Chapter 18: A Missive

He sprawled out across the furs on the ground, stretching his joints. Drust had promised him that the usurpers would stop after a time, but he did not think they would have tried so long after he had beaten the last king. It had been almost two months since Feredir had challenged the last King on Drust's request. The man had pressganged him into service after his men had found him bleeding out in the wilderness, far north of the Dunlending territory.

The Wildman had certain motives to befriend the Northerner. He had travelled enough in the North to know a Ranger when he saw one. He had heard the stories of the Dúnedain, skilled in battle from years of training with elves and in the harsh winters of the North. It had been them who were keeping the trolls and goblins and orcs from descending down upon their Southern lands. Their villages produced men and women as ruthless as any Dunlending and as cunning as any elf in Mirkwood.

For all of Wulfric's strength, their former King had no true strategy. Relying on strength and bloodlust alone had allowed him to beat out his opponents quickly, but he had been no match for someone trained the way Feredir had been trained. Wulfric had never fought the monsters and men that the Northerner had fought and from learning the experiences of the Dúnadan, he had chosen his champion. Drust knew immediately that Feredir had the power to rally their troops for more thought out operations as opposed to raiding and pillaging.

It had been a swift, but bloody victory for Feredir. He, however, received far too many blows for his liking, but he based that on Drust's underestimating Wulfric's abilities when he had been explaining to him what the situation was. Drust had explained to him that a simple defeat was not something that the Dunlendings would take seriously. Death had to come to one of the combatants and a head their trophy.

When Feredir had beheaded his foe, he smeared the King's blood across his face, mostly as show but he did have an excitement rise within his as he did so. It was as if the blood and drums and the barbarism of it all called out to something deep within him. He enjoyed battle. He always had. The racing of hearts, the sword slicing through flesh, death's closeness. It was something he had been fighting in the presence of his kin. They were not supposed to find pleasure in fighting and in death. They were not supposed to want death. The Dúnedain taught that they were reluctant warriors, people who did not want to war but did so for the greater good. His King very much embodied that sentiment, which was one of the reasons why he had disappeared from their lands in search of more peace.

And that had always frustrated Feredir. He wanted the freedom to leave, but also to lust for battle. He wanted the freedom to command their troops to be offensive instead of defensive. Their elders always quieted him when he suggested that they take out a goblin nest or a trollshaw. He wanted them to stop being raided and always defending their lands. They did not have enough people to keep defending their lands, and losing men and women to the fight. If they were able to take out enemy camps, that would lessen the threat. If they could be the ones to ambush, they would have a better advantage than they had previously. But no, they were reluctant warriors.

While he was not excited to be leading raids upon the Rohirric people, he was pleased that his ruse so far was working. Wulfric had pledged himself and his people to Saruman, and so had Feredir as part of Drust's plan. The plan was to slowly turn their people from revenge to partnering with Rohan. It would take more time than he thought it would. The wounds between the peoples were deep and painful. But if they took the path of peace, Gondor and Rohan and other free lands were more likely to trade and recognize them as a sovereign nation.

So the plan was that Feredir would carry out Saruman's orders, but after every raid Feredir and Drust's people were supposed to start to question why they were taking orders from the wizard. Eventually their people would pull support from Saruman, hopefully in accordance with a Rohirric retaliation upon Saruman's armies so that they both could attack the wizard's forces. Then, with the alliance formed, the negotiations between the nations would be more likely to take place. And hopefully by that time, Drust and his men would be able to turn enough of their people to the idea of an alliance with Rohan that when the accords were struck that any opposition would be dealt with swiftly. All Feredir had to do was follow Drust's order until then and fight off every traitor to his rule.

Feredir stretched once more, praying that no one would fight him in the morn because he wasn't as young as he used to be and fighting all the time was hell on his body. Between leading raids and fighting usurpers, he was exhausted, barely finding time to plot with Drust or even receive news from his allies outside of his mountainous domain.

In the late hours of the evening, he was finally able to read a report from Halbarad who was recovering in Rivendell. He had sent an emissary, one of Drust's men, to Rivendell in order to inform them of their dealings with Saruman as well as to find out what information Halbarad might have from the Last Homely House. He was hoping that Halbarad would have some knowledge of Coran's fate.

The emissary had come back the night before, but he was not able to read the report until now. He got up to retrieve the letter from the table beside him. And by the light of the two burning candles, he began to read.

My dear cousin,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and ease in these tense times.

Thank you for sending this emissary and your previous letter in an effort to inform the Council and the North of your actions in Dunlend. We are apprehensive about your safety in this role, but we understand the risk. It takes a great heart to commit to what you are doing. From our understanding, you are holding the role of King until Drust is able to take power? If this is true, I must implore you to be wary of the means by which he might take power.

But this talk of war is not what you want and we can devise better plans later. You want to know what news I have of your wife. I will try to be as detailed as possible because I doubt you would let me still carry my head on my shoulders if I did not.

