Mother once told me how she had spent afternoons walking her way to Erebor, where she had heard nothing but Gloin's tales of his son, Gimli. Now, in a cruel and odd repeating of the past, I seemed to be stuck on the back of a horse, hearing nothing but Gimli's tales of his father, Gloin. My mind slipped in and out of attention to the stories, having heard most of them since I was a child.
"And that was when my father, Gloin, said…"
"In that case, lead on." He finished as I repeated the words myself, loud and clear.
Eowyn, who was being enchanted with the unnaturally long epic of the life of Gloin, laughed merrily, partly from the story of the entrance into Rivendell itself, and partly from the look on Gimli's face from being interrupted by someone who also knew this story by heart.
"Yes…his words exactly." Gimli recovered. "Would be also good to mention that the lad's parents were both there as well."
"And everyone still thought my mother was a boy, probably no older than you were at the time." I mentioned, joining briefly in the story telling.
"What?" Eowyn's interest was piqued. "A boy? But how?"
"The clever use of a hat and some pants…nothing much else…there were rather unobservant." I informed her. "That and she had a love for fighting which rivaled any boy's."
"Ahh, yes the fighting!" Gimli cleared his throat, another tale coming to mind. "Let it be known that it was my father, Gloin, who first fought with Rue, who is now Princess of Erebor, and while she was still in the guise of a young boy…" Eowyn smiled at me over how his attention went directly back to his father's travels and triumphs. She then became enraptured with his story of how Gloin and my mother had sparred once, with Gimli adding in a few details as to Gloin's strength, and admitting more quietly that he had lost his balance and been knocked off his feet by my mother. Eowyn was sympathetic as to his fall, but her eyes were still laughing with good humor.
The lady of Rohan managed to get our dwarf off the topic of his father and onto the matters of dwarf culture. Not a very large change in subject matter, but it was nice to not have to keep hearing 'my father, Gloin…'.
Gimli was going on about the craftsmanship of his axe and the great forges of the dwarves (to the point where Legolas tired it, muttering "Can he speak of nothing else?") when he glanced over to me. "Aragorn says you've been making good progress with the sword, lad."
I was a bit surprised to hear that Aragorn had spoken of my progress with the others. I had not heard much talk about my training from him, only the remarks when he was instructing me, and a comment at the end of each lesson as to my improvement, areas of needed correction and such.
I looked down at Aragorn, who was leading the horse I sat on. He looked up at me and nodded. My face must have been plainly asking if what Gimli said was true. Having the knowledge confirmed, I nodded myself, and said "I have improved a little."
"More than a little surely." Gimli nodded. "And you know what that means, right?"
"I…I'll fight in any battles we have?" I asked.
"No, Gideon, think." Gimli urged me. "Think!"
"I keep training?" I asked, not really knowing what the answer he had in mind was.
"Aye!" Gimli cheered. "This time, with an axe!" He beamed.
"An axe?" I paled. I glanced down at my arms. Was I even strong enough to carry around an axe?
"Yes, the great weapon of our kin." Gimli smiled. "Aragorn said as soon as you improved with the sword, we could take up teaching you how to fight with other weaponry."
I thought of what Gimli may be like as an instructor and probably went even paler.
"Perhaps you shouldn't put the weapon in his hands just yet." Legolas spoke up, noticing the startled look on my face, and likely picking up my shallowed breathing too. "It would be better if he focused on the use of lighter weapons first."
"Lighter weapons?" Gimli raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Pah! You just want to train him to fire an arrow before I have a chance to teach him anything." Gimli straightened up in the saddle of his horse, which Eowyn was leading. "The lad's half dwarf, he'll know how to wield an axe in no time, it's in his blood. He is, after all, part of the line of Durin."
"Half dwarf?" Eowyn turned to me.
"And half nymph." I added. "My mother is responsible for that."
"She must have been quite special to turn a prince's eye away from ladies of his own kind."
"There wouldn't have been a great deal of competition." I shrugged. "There are not very many dwarf women."
"Why?"
