The attentive reader will have realised by now, that I have shamelessly diverted from canon. Aragorn should be two years old when his father dies. But for the sake of melodrama I have chosen for him to be born within the chaos and aftermath of battle.
And in canon, each firstborn descendent of Isildur was raised in Rivendell and I pretend here that this is the first time that happens. Also the Dunedain are kind of settled in villages, scattered in between the ruins of the old Northern Kingdom, while in canon they are a nomadic people.
But all done with a purpose, namely to enhance your reading pleasure and solving my plot holes.
Thanks, Ruiniel :)
Chapter 25 - Dark was their appearance and ill their tidings….
Dark was their appearance and ill their tidings. While thundering into each village, their steeds emanated a restless power, hardly in control. A suffocating force sped ahead of them, marking the weight of their arrival in the dead of night.
Suspicion ruled the Dúnedain at first, but cautious intelligence soon recognized the Elven Lords Elladan and Elrohir from Rivendell. Recollections of these noble visitors circulated. Their coming was irregular, sometimes skipping a generation. But the Dúnedain remembered and kept old knowledge to share with the young. And the growing trust between these dark elven brothers and the people of the North was ingrained in the collective memory and had gained in strength, stretching beyond the boundaries of human life, becoming part of the fabric of Dúnedain culture and history.
There had been rumours that their visits increased as of late. A sharing of knowledge with their Lord Arathorn on the ever growing threat of the north. The people knew that evil there grew and each day they risked more in their northern dwellings. A dangerous balance, close to tipping point. So the arrival of the sons of Elrond in the dead of night came, in hindsight, as no surprise. But their noble birth did nothing to abate their message, which was as ominous as their appearance.
Tending to Mithroch and Suldal, Elladan and Elrohir witnessed the decision making of these sons of men from a distance. Aiding Arathorn meant for each village less protection for the elderly, wives and children. The choice was a cruel one, especially for the Edain, for to them was granted the gift of mortality, that made life's crossroads more intense. Such a life was hard for Elves to truly understand, but being Peredhel, the brothers could relate.
But each time in this past fortnight, when risks were charted and accepted, strong men stood at attention and the brothers marvelled at their resilience. They were not soldiers in the service of a king as were their ancestors. They had, despite their name as kings among men, abandoned that path many generations ago to hide and protect their lineage and only few knew of their origins now. But their wisdom and skill remained untarnished and had been remoulded into a people of keen scouts, agile hunters and fighters. They could be as ruthless as they were wise and the sons of Elrond felt their hearts gladden at the sight of such a force, for the promises of Gorchak pressed on their minds like a heavy weight. And Rin's foresight made the outcome of their intervention a matter of survival for the complex power balance in Middle Earth. And while witnessing the harsh choices the Dúnedain made, the brothers felt unease creep up their spine, for despite feeling such concern for these people, they still ignored the concerns of their own house and family.
But soon that thought triggered darker ones, of a rampage within the dark roots of the mountains and they knew their anger towards their father had not lessened.
They pushed aside the feeling, focussing on their horses. They had reached the last village that they were tasked to mobilise now, situated closest to the northern mountains. Their message was received with grim understanding. Arathorn's people were resilient, used to danger and uncertain times.
Elrohir sat against the stable wall, seemingly in a relaxed slumber, but Elladan knew better. They finished tending to the horses some time ago, but the animals brought them peace of mind and Elladan leaned into Mitroch's warmth, feeling the contagious calmth of the horse touching his mind.
Elrohir said quietly: "We should catch up with those younglings as soon as the horses are rested."
"Aye. Rin judged them well. They are still too innocent."
"And what of the others?"
Elladan stroked Mitroch's mane. "They will organise themselves, they are wise and experienced. And we cannot protect them all."
"We will protect the weak ones then, for what it is worth."
"She expects us to."
Elrohir fell silent at that. They had not thought of her up till now, but she was there now, bright in their mind, and the slight tugging of the bond seemed to demand presence all of a sudden. The short farewell during their departure was a breath of fresh air, spontaneous and careless for a few moments, the tension of the past weeks had evaporated on the spot. It was of no surprise to him for life had a way to be more simple when death was close. His brother's voice stopped his train of thought.
"Can you feel it?"
Elladan sighed. "Aye, I feel it. It soothes my fëa. But still, I dread the outcome. I cannot lose you. I will not."