She is safe.

Feredir clutched the parchment harder at those words, relief flooding his system. Seeing those words felt like being able to hold her. Not knowing if she was safe or not was something that had been plaguing him for weeks. When the Nazgul had attacked, he had watched from afar at the horror. He had seen her emerge from the tent at the sounds of battle, his cape adorning her shoulders. It was like the world had stopped. He watched her as the Nazgul beheaded Castien, thinking that it was him. It pained him to see her freeze in her tracks, thinking that her husband had been slain.

He had watched her fall away from the battle, scrambling down the rolling hills as a Black Rider chased her. She was moving in the opposite direction of where he stood and to his fear, moved quickly into the wood before her. The trees were a haven, that's what they had been taught. She would be able to lose herself amongst the leaves and branches and noises of the forest. It was the safest place for her. Yet, he still found himself drawn to follow her, to go to her, to save her. She did not have the skills to save herself if she were to engage the Nazgul that hunted her. Steeling himself against chasing after her, he made the hardest decision of his life. He drew his sword and proceeded to enter the fray, leaving Coran to her fate amongst the trees. Halbarad had followed and by the time they had reached they outpost, the leader had signaled that they were moving on, their screaming echoing about the hills.

From there, he had no knowledge of what happened to her. Had she lived? Had she been wounded? Had she come back to their outpost, looking for survivors? He and Halbarad had checked all of their men for any signs of life and not one had been left alive. Feredir had gathered little supplies and weapons as he prepared to leave the scene. They needed to alert others that the Nazgul had entered the Shire. He had checked his leg, tying the bandage tighter as he inspected the gash he had received from the bear. He should have rested, but he could not wait. It was then that Halbarad had taken him by the shoulders and said, "Go. Find your wife. I'm going to try to alert people of the Riders' presence before they reach their destination." With that, they set off on their various tasks.

He turned back to the letter in his hand. He had been expecting to find Coran's body just beyond the tree line. It was both to his relief and dismay that he had not found her. Who knew her fate?

From her account, Coran was found by Goldor in the woods and they double backed to the outpost. She stocked up on supplies and checked the bodies for life. She told our Chieftain that she had not the heart to look over the body she believed to be yours. Following the news that our Chieftain was in Bree, she headed towards him, either to warn him or seek refuge. After a few days, she reached Bree, finding that Estel was no longer in Bree and that the Nazgul had doubled back and attacked. When I got there myself, it was there I learned that Estel and several Hobbits had been the targets, I continued to track them.

Coran took the Great East road and happened upon Estel at Weathertop. They were attacked by the Nazgul and one of the Hobbits was gravely wounded. Coran tended to his wounds as best she could but it was not enough. Before he could succumb to his wounds, Lord Glorfindel and Lady Arwen met them and brought them to Imladris. There all of the party members were able to properly heal from all of their wounds.

By the time that I arrived in Imladris, the Council had already passed their decisions. All realms had met, concerning the rise of the Deceiver once more. It has been found. Nine have set out from Imladris: four Hobbits, two men, an elf, a dwarf and a wizard. Their quest is to destroy the Deceiver's most precious weapon. With them on a mission of their own were Coran, Goldor, and an elf, Telthedir. They are travelling to the Kingdom of Rohan to cure a plague that is spreading across the land. They are following the mountain paths, taking the Gap of Rohan. Protect them. You must not, however, have contact with her. Knowing that you are alive will distract her from her mission which is not needed.

She has changed, cousin. She has always been a fighter, but your death changed her. She is far more reckless and colder than she used to be. I heard her talk with Lady Eryniel. She has vowed to never return North as long as she can be of service elsewhere. I fear that she associates the North with you and so returning home would weigh too heavily upon her. Her father has returned home, tormented and wounded, yet what she has vowed means she will never see him again.

When this is over, when this war is won, I beg you to return to her. Heal her heart and bring her home. I do not doubt that she will survive this war. She has been trained and she will always persevere.

There is one last piece of information I would like to share: There are those that gathered for council in Imladris that believe that our King will ascend the throne in our lifetimes.

Yours always in service,
Halbarad

The letter gave him much to think about. But it mostly brought him memories and visions of Coran. He had watched her grow in size and in heart and it pained him that he had to spend so many months without her by his side. He wanted to be the one who taught her to fight and to shoot and so many other things that he was sure he learned under the tutelage of those in Imladris.

"Calithil, I'm not doing a very good job, am I?" He chuckled a little at the thought of Calithil watching them from above, her fiery spirit spitting critiques and criticisms quickly. Yes, he would have never heard the end of it if she was still alive. He prayed every day that she would be watching over Coran, protecting her where he could not. It was one of the only times of solace he had in a day and he relished in talking with her. "I know you see her. I pray she stays safe."

He looked down at the letter again. Halbarad was right. She will always persevere.