Chapter V: Cat and Mouse
Part I: I Know
~2979 TA Minas Tirith~
Aragorn was playing with the child that sat upon Finduilas' lap. His name was Boromir and had been born the previous winter. He sensed a great warrior in the tiny hand that gripped his finger. He softly sang a lullaby Elrond used to sing to him when he was little. Boromir looked much like Denethor in face. Now that Finduilas was married, he kept his visits to her down to a minimum and always made sure someone else was there when he called. Nevertheless, the rumors still circulated. His thoughts strayed to Arwen and he wondered if he were to be blessed with little ones of his own. "Thorongil? Thorongil?" he became aware that Ecthelion was calling to him. "Are you well, Thorongil? You look pale. In fact, you always seem to be tired lately. Perhaps you should see the healers."
"I am fine, my Lord. I have not been sleeping well lately."
"Is there any trouble? Can I help in some way?"
Thorongil shook his head. "I just need a good night's sleep." Or so he believed. He had tried some sleeping draughts, but they only helped for a short while and he would wake in the night certain he had heard the voice of Halbarad calling him. Some nights it was Elrond and on rare occasions, Arwen. He never could make much sense of it and therefore dismissed it as his imagination. Finduilas remarked on the song he had been singing. He smiled and began another verse of the lullaby when a messenger boy called to him and handed a sealed envelope to him. It was plain and unmarked. It had better be from that confounded wizard, he thought to himself. But it was not. The paper was from Rivendell but it was neither from Elrond nor his mother. The letter was rather cryptic and hard to read. It had obviously been written haste and the ink was smeared in several places with some serious misspellings.
Cous-
I had a dreem…something about water and drowning…Mordor's shado is deapining I fear.
It may only be a dreem dream but…be cashus. Don't give up hope.
Denth cent spy to…apreehanded him. All is well, but we nede you. I hope you ar well. Pleec kom home soon.
~Hal
P.S.: Stay away frum watre water. Don not even take bath.
Love, Hal
He raised an eyebrow as he tried to make sense of the thing. Frankly, he did not even know Halbarad could even write.
Denethor looked down on the trio sitting by the fountain from a window of the Citadel. He too had noticed Thorongil's lack of sleep and it was beginning to show in his work. He had been wounded in a recent battle with some Haradrim on the borders of Gondor not too long ago. Not once had he ever seen Thorongil injured so. He got the odd knick and scrape here and there, but nothing serious. He never even seemed to get a sniffle. Not even when there was an outbreak of the flu a few years ago. Dolenbor had not returned yet and Denethor began to wonder if he had run afoul some evil and was slain. He watched as a messenger brought a letter to Thorongil but he could not tell what it said. He watched as Thorongil excuse himself and stand off to the side as he read the letter. Thorongil never got letters, except the odd note from Mithrandir. Denethor walked to the nearest guard coming off duty and said that he wanted Dolenbor as soon as he was found.
A short time later, a man in haggard appearance was brought before him. "My Lord Denethor," he saluted with his hand upon his chest.
"Have you been back long?" Denethor asked casually.
"No, my Lord."
Denethor sat down and put one foot on a stool. "Hmm and what have you found out?"
"I found nothing, my Lord."
Denethor read his face carefully, "You are a poor liar Dolenbor, but I shall give you a chance to redeem yourself." Dolenbor trembled
"My Lord, truly I found nothing more about him personally. I know he is one of our northern kindred. They call are called Rangers by the people and are largely feared and even hated. Three of them I found in a village called Bree. It was far to the north. The tallest of the three at first lead me to believe that he was Thorongil by calling himself Estel, but it did not work since I knew that Thorongil is Estel. Later I found him out to be in fact Thorongil's cousin."
"The son of his uncle?"
"I know not. They caught me eavesdropping and made me their prisoner. Thorongil's cousin later took pity on me and let me go."
Denethor's eyes narrowed. He examined the man before him. He was tired and careworn. His clothes were disheveled and mussed and the clothes of a man from Gondor. They were of strange make. "Strange clothes you are wearing."