Emotion broke through his words suddenly and he had to swallow, for a moment he let himself imagine a life without his brother. He saw himself wedded to Rin, siring children, walking the path of the Edain, choosing the gift of mortality for her. The joy of the union felt like a blinding light, bright but elusive. Then his mind's eye shifted and dove downwards deep inside himself, where self-pity lay like a black pool of tar underneath long cherished trauma and bloodlust. And then he saw his brother's fëa alone in the Halls of Mandos. And he felt Elrohir suffering his own absence for all eternity. There was no escape. And the bliss of love turned to ash in his mouth.
Startled, he blinked and gasped, as if waking from a bad dream. Angrily, he wiped away brimming tears. It was merely a possible future. There was hope still, he promised himself. And his brother was here with him. He locked gazes with Elrohir and his brother's grey eyes showed understanding. He nodded to him. "Do not despair brother. I see it too. But there is always a choice to be made."
Elladan sank his fingers into Mithroch manes, forcing his hands to stop shaking. A choice. But this choice was shaped like a double edged knife. It would hurt either way.
xxxxxxx
The scouts had been gone for two days now and Rin grew weary of the long absence. Life moved at a slow pace in the village and she recoiled from the endlessness of it all, each day doing the same chores, the same routines. Nothing of interest seemed to happen, except for the small militia that was training and scouting the vicinity.
She felt restless energy in her body all day, with no way to release it nor focus it. No distractions, Bethril being the exception. Visiting the horse was a comfort, the calm energy quieted her mind while tending her friend. But the restlessness returned when the door of the stable closed behind her.
Like a caged tiger she paced up and down through the village, often lingering where the forest touched the fields. The need to check for the returning scouts forced itself upon her throughout the day like an addiction. And whenever she peered in the shadows beneath the trees, the stillness jumped at her as if it were an entity, hiding unseen threats. A stillness as untouchable as the restlessness inside of her.
She turned towards the one escape she used all her life and trained with permission of Lord Benran with his men. The training was basic, with a technique different from her own or the Elves. It reminded her of mediaeval longsword styles. Large movements and powerful blows that use gravity in ingenious ways. It reminded her of Tessarion, the techniques he taught her to enhance her mortal strength by using gravity and body weight in combination with balance.
Inevitably, the fascination was mutual and Benran showed interest in her style of fighting. Soon she found herself teaching a handful of the men in the basic kendo movements. She was grateful for the distraction.
Maeva sought her out when they were done. The young woman had been shy the day after the scouts left, but today she seemed less so. Despite trying to keep her distance, Rin found herself growing increasingly fond of her.
She had joined Maeva at a table outside in the yard of one of the larger central houses. She had washed up with water from a well, shocking Maeva by removing her hoodie, washing sweat from her torso clad in only her bra. She ignored the girl and other prying eyes that might be watching her. She preferred being clean.
When freshened up, she sat down on the bench, watching Maeva's agile fingers weave the strands of dried plants into an intricate three dimensional design, creating a round shape. It was strangely relaxing.
"How can you do this and not fall asleep?" Rin yawned, while picking up a red apple from a pile of them littered over the table.
Maeva giggled. "Weaving keeps the fingers busy and the mind alert and free to engage in conversation."
"Are you sure? Well, watching instead of doing, is a whole different experience, I can tell you that."
Maeva laughed out loud now, her fingers never losing their speed. "I can teach you?"
Rin considered it for a moment. Then shook her head. "You will only confuse my fingers. They might forget how to hold a sword!"
Maeva rolled her eyes, then she turned more serious, "Why do you fight Rin? Why are you not married, having a family of your own?"
Rin stared at her, noticing the girl's blush. She thought about it for a moment, then said, "Fighting distracts me."
The girl accepted this and did not pry. "Can you not just weave?"
Rin smiled. "I fear not. When you are as well acquainted with fighting like me, only fighting can ease your mind."
"Truly? Do you regret it?"
"I had no choice."
Realisation flitted through Maeva's eyes and Rin saw that she understood more than the words she shared. "I am sorry."
"Don't be. It has no purpose, being sorry. Over the years a lot of people have felt sorry for me and concluded that I need to be healed and return to my own self."
"It did not help?"
Rin smiled softly. "No, it made me feel worse. I was afraid of myself. And by being afraid, I hid myself underneath a mask of control."
Maeva looked at her weaving thoughtfully. Rin could hear the young girl's mind working.
