remember.

"The dragons, and their riders," he said. "The riders were screaming. It was so loud. That is the last thing that I can remember hearing."

Gandalf sighed inwardly in relief. This was a common affliction among soldiers who knew nothing about Nazgul. He wondered why the Gondorians had not given Balian the tonic that would have prevented it. Probably Denethor had withheld it on purpose. The Steward was not very generous towards the young man who had been Boromir's friend. 'The deafness is temporary,' he wrote. 'The screams of the Nazgul have robbed you of your hearing but only for a few days. It happens when the ears are exposed for too long to the sound.'

"Thank God," breathed the blacksmith. Gandalf patted him on the shoulder. No doubt Balian had been too occupied with the fighting to protect his ears. The man got up and they walked out of the Houses of Healing to make room for more of the wounded men.

Faramir and Pippin were waiting outside. "Is he alright?" asked Pippin as soon as he glimpsed them.

"He is fine," said Gandalf "or will be in a few days."

"Nazgul," said Faramir understandingly, wondering why the man had not been given the prevention tonic.

Balian was not concentrating on the exchange about his health and wellbeing. A flicker of light had caught his attention. From the top of the tallest tower in all of Minas Tirith, a fierce fire blazed as if hope had been kindled, driving away the gloom. "The beacons…" he said to no one in particular. His mouth was turned up in a soft smile. Aragorn would come, along with Legolas and Gimli. They would not be fighting the war alone. There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Gandalf who was also smiling. "Yes," he said, moving his lips slowly and deliberately. "The beacons are lit. Hope is coming."

Sitting on the steps of Meduseld, Aragorn chewed on the stem of his pipe. He glanced up at the beacon on the mountain top and then leapt to his feet. The fire was blazing. Dropping his pipe, he ran up the stone steps, pushing pas anyone in his way. There was no time for courtesy. He would apologize later. The ranger shoved the doors open and burst into the middle of a discussion. There was silence as he tumbled in. He noticed his friends sitting in a corner and having a conversation with Guy. His mind was too occupied to question the absurdness of it. All eyes were fixed upon him.

"The beacons are lit!" shouted Aragorn. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Everyone turned their gazes to Théoden, waiting for his response. Not so long ago, the King had been rather reluctant to help Gondor. They needn't have worried. Théoden's sense of duty and honour prevailed. "And Rohan will answer!" he said. "Muster the Rohirrim! We ride for Gondor, and war!"

Upon hearing this, Guy visibly blanched and Legolas and Gimli grinned at each other, sharing a private joke. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at them. He had no doubt as to who the victim of their prank was. Balian's archenemy rushed out of the Hall. The ranger watched him go. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We have been conversing with Master Guy, that's all," said Legolas.

"He wanted to know more about Middle Earth," said Gimli. "So, being the kind and generous people that we are, we instructed him, free of charge."

"That still does not explain his strange behaviour," said Aragorn. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much," said Legolas. "We told him about Mordor, and Sauron's army, although the facts and numbers might have been slightly off… and, oh, before I forget, it turns out that Gimli is an expert on the process of making and breeding orcs. He is rather creative, I might add."

"I made it all up on the spot," said the dwarf smugly. "I replaced 'elves' with 'men'. I hope you don't mind, lad."

"No offence taken," said Legolas quickly.

"I wasn't talking to you, elf."

"Will you two ever grow up?" demanded Aragorn. "It's not a good idea to frighten a comrade out of his wits right before battle."

"But we were bored!" protested Legolas. "Did you see the look on Guy's face when the King declared war on Mordor? It was priceless! Anyway, since when did Guy become our comrade?"

"Since the day we found him," said Aragorn.

"I'm sure Balian will have something to say about that if he heard you," said Gimli. "Even he baits Guy."

"Balian is not half as potent as you two," said Aragorn. "And his actions are justified. Guy baits him more than he baits Guy."

"We were just giving the boy a hand," said Gimli defensively.

"That hapless man has no idea how to bait anyone," added Legolas fondly.

"Look," said Aragorn. "I am not going to argue with you. That would just be a futile action on my part. I need to prepare for the ride to Minas Tirith and so do you. Please, just do me a favour and don't bait Guy until after the war."