"No idea, it's just always been that way." I replied.
Gimli then became absorbed in detailing the scarcity of dwarf women. He painted a lovely picture of them, let it never be said that dwarf lasses weren't lovely. Brilliant, strong willed, sometimes stubborn or temperamental, but loyal and lovely and sharp of mind. No wonder my mother had fit in so well.
"In fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men." Gimli told her, at which she laughed lightly.
"It's the beards." Aragorn whispered, stroking an imaginary, long dwarven beard on his chin. Eowyn's laughter increased.
"Only some." I said to myself. "Most of them are mistaken from behind, but the front would quickly resolve that." I detached myself from the stories of my people and faced Aragorn again. "You speak of me?" I asked. "My training?"
"I do, on occasion." He replied.
"And you truly think I am improving?" I asked.
"Yes." Aragorn nodded. "You've grown used to heavier swordplay, your starting to become more offensive," He glanced momentarily at his hand which still bore a thin red line, healing from when I had accidently cut him a few days ago. "Your aim is also improving, though I don't know if that will become better or more dangerous for me."
There was the sudden interruption of Gimli falling from his horse, and getting up a little disheveled but quickly brushing grass and dirt from his clothes. "That was deliberate." He repeated a few times. "It was deliberate." I had my suspicions, but smirked over the whole thing instead.
"Soon you will no longer need more training…and all I will be able to do is practise with you, and challenge you more."
I smiled, glad with my progress. "Thank you." I said, as Theoden approached, noting how Eowyn was smiling so much. He was glad for it, and I was too, given her sadness when I had initially met her.
I looked ahead at the lady of Rohan, and found she was looking back at us, but her attention was focused mainly upon Aragorn. Oddly, this made my smile falter. I could not read much into her stare, but it held so much admiration, I couldn't help but observe that it almost resembled…affection?
I had always been rather observant, and smart, in my own quiet way, but her glance at Aragorn confused me. He already held Lady Arwen above all other women in his heart that much was clear. It was surely no secret among the people here that there was some woman in his life. Arwen's necklace had been worn around his neck every day, and everyone could see it.
The matter of Eowyn's opinion of Aragorn filled my mind for the rest of the day, as I tried to catch any more glances between them and try to make an interpretation of it.
The day's journey ended late, and there was not a man, woman, child or horse that was not glad when we at last stopped to make camp. After emptying out provisions for the weary travelers and aiding far too many people with the matters of tents and blankets and food, I was tired, a bit stiff in my legs from so much riding, and positively ravenous.
I began searching out familiar company and food at the same time, and caught Eowyn, just as she was leaving Aragorn. The two were alone, and she was smiling with her friendly admiration again. That confirmed what I had felt about everything. Eowyn had formed a sort of fancy for Aragorn, and it was clear any sort of feeling couldn't be returned on his part.
Not thinking very clearly, apart from wanting to stop any awkwardness or ill feelings before they began, I ran up and interrupted them. "There you are!" I said.
"Who? Aragorn or myself?" Eowyn asked which one of them I was inferring to.
"Both of you." I nodded, unable to choose one of them so quickly.
"Do you need anything, Master Gideon?" Aragorn asked.
"Nothing too terrible." I thought of something more to say. "Only supper. Oh!" I motioned to a half empty bowl of soup he was trying to discreetly discard. "If you're not going to finish eating it…" I grabbed the bowl, noticing only briefly how Aragorn's eyes widened a small degree at my actions, and his mouth formed a silent "No", then brought the rim of it to my lips…
…and took in a great gulp of the most vile broth I had ever tasted.
Spit it out! Now!, my brain screamed at me, and I made to do so.
"The soup was brought by Lady Eowyn." Aragorn said, and I paused, my tongue protesting and drowning the disgusting soup. "She made it herself." Aragorn stressed lightly.
I tried to swallow. Anyone can have my word as a dwarf and a nymph that I tried to swallow, but I could not. Instead, I was forced to suck the meal into one of my cheeks and mumble out "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Eowyn nodded, grinning happily. "Well, I'll take my leave now. There are more to feed. Good night."