"And now? I can see you are a warrior. Your skills with the sword are amazing. The men are impressed, rumours are speeding through the village about your elven blood."
Rin laughed. "Elven blood? Haha! I am not an elf. I am very mortal, like you. I just practise every day and I have talent. But to answer your question, I have made peace with myself. They made me see that I am not broken and do not need mending."
"You mean the Elf Lords? They are wise."
Rin sniffed in disdain. "Not as wise as you might think. But I'll admit, even they have their moments. They showed me that I was not a person to be pitied nor ignored. They showed me that the fight in me doesn't rule me, but that it defines me."
Maeva nodded in understanding, her hands still working. "What does it feel like? To kill a person?"
Rin hesitated, how could she ever explain to Maeva, the complexity of killing; the horror and beauty and the thrill of the kill? How could a civilian ever understand? Maeva would be appalled, run away from her in fear. How could you befriend someone who lived that complexity, who yearned for it? She could not and she lied, "It is gruesome, but it must be done."
Maeva stared at her with wide eyes, shivering visibly. "But you do it again and again?" she whispered.
Rin stared through the window. "It is what I am good at."
And the distance between them stretched.
With a swish of fabric, Maeva stood and with quick hands placed all apples in a perfect round basket that stood, as if by magic, on the table in between them.
Rin stared at the imperfect perfection mesmerised and realised with a start that she had been judging Maeva's life with 21st century city arrogance. There was nothing boring about life here. Maeva's routine matched her sword routine easily in terms of hardship and endurance. Her work started at five in the morning and did not end till sundown. There was an intense and grounded sense of peace here. Through physical work, through repetition, craftsmanship, people held a close connection to the fabric of life in this village. The physicality of life made them experience reality with an alertness and consciousness that was almost alien to Rin, except for the moments when she was fighting.
A large thud and weighty presence startled the women. Maeva let out a piercing shriek and then fell abruptly silent. Rin's heartbeat drummed throughout her body and the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight like needles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Maeva sink through her knees towards the ground, her features frozen into a silent scream, while her wide eyes could not tear themselves away from the horrid creature that stood before them.
Rin's mind worked in overdrive, automatically pushing fear towards the back of her mind. Maeva was frozen by fear, she would have a hard time trying to move the girl. She eyed the Warg before her, the grey mass of body heaving from exercise, drool dripping from its maw. It smelled of rotting flesh, shreds of meat clung to some of its teeth. Its head was a mixture of wolf, orc and uncanny human features, its beady eyes intelligent. It stood there, sniffing the air, staring at her, its body on alert, each muscle on tension for any move she might make.
The table where they had sat in peace only moments ago, stood in between herself and Maeva and the distance between them felt vulnerable. The need to have Maeva behind her, or closer was overwhelming. Such an easy prey they were! Where were the men of Benran's militia? Had Gorchak invaded the village?
Her gaze pinned the animal down, unwavering. Where would the beast strike first? It seemed unsure itself, weighing its options. Then the crooked voice tore through the silence and the sound called her fear forth in full force: "I will end you, mortals." The emotionless, calculating gaze in its beady eyes made her throat clench and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if you could die of fear.
Swallowing, she felt doubt in her mind, making her hands shake. This was a creature of the nether and she was only a human woman. There would be no sword fight, only a scramble to survive. How could she ever hope to be fast enough to stop it? Desperation swept through her for a moment but she tried to push it down. No… no! There was no time for fear. She had to prepare, to try at least. Maeva depended on her. It was just like that time…
The black pit inside of her stirred at the thought and cold sweat erupted on her skin. No!
She could not think of it! Not now!
But despite her resistance, the crystal clear image of her sister falling from the couch forced itself upon her. She felt the powerlessness of that moment with the same intensity and it almost broke her.
In desperation she shook her head. She could not give in to those memories! Maeva was not her sister. She was alive.
Her left hand crept towards the tsuba of her sword. Ever so slowly she lifted the blade from its confinement, anything to get a headstart, no matter how small.
Then, a slight tremor in muscle, a breath and Rin knew she had little time. With one quick move she pulled her katana, pointing it at the creature. She let out a short yell. She knew it would not scare the warg, but it might free Maeva from her stupor. The warg eyed her, eyes narrowed but still did not move. Rin held her breath, stared back, her fear mounting.