Guy's hands almost trembled as he tightened the girth on Cynebald. The horse laid his ears back and snorted. Were the Rohirrim mad? How could they possibly fight an enemy as powerful and ruthless as Sauron? Well, they could, but they would all die in the process. He was not ready to die, or worse, be tortured and mutilated until he became one of those foul monsters. Try as he might, Guy could not purge the images that the elf and dwarf had put into his head with their terrible stories of the Dark Lord's might and cruelty. It never occurred to him that they might not have told him the exact truth. He was so frightened that he was almost ready to flee and risk the reputation of a coward. All around him, men were getting ready for war. Armour was being strapped on, swords were being sharpened. The clanging and scraping of metal set him on the edge and made him sick in the stomach. These idiots were riding to their deaths and taking him along with them. Even the little midget, or hobbit, or whatever they called him, was preparing for war. 'His name is Mary,' Guy reminded himself. The others became incensed when he called him 'midget', even though in Guy's opinion, Mary was not any better. For God's sake, the hobbit was male.

"Stop standing there!" barked the man called Éomer. "Hurry up! We ride for war on the third day and it is two days' ride to Dunharrow." Guy found him uncouth and threatening. What sort of civilized man would have hair that long? He bit back a retort. He had a feeling that, unlike Balian's other friends, this one would not hesitate to kill him. The man's sister wasn't bad though, if only she could not wield a sword. Guy wouldn't have minded taking her to bed, except she'd probably try to castrate him if he so much as tried to touch her. Unlike Sibylla, this one would probably succeed in doing some irreversible damage.

Éomer shook his head and walked away. There was no way to know what was going on inside that man's head. He was dangerous, the Third Marshal knew that much. It would be so much easier to throttle him but the King had insisted that he be taken along. "We need every man able to ride and bear arms," Théoden had said. Éomer had replied that they would be doing the man a favour if they left him behind. The man looked as if he wanted to run instead of fight. Now Éowyn was an entirely different matter, although she was no less trouble. His sister had begged him to let her fight alongside the men. He had refused, of course, and now she was not speaking to him. It was all Théodred's fault really.

When both of them had been children, their cousin had trained Éowyn in the skills of battle, and had told her that she could probably hold her own against any of the boys. Théodred might have passed on but his legacy was very much alive. Éomer hoped that by the time the men were to ride for Gondor, Éowyn would come to her senses and resign herself to the task of guarding Edoras. Somehow, he just couldn't see it happening.

Balian spent his convalescence wandering around the city. Even here, the stories of his ventures had spread. People nodded to him in greeting as he walked through the streets. Although complete silence was alien to him, it was not unpleasant in any way, now that he knew it was temporary.

Through his explorations, he had found the other side of life in Minas Tirith. There was much poverty in the lower levels, especially around the back of the city, where it could not be easily seen. There were establishments of debatable morality and more than once he had been invited into them, only he had declined as politely as possible. There, in the dark corners, beggars lurked, reaching out filthy skeletal hands for alms. Some of the emaciated vagabonds had tried to surround him to force him to give them the money, but they had retreated when he reached for his sword.

Here, the stones were so stained with filth that they were no longer white but slimy and dark. Piles of refuse littered the sides of the streets. No light reached these places. As he walked past them, it seemed as if tendrils of darkness and despair reached out to grab him. The people who lived there watched as he passed. The whites of their eyes were the only things that gleamed as they took in his garb and especially the ruby in the hilt of his sword.

'I shall tell Aragorn of this when he comes,' thought Balian. 'As King, he will do something to dispel this darkness, or else he is Aragorn.'

Even in the more prosperous parts of the city, anxiety weighed down on everyone, casting a shadow on their lives. With the fall of Osgiliath, there was nothing between Minas Tirith and Mordor save for a vast expanse of flat land in the form of the Fields of Pelennor. They could be easily conquered. Already, the dark cloud of Mordor was spreading its shadow westward. The blacksmith regarded it, deep in thought. The war, the real war, was about to begin and it seemed that Gondor's last stand would be at Minas Tirith. Even now, Denethor could not seem to accept this. The deranged steward had proposed, and ordered, a suicidal move. Earlier that day, Balian had been among the crowds on the streets as they bade farewell to the troops. Faramir, now in armour, had led a contingent of two hundred men out of the city in a futile attempt to reclaim Osgiliath.

Due to his temporary deafness, Balian had been exempted by Denethor —courtesy of Gandalf— and both the wizard and Faramir had explicitly ordered him to stay in the city. The crowds had thrown flowers into the path of the soldiers, knowing in their hearts that most of those men would never come home again. It had been a sombre, almost funereal, procession. So many sons and brothers and fathers to be sacrificed to a lost cause. It made Balian feel sick at heart. This was just like the march to Hattin, a move that he had spoken up against. It seemed as if there would be another massacre, just like Hattin.