"Good night." Both Aragorn and I replied, my words still mumbled through my full mouth.
As soon as she had vanished into the crowd, Aragorn emptied his bowl into the grass and I spit out the whole mess, practically gagging. "What was in that?" I asked. "The sole of someone's boot?"
"I thought of the taste of old saddle myself." Aragorn replied, and the two of us laughed over the horrible meal.
I could not tell if he had noticed any more of Eowyn's kindness and her glances.
/
Aragorn was wise and observant as well. He had noticed Eowyn's kindness, and the meaning behind it. He was also kind enough not to draw her attention immediately to his keepsake from Arwen, and instead waited with patience for her to notice it on her own, so he may speak of the elven lady then, when it was appropriate.
I slipped off my horse, gingerly, for the distance between me and the ground was a bit uncomfortable, and left them to speak of Arwen privately. No more interruptions from me, I thought. The soup was a punishment that I would remember in cases like this for ages to come.
I sought out the company of Legolas instead, as Gimli was still entertaining anyone who would listen with stories of Gloin and Erebor and dwarves. The elf was ahead of many, and following two horsemen that had set out to look ahead. I came up silently, and placed myself at his side, as we walked up a ridge which overlooked the rockier landscape that folded into a series of juts and overhangs at one side, and on the other stretched out like rolling hills.
Legolas was carefully watching the horsemen, and I swept my gaze over the whole expanse before us, finding it quite beautiful. It wasn't until my gaze fell back upon the elf that I noticed his face showed some concern. "What is it?" I asked.
"The horses are too restless." He replied.
The horses in question were anxiously moving about, and fighting back on the guidance of their riders. Their ears would flatten against their heads and their eyes would roll, and they would gnash at the metal between their teeth. Something was clearly upsetting them, though the landscape looked peaceful.
The riders were Hama, Theoden's captain and his second in order, Gamling. They seemed equally as confused by the horses behaviour in such surroundings.
Legolas's eyes darted from one place to the next, searching for the source of such ill, and finally found their ,ark when a creature much like a wolf, but more wild and large in appearance came lurking over the edge of the opposite ridge. I knew what this strange wolf was, though I had not seen one before until now. I had heard the stories of these beasts…the wargs.
Atop the warg was a rider, inhuman in appearance. An orc, it could be nothing else. The sight of them made my blood run cold. "Legolas…" I said, though we were too far away to do anything. We could not shout, for we'd be noticed ourselves. But perhaps the archer could let loose an arrow.
He could not though. The warg crawled over the ridge, saw Hama and Gamling, and darted to them, pouncing upon the them and the horses like a wolf does a rabbit. The jaws were wide, the fangs dripping with saliva, the claws extended.
I had never seen a man or beast torn apart so quickly. Hama was dead before Legolas could even pull an arrow from his quiver and prepare to fire. Gamling was lucky that he managed to shoot down the warg. Legolas ran to his aid of course, while I stood there with frozen veins, before my feet carried me with him. The rider fought with Gamling, who had been thrown to the ground by his horse, but Legolas was the one to sink a blade into a him and end the fight.
The rider called out, his voice echoing along the plains.
"A scout!" Legolas shouted back at me, as I finally neared them.
A scout meant more were on their way. Evidently our enemy did not wish for us to make it to Helm's Deep. They would rather finish us out in the open, in these rocky hills, where there was no place to hide.
I turned around and shouted the message back to the others, seeing their heads come into view. "It's a scout!"
This seemed to cause a measure of panic, so I knew that they had heard me correctly. Then men were climbing onto of fit horses, the women were picking up small children. I briefly saw Gimli holding up his axe. Gamling tried to steady his horse, who had escaped the scout's attack, very frightened but mostly unscathed. Legolas was climbing the next ridge, his bow in hand.
In times like this before I had always stayed rooted to where I was before, unable to move from my fear. But now I found that not moving scared me more, and left me feeling vulnerable to whatever was coming for us. I followed in the elf's shadow, perching myself atop the ridge.