Then, to her horror, within the blink of an eye, the warg jumped. It was so incredibly fast that she had hardly time to react. The beast flung itself onto the table, the weight of its grey mass making the wood grunt. Its hind paws slipped over the remainder of the materials and tools of Maeva's basket making and for a moment Rin watched, detached, how the beast scrambled to gain ground.
That was her window. With a sloppy jump, she stepped from bench to table, already sending her katana in a graceful half moon arch to cut at the creature's legs. It was a desperate motion and for a split-second she feared she was too late. There was no resilience of tissue, a cut too smooth to be true. But the screams of the warg told her otherwise and then blood fountained from the wound on the table as if in slow motion.
A spark of hope ignited her spirits and she used the momentum to follow the movement through, letting her blade cut straight down a second time, but now with a vertical angle, into the beast's back to finish the job. She felt bits of bone skitter along the metal of the sword while it bit down into its flesh. Blood oozed from the wound. But it wasn't dead.
The warg screamed. The voice, unnaturally human. Rin held her sword deep within the creature's back, but to her dismay, the warg still moved. The sheer force left in the creature threatened to pull the katana out of Rin's grasp. She licked her lips, holding on for dear life but had to see with growing horror that it was pulling itself with its front claws towards Maeva who was still sitting paralyzed, next to the table, staring at the warg in soundless horror.
Rin strained her muscles, her fingers painfully cramped around the tsuba, holding on to her sword. She fell through her knees on the table, using her weight to hold it down. But still, the beast moved, inches and inches closer towards Maeva. Its maw was opening and shutting rhythmically, trying to bite the girl and each inch that Rin had to give in, was an inch closer to her death.
"Maeva!" Even to call her felt like too much effort. But as if the first call invoked more, she started to yell even harder, "Maeva, goddammit! Move! Just move!"
But Maeva sat there, glued to the ground, white as a sheet, eyes wide, shaking. And slowly, ever so slowly the instrument of her death came closer and Rin could only sit there and watch the inevitable happen. Tears filled her eyes. She could taste the fear in her mouth. This was not happening!
Her knees scraped over the wood and still she held on. Time seemed to slow down and there was only the slow pull of the creature, her resistance and Maeva's wide eyes.
"Maeva! Fuck girl! You have to move!" Then in desperation she yelled: "Somebody! Help! Help!" In the back of her mind she wondered where everybody had disappeared to. Where were the men? The women? Why was nobody helping her?
Desperation clawed at her heart, desperation so deep that she almost gave into it. Maeva would die, the creature would die. It was no use. She was of no use. Drool seeped into Maeva's lap, while she stared into its maw, still unseeing.
Then, a flurry of red. And Lady Gilraen sped towards the girl. Despite her belly she was quick as lightning and she pulled Maeva towards her with one strong motion. When she had her standing, she slapped her in the face and yelled at her: "Maeva, run! Run home! Don't come out until I come and find you!"
To Rin's relief, Maeva blinked and seemed to move on automatic pilot, she stumbled backwards and then out of the small garden. Gilraen added another: "Go!" And only then did the girl sprint around the corner.
Lady Gilraen stared at Rin, visibly gritting her teeth. "What do you need?"
"I need you to not be here."
Gilraen shook her head. "I will help you."
"Too…. dangerous!" the words came with effort, her last energy seemed almost spent now. Her thoughts were reduced to shreds: … leave...please leave.
But Gilraen was stubborn and she ran around the scene to help. A flash of red curls and a sweet smell penetrated Rin's exhausted brain and she realised that the cold she felt on her hands were Gilraens' larger ones. She was holding the sword together with her, sharing the burden, a counterweight to the brute force of the beast. The creature started moving violently as if it sensed that its end was near and Rin yelled. But she felt an opening suddenly, a sudden space in between her panicked thoughts. Gilraen's strength aided her and gave way to the possibility of gaining ground.
And then the balance tipped. The Warg made one last effort to free itself, but Rin held on with refreshed strength and after a last strong pull, she felt the creature give in to its demise. The large stinking maw that had been inching closer to end Maeva's life, fell shut and it did not open again.
Rin fell back panting, the katana falling from her grip. Her hands felt numb. Staring at them she noticed they were still cramped up in the same position and shaking. A thin laugh released itself from her throat and then some more. She felt the soft warm presence of Gilraen next to her. She stared at the grey sky and noticed a small breeze on her wet face.
When she regained her breath she spoke, emotion filled her voice: "Thank you for helping."