"They took me to a beautiful place with elves, though I saw naught but three or four of them the whole time I was there as I was confined to a small room."
"This, place…do you know what it was called?"
"No, but I heard the name 'Elrond' mentioned a time or two."
Denethor produced some coin and held it out to Dolenbor. "For your services, such as they were." Dolenbor just stood there looking at the floor. "What do you want if not coin?"
"I would like to return to the north, if it is alright with you, Lord." Denethor considered it.
He waved his hand and released him from his service, "Go, I release you." The man was a poor soldier anyway. The fool had revealed to him more than he could know. How he had convinced this cousin to release him, he did not care. He did care about the coincidence of a letter arriving the same morning Dolenbor returned to Gondor and he did not like it. He walked back over to the window and peered out. His eyes instantly met with those of Thorongil's whose face seemed none too happy. No, he did not like it one bit.
oOo
Aragorn was roused from sleep by a thumping sound. He decided to ignore it, so he rolled over and pulled the blanket up to his chin. The knocking got even louder and he heard a voice say, "Up you slugabed! You just missed a very important meeting with the Steward."
"Gandalf!" Aragorn sat up, "It is about time! Stop banging your stick on my bed and tell me what you have found!"
"As you wish, my liege," Gandalf gave a slight bow eliciting a glare from the ranger. "First of all, the Steward has decided to grant you your request to go after the Corsairs." The wizard sat down in a chair and pulled out his pipe. Aragorn watched him slowly fill his pipe, light it, and sit there puffing on it. Gandalf seemed to be in thought, or he was teasing the young chieftain, Aragorn could not tell, so he crossed his arms and sat back against the headboard and waited. Gandalf took the pipe from his mouth and looked at him with a gleam in his eye. "I see you have learned patience while I was away."
"You are mistaken. I learned this patience from having to help Erestor catalogue scrolls when he wasn't teaching me arithmetic."
"A bit touchy are we this morning?"
"I was having the best sleep I have had in over a month and here you come after years of absence like no time has passed and wake me up by banging on my bed with a stick."
"I feel I must offer my apologies."
"Accepted, now tell me about the Corsairs."
"It was not an easy task you beset me with."
"I beset you?"
"It was not until late last year I began to hear rumors of black ships in the south and it was not until a few days ago that I found someone willing to offer testimony of their existence. Now we have our hands full. I could not help but notice the ships as I came in. However did you manage to pull that off?"
"I didn't. Denethor unexpectedly rallied to our side concerning their destruction a few weeks after you left. Speaking of Denethor, he has been sending spies to the north seeking information about me. I can't tell if he has found out anything."
"How did you discover he was sending spies?"
"Halbarad caught one and sent me a letter. Did you know he could write? Granted I had a tough time figuring it out, but I have to give him credit."
"Was that all he said?"
"Some paranoia about water, but he also had this dream about Mordor. I think it would be well to look into that business over there before I head for home."
"When will that be?"
"When I feel I can leave Gondor in peace for awhile."
The night before he was to depart for Umbar, Thorongil was invited to dine in the house of the Steward. The fare was cordial but Aragorn would not have called it a feast and he was reminded of the meals he had at home. He felt as if he could eat a whole barrel of collard greens in exchange for just one of Brethil's sticky buns. The memory of Glorfindel's face when he was told he had to eat them as well was made Thorongil smile. Often of late, he was reminded of his time in Rivendell and every time his longing for home worsened. Then he remembered the reason Rivendell could no longer be a home to him and he snapped out of his reverie. To his surprise, Adrahil and his wife were in attendance. He not met the mother of Finduilas before. He had been away at the time of the wedding and was not back in the White City until after the festivities were over and most people had gone back to their homes, including Adrahil's wife, Aeriel. The company at present talked about this and that. Aragorn did not input much on anything unless asked directly. Food was for eating and he did not care for it to be cold.
"Are you married, Thorongil?" asked Aeriel.
Thorongil put down his fork and after taking a sip of wine (not elven) and a use of his napkin, he answered: 'No, ma'am, I've not had the pleasure of marriage."