There was an entire pack of wargs, many with riders atop them, some being guided by ropes to be set free and run wild and vicious toward us.
A sharp hiss came right beside my ear as the elf fired upon the charging beasts, and I stumbled back behind him again, drawing out my sword. It felt as though my heart was exploding with each beat, but I was too far away to be hurt or attack them myself. Only Legolas's arrows could make the stance. I watched in amazement as I saw one warg fall over, it's body skidding along the ground. It was dead, and by a single arrow. Legolas stood, reaching back his quiver for another, and in a fluid motion notching it, and firing it with fatal accuracy.
Archery, I thought again, I should train more in archery. It had merits in times like these.
The thunder of hooves tore my attention away from Legolas, and I saw a column of horses and riders charging at us. There were side by side, with so little space between them the rider's legs sometimes brushed together.
I turned myself sideways quickly, making my target as small as possible and hoping that the horses would part enough to avoid trampling me. "Gideon!" Aragorn called to me, and I saw him in the column. His hand was outstretched. "Grab hold!" He ordered. I clutched at his arm and hurried to throw myself onto the saddle. My mounting of the horse was far less elegant than Legolas's who weightlessly swung upon the steed Gimli was riding on. My one hand was rendered useless for climbing as I continued to hold onto my sword. "Hurry, climb on." Aragorn urged me. "Quickly!"
"I'm trying…" I said with a strained voice as I heaved myself upon the back of the saddle, my stomach being assaulted by the movement of the horse as I clambered up onto it. Eventually I managed to throw my other leg over the end of the animal and sit myself up.
There is no sound quite like that heard when two enemies meet in battle. I heard it before something actually attacked us. Something like a howl and the cutting of bone, and a clash of metal. I tensed behind Aragorn as our horse ran toward a warg and rider. Aragorn dropped the reins, letting the horse guide itself, and struck down the rider. I swung my blade and saw it cut across the wargs face, and it ran off, riderless and clumsy. It wasn't until the disoriented warg was felled by another one of our own riders did I realise I had blinded it.
I glanced down at my sword and found the streak of blood, carrying fine bits of fur from it's face. The image of the otter, my emblem, for good fortune was obscured by the mess.
I took up the rear defense, swinging at any riders who approached us from behind. Our horse was good, and kept a fast pace. The faces I saw were horrendous, one's with unnaturally greenish skin, and deformities. The eyes were inhuman, dark, sometimes even resembling the yellowish eyes of wolves or the diamond pupils of cats.
Time seemed to have stopped, as the only thing I could do was strike down an orc, watch it's body fall to the ground and shrink away as the horse ran on, scan the distance, see another come for us, and strike again. Sometimes I would see a corpse fly past the side of the horse, or the body of a warg tumble away, tearing the grass from the ground. Attackers from the front of our steed, dead by Aragorn's sword. I once caught him looking back at me, to see if I was managing, but only once. He trusted me at this point to fend for myself.
For a few seconds I felt proud…and then another orc came running by and I drove my sword into the pit of it's stomach.
I looked over the field then and saw the bodies on the ground. Not just orcs, but men too. Men who just an hour ago had been alive. My heart studdered, and the bravery I felt quivered and failed. I caught sight of a warg climbing atop one of it's dead pack-members and then saw that a man was underneath the mass of dead bodies. I recognized him by the beard.
"It's Gimli!" I pointed. Aragorn grabbed hold of the reins and turned the horse sharply. He pulled a spear from the carcass of another beast and drove it into the shoulder of the warg as we raced by. The creature fell, and I caught the breath being knocked out of Gimli, as his face went red with strain. For a moment I thought our friend had been crushed by the weight of all the bodies on him, but he struggled and began to crawl out until he freed himself.
"Is he alright?" Aragorn asked, looking back again at me.
"Mahal bless the sturdiness of dwarves." I grinned up at him.