Gilraen held her gaze, searching, green eyes speckled with gold. Her slender hand sought her shoulder, squeezing it, as if it was answer enough. "These are my people. I have to keep them safe." She scrutinised Rin a moment longer. "Are you wounded?"
Rin thought about it. "No. Just very relieved. Maeva was almost...gone." She could not suppress a shudder.
Gilraen grimaced. "Yes. But you saved her. I am indebted to you."
Rin could not help but look at her pregnant belly. "I heard it is unhealthy to use your body like you just did while being in the third trimester. I do hope you are all right."
Gilraen grimaced. "I would not like to do this every day. My belly is hard now, but that will pass soon. Do not worry about me."
"Where is everybody? I expected help sooner. Where are all the men? Did the scouts return?"
Gilraen climbed down from the table and reached a hand out for her to take. "Some of the scouts returned. There was a fight at the other side of the village. Your elf friend is back as well, but not Master Elrond's kin, nor the youngest scouts. We are worried. The news our scouts brought is ominous at best."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
After Gilraen left to check on Maeva, Rin hurried through the village in the direction of the skirmishes. Running over the earthen paths, she heard a familiar voice call her name. There, in the middle of the village stood Raithon. His handsome face was grave and sad, but his eyes showed fondness at the sight of her.
The adrenaline made her emotions go haywire all of a sudden and with a cry she flew into his arms. With a fond smile he embraced her and lifted her off her feet for a moment.
They stood there silently in each other's embrace, until Raithon murmured, "Are you all right, mellon?"
She said softly. "Yes…. I'm just glad to see you. I hear nearly all the scouts are back?"
He released her and said, "Nay, I fear not. The younger ones are missing, as are Elladan and Elrohir."
Raithon seemed to sense her unease at hearing that news. "Fear not, mellon. The Dúnedain are mobilised now, each village, each stronghold has dispatched his warriors and rangers. To travel unseen through these lands is getting more and more difficult while the hours pass. They will find them and bring them back."
Rin felt the childish question bubble up inside of her and she spoke the words without meaning to. "Are you sure?"
Raithon merely watched her with wise eyes and frowned. "What has happened, Rin?"
His simple question evoked emotion in her that she did not know she possessed. Her throat constricted by the fresh memories and she ground out: "A warg almost killed Maeva."
Raithon nodded. "But you saved her, did you not?"
"Lady Gilraen did." `She rubbed her eyes tiredly with her fingers.
"But the result is the same. That is all that matters."
She smiled at him. "I am sure you are right. And you effectively distracted me from Elladan and Elrohir."
Raithon smiled back. "Indeed." He cleared his throat. "Let us see if we can be of use to Lord Arathorn, shall we?"
The village was in disarray. The fight had been short but violent and many men were injured, one was dead. There was no time for mourning. Many scouts had returned and there was much to discuss. Arathorn was giving orders, shaping chaos into efficiency. The guard was doubled and new scouts left to check the direct periphery, injured were treated and moved to the central house. Rin saw a small group of dead orcs and some wargs and she knew exactly why there had been no help with her ordeal.
When Arathorn spotted them he seemed relieved. Grasping Raithon's shoulder he said, breathless: "Good to see you safe, friend. What have you learned on your journey?"
Raithon reported to him like they had a year long working relationship and after he spoke Arathorn seemed satisfied but concerned. "I fear we need to look out for my younger scouts and your Lords. It worries me that they have not returned. I would not ask this of you, were it not for your knowledge of our enemy."
Raithon nodded. "Indeed. Your reasoning is sound. I will accompany your men, Lord Arathorn, for I know my way through the remnants of thy Kingdom."
The grey eyes of Arathorn stared at him in surprise at the mentioning of his birthright. A moment of understanding slid between them.
"You should leave immediately." He looked around, searching, then spotted a dark haired man. "Darian! See to it that Master Raithon gets a fresh horse and some food and water to take with him."
It was Maeva's love interest and Rin felt relieved that he was not among the dead or injured. She grasped Raithon's hand in goodbye and he smiled at her. "It is best you stay here, Rin. You need to be close to Arathorn's line. I will find them."
"I know you will." She smiled with difficulty. "Let us hope you do before Gorchak."
Xxxxxxxxxx
Something felt off. Elladan and Elrohir sat quietly in the saddle in the late afternoon. The forest around them was unnaturally silent. The thick layer of pine needles dampened the hooves of the animals, and the only sound came from their horse's breathing. The pine trees, tall and branchless, seemed like slender pillars holding up a thin roof. There was no birdsong.
