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Chapter 41 - The Dark Before Dawn
Aragorn stepped out into
the corridor, feeling the chill of the morning air upon the bare skin of
his face and hands. The new day had not yet arrived, and there was time
yet before dawn would come to Rohan, bringing with it perhaps, the blight
of Saruman and his dark creations.
He gathered his cloak about him and felt vainly for his weapon, realising,
as his fingers met air, that his sword lay still upon the summit of Amon
Hen. He clenched his jaw at the thought.
Taking the corridor to the left he followed the passage around, trailing
the tips of his fingers upon the carven walls, for the torches that had
burned brightly the night before had long since burnt out, and the way
ahead was shadowed.
It was then that he first caught the sound of voices. Indistinct it was a
first, a ghostly whisper in the dark before dawn. Yet it came again, and
this time with more substance, and Aragorn quickened his pace, hoping to
find Eomer in preparations to leave Edoras as first light.
The voices seemed to resound ahead of him, and as Aragorn turned the
corner into a much narrower space he realised he had entered one of the
two passages that led as secret passageways to the tapestries behind the
great hall.
He listened, realising he had walked in upon a private meeting.
"My lady seeks solace from the shadows of the night."
A voice reached Aragorn's ears as he stood motionless behind the dark
curtain. It was not that of Eomer. The sound was clear to him now,
resonating from the lofty ceiling and walls. The voice seemed to Aragorn
to be at once fawning in tone and bold in the choice of words. There was a
rustle of cloth and Aragorn deemed that the other figure had moved away
across the room.
"You need no words," the strangly compelling voice persisted. "I see your
grief as clearly as it is written upon your face."
"You see nothing of my mind." This second voice was familiar to him, and
Aragorn recognised it as that of the Lady Eowyn. Yet the tenderness he had
witnessed as she had welcomed her brother earlier that evening had gone,
and in its place was a cold hatred of which he had never heard the like
before.
The other man, however, was not detired by her obvious distain. "Oh but I
do see your thoughts."
Aragorn carefully pulled the curtain back, not liking the tone of the
conversation any more than he liked the man's voice. Peering into the
gloom he made out the shadowy figure of a man garbed in black so heavy
that only his pale skin shone in the darkness.
"Finally your brother has given the King reason enough to have him locked
away. You are grieved by his betrayal, for now you will be utterly alone."
He was near to her now, and Aragorn took his opportunity to slip out from
behind the curtain and approach with quiet steps upon the stone floor. He
could see the distress growing upon the Lady Eowyn's face as the man
backed her up against one of the great stone pillars, and he felt his own
heart ache for her struggle
She fumbled at her waist, drawing out a short knife that glinted softly in
the grey light from the eastern windows. "Approach me, Snake, and I will
cut your throat."
Aragorn's eyes widened slightly at the sudden movement, yet the slight
shake in the hand that held the knife and the wild desperation in her eyes
warned him that despite her boldness she was not in complete control of
the situation.
The other man saw it also, and reaching out his pale hand slowly towards
her, he said, "Do not be foolish. You forget I hold your brother's life in
my hands."
The tremors of her hand increased, and Aragorn heard her breath coming in
shallow gasps. Her hand lowered, and the knife slipped from her frozen
fingers, its hollow thud as it struck the stone floor resounding
throughout the entire hall.
The man reached out, almost hesitatingly, towards her face. "So cold, yet
I see your pain. Watching over your king in growing doubt and fear, you
curse your womanly form for its weakness, hiding your desire behind this
facade of ice."
Aragorn had heard enough. He covered the space between them in three long
strides and hurled his weight into the dark figure, throwing the hunched
man onto the floor with a cry of surprise and fear.
Eowyn stepped back in alarm, and quickly Aragorn looked to her, finding
her wide, frantic eyes upon him. He grasped her shoulders gently, the
pallor of her face making him afraid she would fall. She stood straight
and tall, though he could feel her body tremble as he held her, and it
seemed to him that her shoulders slumped almost unperceivable with
exhaustion and relief.
The man had scrambled to his feet, and now stood a safe distance from
Aragorn, wiping at a cut upon his forehead. Aragorn felt immediately
disturbed by the pale eyes upon him.
"You will regret this," the man hissed, with a shake of his dark head. He
side-stepped the couple, never turning his back upon Aragorn, his dark
matted hair moving about his face like black serpents.