The whiteness of the city reflected the emptiness of its citizens' hearts. They had lost hope.High above in the sky, crows and other carrion eating birds reeled, cawing harshly. It seemed as if even the beasts knew. Balian started. He could hear again. His hearing had returned as suddenly as it had gone. He knew he should be rejoicing, but all he could feel was anxiety for Faramir and his troops. Pushing his way through the throng of human bodies, he made his way to the wall of the fifth level and peered out across the fields. There, alone as a few boats lost on a sea of dark grass, were Faramir and his men riding to their doom. The small silver shapes looked so small, so helpless. The captain had arranged his men into two lines. The ominous shape of the broken Osgiliath lay before them, tainted by darkness. Soon, the Gondorians were within range of the orcs' bows.

The blacksmith's heart hammered against his ribs as if demanding to be let out. He gripped the wall so hard that his knuckles were as white as the stone and the hard edges dug into his hands, making imprints. Try as he might, Balian could not tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him. Everything happened as if time had slowed until it was as thick and sluggish as syrup, allowing the young man to take in every tormenting detail. The silver figures fell from their steeds to lie still on the plain. No one was spared. One of them, his foot still in the stirrup, was dragged away by his terrified steed into the distance. Then, once the men were down, orcs swarmed out of Osgiliath like a dark wave of pestilence and overwhelmed the silver bodies. When the wave retreated, the bodies were gone, as if they had been washed away by the foul tide.

Balian's hands went slack. Faramir was lost. Made numb by grief, he charged through the crowds to prepare for battle. With Gondor's captain gone, Mordor would be ready to strike.

Many Rohirrim riders had already gathered at Dunharrow when the King's company arrived. Guy was unimpressed. The entire force was small and disorganized, unlike his own army which had been lost at Hattin. Men and horses were everywhere. The King's company made camp higher up on a plateau which was backed by stiff stone cliffs. A path led into the mountains behind them. It made Guy's skin crawl. There was something out there, something which he did not know and could not see, and that frightened him more than anything. Even the horses and the other men shied from it, so the former king could assure himself that there was really something wrong and that he was not a coward.

Guy had been left to erect the tent which he was to share with the other members of the Fellowship while Legolas and Gimli tended to their mounts. Aragorn was with the King, discussing tactics and strategies. "I wish I had an army of dwarves, fully armed and filthy," said Gimli as he smoked and watched Legolas check the hooves of the horses for rocks and other irritants.

"Your kinsmen may have no need to ride to war," said the elf sadly. "I fear that war already marches on their own lands." He was not talking about the dwarves only. For years, his people had fought off the darkness that threatened to engulf their home. His mind often wandered back to his beloved forest, wondering how his people were faring.

Gimli blew out a cloud of smoke. His eyes were worried. "I'm going to find Aragorn," he said, getting up. "That lad has been away for long enough."

That night, Guy slept fitfully, assailed by dreams. In his nightmares, the path that led into the mountains became the path that led into Hell. When he woke for the tenth time, panting and sweating, he gave up on rest, dressed and went outside, only to see Legolas and Gimli saddling their horse.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"With Aragorn," said the elf curtly, not looking up.

"Why?"

"Because he's going to find an army and he's not going without us," said Gimli. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Oh yes it is," said Guy, quickly readying Cynebald. "You're not fleeing from the battle without me, that's for sure. Do you really take me for a simpleton?"

Legolas and Gimli looked at each other in exasperation. They had hoped to escape Guy as well as help Aragorn. Then Legolas' eyes took on an all too familiar gleam. An idea had formed in the elf's sharp mind.

"Fine, come with us if you want," he said. "Why should I care?"

It would be most interesting to see how the arrogant bastard would react to the Paths of the Dead.

A/N: For those of you who were a bit confused last time, Balian's deafness was caused by the Nazguls' screaming. And did you really think that I would leave him deaf forever? I love him too much to do that to him. A few chapters before, I promised compensation to those who wanted to put Balian through the Paths of the Dead. Here it is…someone else in Balian's place. By the way, does anyone know anything about Hattin? Not the battle but the place. I'm doing a project on the battle site and I need all the help that I can get. Please review and tell me what you think!