The search for the young scouts was fruitless so far. The two villages that they had to warn were already mobilised, but they never reached the third and their concern grew.
Backtracking to the last village they warned, they looked for tracks. Leading Suldal and Mithroch by hand they strode through an unkempt grass path, leading over a hill and back into a dense forest.
"We are taking too long," Elrohir stated gruffly, his restless energy jumping towards Suldal, making the horse weave for a moment.
Elladan stared at the ground in front of him, the moist grass unharmed by neither horse nor man. "Aye. We are. But we cannot let them fall prey to the orcs."
"Then let us find their tracks. They must have strayed somewhere from this path."
The rain had made the grass heal after being trampled by horses. All evidence was hidden underneath it and it made the tracks hard to discern.
Elladan stopped all of a sudden, crouching down towards the ground, examining the plants closely. "Here look, I see tracks beneath the grass. The imprint is deep, they must have picked up speed. They travelled westwards." He stood and stared west with a frown. Why did they stray from their path?
Trusting his brother's word, Elrohir kept watching their surroundings. The trees in the distance seemed eerily silent. No leaf moved, no bird sounded. He cursed under his breath, they were sitting ducks like this, out in the open. But it could not be helped.
After following the tracks for half an hour, the prints disappeared again. Cursing, Elladan jumped on the ground and started backtracking their way. Elrohir reigned in Suldal and followed his brother on horseback. He felt restless and cross. It took too much time. If their encounter with Gorchak's orc host told him anything, it was that they were fast and intelligent, capable of strategy that matched their own. Their wargs were the key to their speed. Lingering out here in the wild made them vulnerable and he feared an encounter like the last. Yet he had no choice but to wait until Elladan's sharp eyes caught up with the young scouts' tracks. And so he waited silently, pushing down his inner turmoil and impatience.
They were close to the woods now, the shadows beneath the trees dark and silent. Elrohir felt unease creeping up his spine. The silence in this place was not natural. Fear suffused the land and it was not his imagination.
Elladan stood suddenly, certain of a lead. He then quickly pulled himself in the saddle. His face was grim when he said: "This is troublesome indeed. They have ventured in the direction of the North Downs."
Elrohir frowned at his brother. "Are you certain? How can those boys know not of the evil that lingers there?"
"Maybe they are counting on it. I am uncertain. But it is clear they fled in haste. If they fled in fear, the choice to go to the North Downs might be irrational. Let us find them first."
Elrohir jumped in the saddle easily, urging Suldal to hurry and they sped through the darkness of the forest, in search of the remnants of an ancient kingdom that they knew to be there.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
In the darkness, the ruins stood like broken teeth on the ridge of the hills. Dark angry shapes. The wind picked up around them on their approach, dispersing the fog that emerged upon entering the grasslands from the forest towards the Downs.
"Now what!" Elrohir yelled above the wind. His hair was being whipped around, as was his mantle. The sky had turned a threatening purple darkness, promising rain and possibly a thunderstorm. Suldal whinnied under pressure of the sudden gusts and Elrohir could not help thinking that the wind had only picked up when the Downs had come into sight.
The road was muddy and steep, the strength of their steeds seemed just enough to best the heights. Coils of ivy and moss covered the broken stones on top of the hill. Through the cracks and crevices, littered with ferns, the wind twisted and shrieked. The first drops of rain were falling. The force of the wind gave each drop a sharpness like a whip, lashing the stones. The brothers pulled up their hoods, the leather of their mantles protecting their skin from the onslaught of the wind and rain.
Elrohir called over the noise: "Why is it always so that the weather turns when one approaches a dangerous place?"
"Coincidence!"
Elrohir smiled beneath his hood. The jest had lightened the fear for a moment, but it returned with a vengeance when they passed the ragged ruins and toppled over the ridge. The wind pushed them towards the dark ruins that lay on top near the edge. Like jagged teeth the old stone walls stood, and within the remnants of broken windows, doors and gates, ink black darkness gaped, pulling their gaze towards their void. The hairs on their necks stood straight, and their eyes were drowning in the darkness and a coldness, either imagined or real, was ascending upon them, stiffening their limbs.