"What a shame," she declared, "Everyone ought to get married. You should marry, in fact, I know a couple of very eligible, very pretty young ladies that would turn even the most astute bachelor's eye."
"Thank you, but I am not looking to get married."
"For Eru's sake, why not?"
"I think it pointless to get married and then go off and die a short time later on the field of battle and in so doing, leaving behind a grieving young widow with nothing but a squalling babe whom she now has to take care of by herself."
"Do you bear so much contempt for the husband then for something that was not in his control? If he was going to defend his family…"
"On the contrary, I blame the creatures that killed him and the abominations that sent them to do it. Therefore, I have decided to fight the battle and protect his family so he won't have to and he can live a long peaceful life."
The meal was ended and everyone retired to the parlour. The ladies talked and the men played yanta, a game that is very much like our game of bridge today. After a few a few rounds of yanta, the ladies bid their farewells and retired for the night. Ecthelion asked Adrahil if he would assist him, for he decided a walk before bed would do him some good. Only Denethor and Thorongil were left in the room. Denethor went and stood by the window looking down into a small garden. Denethor's nose crinkled at the offending odor of the pipeweed. He turned to find the source of the smell to find that Thorongil had settled himself on a couch and puffing on the borrowed pipe in thought.
"Must you?" he asked in agitation.
Aragorn took the pipe out of his mouth and after a moment, shrugged and said, "I suppose not." He promptly extinguished the pipe and put it away. Denethor took a soft chair across a low table from Thorongil.
Denethor murmured, "Your father."
"Hmm?" Aragorn straightened.
"Oh, nothing, forget it."
"You said something about my father."
Curse his sharp hearing. "During dinner, you were talking about your father."
"I was speaking of every man who has and will be slain," Thorongil responded nonchalantly, but it was clear to Denethor he had struck a nerve.
"Come now, the tone of your voice when you answered Aeriel was plain enough, even if the others did not catch it, I did."
"So my father died in battle, what interest is that to you?"
"Nothing, really, though it sounded as if the attack was directed solely at your father. Who could he have angered so that someone would have ordered his death and what were these monsters I wonder? Orcs?"
"They are common in the north. They raid, pillage, and plunder every place they can. All you have to do is kill a few of them to turn their ire upon yourself."
"But you said someone sent them to do it."
"What are you getting at, Denethor? I know of your spies and it was only a matter of time before you convinced Finduilas to tell you what she knew."
"Very well," Denethor stood, "You may be able to fool my father with your lowly servant disguise, but I see through you. To be fair, you made it a little difficult." Aragorn was silent with his arms crossed. "When I become Steward, you are going to find yourself so busy, you won't have time to consort with wizards and have your private counsels with each other concerning my city. If you so much as glance at the throne with the intent in your eyes to take it, I will not give it up willingly."
"It is not yours to deny the right if proven true."
"Let's face it, father is old and it is only a matter of time before I am made steward of Gondor. Gondor has no use for its kings anymore they have served their purpose. The stewards have ruled for so long the people have forgotten what it is like to have a king, therefore many of the people will side with the one they expect to lead them when Ecthelion passes."
"I would not risk a civil war. Gondor would not survive."
"Nor would I…but nor would I see you sit on that throne and be my Lord."
"You can put your mind at ease, for I am leaving Gondor as soon as possible."
Denethor smiled smugly, "You swore an oath."
"I did, and by leaving Gondor I can fulfill that oath. Your father knew I was going to leave when I saw fit. I told him so from the beginning, though I know he hoped I might stay for the rest of my life, he granted me the right. After all, I am just a sell-sword. Good evening." Aragorn left the steward's son alone in the parlour.
*Aeriel not Ariel…Shame on you thinking I'm talking about that scantily clad redheaded fish woman. Aer= sea, iel= garlanded maiden. (assuming she was born and raised on the coast same as her daughter.)
oOo
Part II: Corsairs
A burst of lightning aroused Aragorn from his slumber followed by a light drizzle. He must have dozed off to the slow rocking of the ship. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stood from where he had sat leaning against the railing and gazed out over the river. The sun was setting when he had slumbered off and now the stars were shining brightly in the sky. As he gazed out his eyes searched for Earendil, the star of his ancestor and of the elves, but find it he did not, nor any of the other stars he knew. He glanced around, searching for a single star whose name he knew from childhood. "Is there a problem, Thorongil?" The helmsman of the ship came and stood beside Thorongil.