There was a shriek, and suddenly Aragorn was knocked off the saddle, I saw my friend fall away, taken by a warg and rider. "Aragorn!" I yelled after him, and I panicked. I was too far back in the saddle and the horse was continuing it's run, the reins waving in the air away from my grasp. Without Aragorn to stabilize me, I was being knocked around vigorously in the saddle, and I had to crawl my way to the reins. An orc grabbed hold of one of the stirrups and blindly stabbed at him, twice missing my mark, and being pounded in the stomach again from being jostled in the saddle as the horse panicked. I finally struck across his neck and the orc fell, and I reached up and took the reins. I pulled upon them, wanting to slow the steed and turn it around.
The panicked creature reared back slightly at my control, and I was thrown from the saddle. The horse ran off, unstoppable. I stood up from the ground, dizzy, my head full of fog. Something knocked me to the ground again and I turned to find an orc wielding a hatchet. I grabbed my sword and drove it into it's thigh. It did not die, but fell and I ran off, my head still spinning before it could attack me again.
The fight was dissipating I noticed, as most of the dangers I encountered were still-living orcs trying to drive knives into my feet. "Aragorn!" I called. "Aragorn!" There was no reply, and I wondered if I was shouting loud enough to be heard over the last of the noise.
"Aragorn!" I stumbled on, and a hand landed on my shoulder. It was Gimli. "Gimli, have you seen Aragorn?" I asked, his image wafting into two Gimli's for a second and then settling back into one. My head was beginning to throb from my impact with the ground, as my entire back.
"No, not yet." Gimli answered. "Are you well?" He noticed how I was swaying.
"I was thrown from the horse." I answered. "A bit sore and dizzy, that's all."
"You look like a good wind could knock you over." Gimli retorted. Legolas came then, having searched among the dead behind me for Aragorn, and found no sign of him yet.
Aragorn was knocked off the horse by a warg and rider." I said. "We have to find him, he may be injured."
There was a heavy pause. "Let's keep looking." The dwarf said. "Come on now."
I followed them, trying to not meet the eyes of the dead.
We heard laughing, terrible, dark-hearted laughing. I glanced at the source of it, and recognized it. "Him." I gestured. "He was the rider."
Gimli must have looked a menacing end as he stood over the dying orc, axe in hand and poised to strike. "Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing." He growled.
"He's…" There was the sound of a wheezy cough, wet with blood. "…dead." This was followed by laughter, dark and sending blood dripping down the monster's chin.
"No." I said. "No, he can't be." Aragorn was too good a fighter to be killed in a skirmish of this size. I knew, for I had been taught by him, and had seen his swordsmanship with my own eyes.
"He took a little tumble off the cliff." The orc wheezed, a small, smug grin on his face. He looked at me, and laughed again. "You were the boy in the saddle weren't you?" He sneered. "A fine sight….you made, shaking on a…runaway horse." He laughed again. "He is dead."
Something in Legolas snapped and the normally composed elf, and pulled the orc up by the shoulders, jarring his injuries painfully. "You lie!" He hissed. The creature died laughing, curdling the blood in it's mouth. His dying gesture was to open his palm and reveal the beautiful pendent Arwen had given Aragorn.
We soon found ourselves at the cliff's edge, staring at the water running beneath. Legolas held onto the prized token of Aragorn's. I stared at the water, consumed with an anger and sorrow that would not abate. "He couldn't have…" I tried in vain to persude myself and the others the orc had been lying to us all along. "So he had the necklace…he could have grabbed it from his neck. He has to be lying, he's a creature of Mordor and Isengard, he's…"
"Aragorn is not among our living, nor our dead." Legolas said.
"He's gone." Gimli said, emptily. "This was where he fell."
Anger burned, sorrow ate at my insides. Guilt at having lived surfaced, it's face uglier than any orcs.
"What now?" I asked, swallowing thickly.
Theoden approached us. "Get the wounded on horses. Leave the dead…" He said to Gamling, with a deep sadness in his tone. "The wolves of Isengard will return." He turned to us. "Come."
I stared at the water until Legolas pulled upon my shoulder.
My teacher and friend was gone.