Pressing on through the ruins, they wondered if they were being watched. The wind numbed all their senses except for sight and they felt vulnerable. They pressed on despite the uncomfortable feelings and soon the ruins made way to an unwanted view. The ridge formed a prolonged rim around a high plain. The earth was blackened and barren, no place for living creatures and they wondered where the scouts were hiding and why. Despite the good cover these ancient stones provided, evil lurked in the North Downs. Evil once ruled from Fornost, under the terrible reign of the Witch King of Angmar, servant of Sauron.
The city was destroyed during the Battle of Fornost, but the remnants were still there under the name of Deadmans' Dike. And the evil of the Witch King had seeped into the lands during his reign and the long years that passed had not lessened it.
Elladan's gaze followed the ridge that seemed to cut a straight line down towards the south. The plain kept running alongside it, the ridge seemingly containing it, preventing it from spilling downwards. In the distance, the plain ran high above the lands beyond, and on it lay Deadmans' Dike, the remnants of the ruined city of Fornost. Mithroch whinnied all of a sudden, unnerving Elladan, for his companion seldom acted other than controlled in tense situations.
Squinting against the rain towards the remains of the city in the distance, their gaze seemed to be deflected by the poisonous fear with which the Witch King had permeated the earth itself. They could feel it underneath their feet, spreading throughout the North Downs from the Deadman's Dike. The land beneath them remembered the Witch King and the dead. The blood seeping in the earth, broken bones, broken vows, desperation and despair. The hairs on the back of their necks stood upright all of a sudden when a sharp cry rose in the distance. So loud it was, that it rang clear above the gusts of wind and their horses started to panic.
Elrohir jumped down quickly, fear freezing up his veins, he seized Suldal's mane and laid his head on top of the animals, whispering through the crashing winds, willing the steed to calmth. It was halfway working and he noticed Elladan doing the same, with the same poor results.
A bright flash of light, and in its wake thunder rumbling over the hills. But their war steeds were not frightened easily by thunderstorms. A second bolt of lightning, and now Elrohir watched the land beneath the mighty dome of sky. The light emphasised the terrible darkness within the shadows. A third flash, a fourth and then again a deafening rumble. Then a fifth flash of light. And then Elrohir noticed a small thing. A detail. Taking his mind off of his fear for a moment. A flash of metal.
He stopped dead in his tracks, yelling to his brother over the sound of the wind: "I saw metal shining!"
Elladan froze. He then pulled his sword, barely holding a fearful Mithroch steady by the reins. "A weapon?"
"Not sure." He did not know if his brother heard him over the noise and Mithroch's stress kept him unable to react. Suldan was more stable right now and he slung himself in the saddle with effort, the wet mantle slowing his movements somewhat.
He squinted into the rapidly falling darkness towards the remnants of an ancient gate. It was there he saw a glimpse of metal. He hoped it was the scouts, and he doubted it was the orcs. They would have attacked them already, they were an easy target in the rain on horseback. But he could not be certain.
It would take some time, but he would approach the gateway from the other side. He urged Suldan into the opposite direction, and for a moment the wind was at his back. A strange sensation, his hearing and sight enhanced immediately. It gave him speed and a moment's rest from the onslaught of the rain on his skin. He urged Suldan with care through the terrain, alert on the hidden stones underneath the soil, that might trip him. The horse's shoes could be slippery when the stones were so scattered, and so many.
He came to the edge of the ridge soon and descended carefully, Suldal following his lead without hesitation, trusting his master to guide him to safety. Pushing onwards North over the grassland, he ascended once again over the ridge after the better half of an hour, after which he crossed many ruins towards the blackened plains.
The ruins were less broken here and he could discern the remnants of a village. The blackness behind the gaping openings that were once doors or windows in stone houses was eerie and had a certain thickness like molasses. The darkness weighed heavy on his mind, and he felt like he was being watched. Fear overcame him suddenly, and his breath caught in his throat, paralysing his limbs. He tried to breathe deeply, calmly. Hyperventilation would be unhelpful. He stared into the darkness, trying to see beyond it. But there was nothing. And the abyss of the dark sent fear into his heart as he rarely felt.
Panting he lay down on Suldal's neck, his nose buried in his skin, breathing deeply. The horse seemed unperturbed by any fear it seemed. And Elrohir gained courage from that. Whatever triggered him, it must be imaginative. While he lay bent over Suldal's neck he urged the horse to cross the ruins to the West. And after a while he felt the fear leave him as if by magic, leaving him wondering.