"The stars are strange," he answered remorsefully.
The helmsman looked up, confused, but he shrugged it off. He had heard that the Captain Thorongil had a few oddities about him. Yet there was no one anyone trusted more than Thorongil, except perhaps Denethor. He clasped a hand on Thorongil's shoulder, "You should get some sleep."
Thorongil sighed and with one more mournful look at the sky went to bunk for the night. Tossing and turning, he could not go back to sleep. It was useless. He had to get up in a few hours anyway as they would be arriving at their destination soon. After pulling his bag close to him, he took his sword from his sheathe and made sure it was cleaned and sharpened. Then he emptied out his bag and reorganized it. His hand fell on the small leather medicinal pouch he had carried with him all these years. It was a gift from Lord Elrond when he had learned all the names and preparation of various herbs and remedies. It was artistically inscribed with the elvish letter "E". He once had thought it had stood for "Estel", but Elladan had told him it had once belonged to Elros. Elrond had presented it to his brother long before Aragorn's time, when Elros had decided to become the king of the Númenoreans. Elladan knew not how his father had come back into possession of it, but it was now returned to the rightful owner and heir. He placed it lovingly back into his bag wishing he was back in Rivendell with the old elf right now listening to his gentle voice tell him tales of old or speaking of things yet to come. He rose from his bunk. It was time.
Gliding silently upon the water the ships of Gondor came to Umbar. All was quiet on shore and naught but a few torches and braziers lit here and there. Aragorn climbed over the rail of his ship and boldly jumped to the corsair ship closest to theirs. His hands caught onto the molding of the stern and pulled himself high enough to look see the coast was clear. After pulling himself all the way on board, he tied the end of a rope that was around his waist securely to the stern so the others could cross over carefully. From a skin slung on his back, he poured a liquid called mednaur by the elves. It would burn with great heat when fire was set to it and known to explode if not handled properly. The other ships he had brought with him were also soaking the enemy ships with mednaur. They would not light them until every ship was covered in it and everyone was back onboard their own ships. He had a cloth tied around the lower part of his face as it was dangerous to inhale the fumes. He emptied out a second skin then crouched near the gangplank to keep watch for patrols while others emptied skin after skin of mednaur. Come on, come on, come on. He waited impatiently. It was taking longer than he had estimated.
A light went up on his right. One of the other ships had been set afire. Cursing, he drew his sword from his sheath. The Corsairs were alerted to their presence now. "Go! Light the ships!"
"What about you captain?"
"That's an order!" The men dropped the skins of mednaur they were holding and headed for the rope. As the men crossed back over the water on the rope, Thorongil made his way down the gangplank. A thick, muscular man was making his way up the gangplank with a spiked cudgel. His face was tattooed and his head bald save a small portion on the back of his head that was braided. The captain of the haven very much hated men of Gondor. Therefore, he would relish killing this skinny one with his long legs and bright eyes. He swung his cudgel at Thorongil to hit him in the head. Thorongil raised his sword in time to block the blow and then hastily blocked another blow. The hastiness of his block caused one of the spikes to tear into his shoulder. All he could do was block as he was backed up towards the ship. Nearly back on the ship, it was set alight. It quickly caught fire and spread even quicker. Skins exploded when the flames reached them. One being near the mast was mostly full. The mast fell towards the two men fighting on the gangplank. Aragorn jumped off into the water below, pieces of wood fell into the water on either side of him. He broke surface and headed for shore. A hand grabbed him by the hair as he climbed onto the dock and dragged him the rest of the way.
"Gotcha, bright eyes!" laughed the man if Umbar. As the man made to strike him down with his cudgel, Aragorn head butted him, which he regretted for a moment. Though he had succeeded in forcing him to let go and also stunning him, he had momentarily stunned himself as well. Note to self: head butting is for special occasions. He shook it off and swung his sword at the captain who had also recovered. The light from the burning ships made it appear almost as daylight. As the two fought upon the quays, the men from Minas Tirith managed to set alight more of their ships and others helped fight off the enemy fighters that had come to defend their ships. Aragorn injured the man he fought who bent to the ground in pain. Aragorn took this moment to assess the battle. Many of the Corsair ships were sinking into the deep. He saw one of his men fall and ordered the retreat. He turned around in time to stick his sword into the captain of the haven who had risen and sought to try to kill the bright eyes once more. He fell to the ground dead and Aragorn made his way to the nearest ship. Their ships were turned about and retreated as fast as their ships could carry them towards Pelargir.
"All right, who's alive and who's dead?" he asked as soon as they were on their way. "Iorlas? Haldar? Alcarin? Each responded accordingly as he inquired of them. Only two did not answer, Berglos of Lossarnach and Mabrith from the northern lands of Gondor. No one was severely injured, just a few scratched here and there. Aragorn propped himself up against a barrel near the wheel.
"If anyone else had told me that this could have worked, I would have laughed at them. You boy, take the wheel," the helmsman called to one of his crew.
"I'm just glad it's over and done with."
"There will be some celebrating in Gondor over this victory to be sure. You are hurt," the helmsman saw the injury the cudgel had done to Thorongil's shoulder.
Aragorn dismissed it as being 'just a scratch.'
"If that's 'just a scratch' I'm a three-horned flying thaur lossadan. You go get that tended to, go on." The helmsman shooed the ranger away and Aragorn permitted himself to be shooed. It was not very deep, but should still be tended to. He went below deck to his bunk after finding some water he could use to cleanse the wound. Removing his tunic, he examined it closely at a small mirror that hung on the wall. It had stopped bleeding and as he had thought before, it was not so bad. He had seen far worse. Looking into the mirror, he looked at himself as if he had never done so before. Surprised and fitting, he noticed the level of sadness and sternness that had settled upon his features. He looked worn and frazzled. He was thinner too, his skin was pale, he was dirty, and he was, ugh, wet. How do I always manage to end up wet when I am unable to change? He removed his medical bag from his pack and set to work dressing the wound. When that had been taken care of, he took off the rest of his wet things, hung them to dry, and wrapped himself in a blanket. Sitting upon his bunk, he decided to have a smoke before bed. He searched his bag and then his wet clothes. Under the bunk? No. Where did I put it? He cast about the small room searching for it until he remembered it was in one of his pockets when he was fighting. It must have fallen out when he went into the water. He sighed and lay down on his bunk and went to sleep. He owed the wizard a new pipe.
Their arrival in Pelargir was met with cheers. There they rested for a short time. In the meantime, news of their victory had been sent to Minas Tirith and word that Ecthelion was going to hold a great feast and many other honors for Thorongil spread like wildfire. The day came for them to set sail once more for the white city. "Would you do a favor for me, helmsman?" Thorongil asked the helmsman.
"Anything, Captain."
"Take the boat to the other side of the river." The helmsman directed the boat to the other side. Once there, Aragorn let down a rope. "I need you to take a message for me to Ecthelion."
"You'll be seeing him in a few days, you can tell him then."
"No, I won't be." He gave the message to the helmsman and said goodbye to the crew and all that were aboard. Then he climbed down the rope to the shore. He adjusted his pack and headed eastward, not once looking back. The men looked on in wonder and grieved, for he was headed towards the land of shadow. They wondered what could have called him towards such perils. A few people thought he must have really been a spy from Mordor, but they were ignored and no one listened to them. Four years later the steward Ecthelion II dies and his son succeeds him. Three years after the departure of Thorongil, Finduilas gave birth to another son, whom she called Faramir. But it was only five years later when the fears of her handmaiden came true and she died young, much to the grief of her husband.
What Aragorn sought in the land of Shadow, he told none but Elrond. But it was rumored that Sauron had once again taken home there.