But when Suldal stepped onto the blackened soil of the plains, he felt it once again, to a lesser degree. No, it was different. In between the ruins the evil was present, as if an ill will directed it or left remnants of something alive in the very fabric of the darkness that haunted this place. But here, an evil more profound lingered in the earth beneath his feet. He felt it clearly, and following it, he was pulled into the depths of the earth, an endless space of dark. His breath caught at the infinity of it. But no! He was a fool. It was not infinite. It was a mere echo. The Witch King had departed these lands long ago. His hold on it was broken. 'Twas merely an echo.
Taking a deep breath he noticed that despite his reasoning he still could not stop shivering. Steering Suldal into the direction of the south, he took in his surroundings with more detail, trying to free his mind from the numbing fear and sensations. So much barren land. How could evil rape the land to such a degree that even now, plants still refused to grow here? When would it heal? If ever? Would Galadriel be able to do such a work here? But the thought was chased away by something near to foresight. Nay, the elves were done in Middle Earth. The great works had started and ended. It was the task of men to heal the land. And a great sorrow came over him, releasing him of his fear.
He turned back south after a while, slowly riding towards the shattered gate he knew to be there in between the stone chaos. Where he thought to see a glimpse of metal. The wind was in his face once again, numbing him. But at least his scent would be hidden from Wargs if there were any.
Two broken columns with a hint of an arcade, green with moss. No metal, but movement. He recognized the swish of a horse's tail easily. Relief coursed through him. A horse! No orcs then, and no warg. But who? Upon direct approach he recognized the slender figures of two human boys and relief flooded through him. It was the scouts. They found them.
Despite Suldal's large presence, he happened upon them, sending a fright into them that sent them reeling. He noticed too much white in their eyes. Shock then, or almost.
"Lord Elladan!"
"Elrohir," he replied automatically, assessing the boys. They were cold, and indeed half in shock. One of them was shaking uncontrollably. Elrohir peeked here through the gate and motioned towards Elladan that he knew to be there.
"Lord Elladan!"
Elladan frowned at the sight of them, quickly dismounting. He spoke to them softly in a reassuring voice, then lifted the chin of the shaking boy up to check his eyes. A quick glance to Elrohir and he took off his mantle quickly laying it down beneath a rugged broken wall, away from the wind. He lay the boy down gently on his side, checking him. His pulse was quick, pupils dilated and his breath was like that of a dog that has been on a run. His skin was cold and clammy.
Elrohir was already rummaging in his packing, looking for the small vial he knew to be there. Mirovur was helpful in gaining energy and spirit, letting the blood run more freely, heating the body. But this particular recipe contained athelas. It took them some experimenting, but the concoction kept for several months if unopened and kept dark. And it proved to be an excellent elevator in cases of shock or when fear had tainted one's fea beyond repair.
Elladan lifted the boy's head carefully, pressing the uncorked bottle against his lips: "A small sip only," he warned.
The other boy was talking with his brother in a high voice, too hasty. But he ignored the content of the words, staring at his patient to see a change in his demeanour or none.
Elrohir's presence. "Like we thought. They fled blindly. Rin's dagger had changed colour and they had fled until the blade was normal once more. Then they felt a presence here, in these ruins and they have been paralyzed by fear for several hours now, until we arrived."
Elladan cursed. "How unfortunate. And we are already late!"
"Can we travel with him?" Elrohir nodded towards the scout that lay on his side within the warmth of Elladan's mantle.
"Perhaps. Let us wait for a little while to see what the elixir will do. If the effects are positive I will dare it. The alternative is … worse."
Elrohir nodded. Worse indeed. To spend the night here in this cursed and forsaken place would be a disaster. He wasn't sure the scouts' young minds could withstand such evil. They might lose their minds before daybreak. And their absence would be reason for alarm now in Arathorn's village. It was only logical that he would send out a searching party. If not for them, then surely for these younglings. It would be another risk to his people.
And what about Rin? She would be concerned and it was uncertain what their war goddess would decide while facing another possibility of their capture by Gorchak. He hoped Raithon had returned to the village, talking her down with reason. Still, his nerves churned at the idea of Rin chasing after them alone.
They could only wait for now. Wait for the scout to feel better and calm down. He watched the boy, his brow still wet from perspiration. His brother was murmuring soothing words in their own language to aid his return to health. The other scout sat next to him holding his hand, eyes worried, but he at least had calmed.
Yes. They would wait for now. After that, he was not sure.
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