As he melded into the shadows Aragorn thought to follow. He abandoned the
idea however as Eowyn fastened her ice-cold hand upon his wrist. "That was
the king's counsellor," she said, and the cold dread had returned to her
face. "For many months now his word has been law." She met Aragorn's eyes
with a mingled gesture of both hope and despair. "You must leave now, yet
I pray that it were not so. There has been little light in our halls of
late, yet with your coming there has also come hope."
There was a silence between them, for Aragorn could sense her desperation
keenly, yet he knew not how to appease it. The eastern end of the hall had
been growing steadily lighter, great shafts of sunlight, streaming down
through the great windows set high above them, basked the entire hall with
golden light. Day had come.
On the heels of the new morning came others, moving out of the shadows at
the back of the hall behind them as the two gazed up at the golden light.
Aragorn sensed their presence immediately, yet knew he could do nothing.
They were men of Rohan, and in all things men should be allies. He had to
trust to this, for there was little else to cling to in the face of an
approaching enemy who could arrive within the day
He let the men surround him, holding his palms open at his sides in hope
that they would recognise he meant them no harm. The looks they gave him
spoke of suspicion, and the darkness beneath their eyes spoke much of
their doubt and fear.
One of the men approached, his wary eyes fixed upon Aragorn. He reached
out to the lady Eowyn and motioned for her to move away from the ranger.
Nodding to Eowyn, who would have still stood by his side, he appealed to
the soldiers for their clemency. "Loyal soldiers of Rohan, I mean you no
evil. It may not have come to you, but I am a guest in this house. The
lord Eomer kindly welcomed my companions and I to his home."
His explanation did not appease the men, and if it were possible their
faces grew darker still. The man who seemed to be their leader glared hard
at him and drew closer as he spoke. "The Lord Eomer is charged with
treason. You, stranger, would do well to comply lest you too be implicated
in his treachery."
With a smooth step he moved towards the soldier, thinking that if he could
convince this man not to hold them prisoner there might just be a chance..
But one of the younger soldiers had not the same shrewd judgment as his
captain, and panicking, struck out with his sword arm. His heavy sword
sliced easily through Aragorn's surcoat and into the tender skin at his
side.
Aragorn pulled away sharply in surprise at the boy's sudden action, and
sucked in a breath at the sudden flare of pain and the rush of warm blood
as he pressed his hand to the wound.
"Halt!" The captain grasped the young man's sword arm angrily, "I gave no
order."
"But sir." The young man's face was pale and damp with perspiration, and
Aragorn almost pitied him. When war came to Rohan this boy and many like
him would not survive the harrowing brutality of the battlefield.
"Our orders are to escort the prisoner to the gates of the city." The
leader looked to Aragorn, then away as though he could not hold his gaze.
Two of the soldiers moved and took Aragorn's arms, and the captain fell
into step behind Aragorn. The ranger then heard him speak to the young
man. "Keep your wits, lad. War is coming, and against these traitors of
Gondor your wits will be your best weapon."
It took little time them to reach the main door. Aragorn had a thought to
ask for an audience with the king, yet it seemed Theoden no longer held
sway over Rohan or its people.
A blast of heavy wind caught him full in the face as the heavy door swung
open. The weather was grey and the sun as guarded and restrained as he
himself was at that moment between the two story guards. Yet the ferocity
of the wind caught even the soldier's by surprise as they struggled down
the great steps, shielding their eyes from the dust that sprung up in
their faces.
A line of guards flanked the steep road to the gates, and all seemed
silent, caught up in the wild weather and its sombre expression. There was
no murmur of voices, only the voice of the wind and the crunch of feet as
they followed the line to the gates. Aragorn stumbled frequently for the
ground beneath his feet was rough and the soldiers holding him stern and
unbending. He recognised many of Eomer's men among the throng, their faces
dark as they met his gaze.
He sighted Hama's distinctive figure from across the road, and tried to
attract his attention as the man glanced in his direction. The door warden
quickly and discreetly made his way between to the group of soldiers to
Aragorn's side. His face, when he reached him, betrayed his annoyance and
distress. "I warned Eomer that his rash actions would come to this." The
man shook his head, and it was very clear to Aragorn that his admiration
and love for Eomer ran high, higher perhaps that his desire to mindlessly
follow orders. He looked earnestly at Aragorn, noticing the other's
strained expression. "You are wounded!"
He reached for the man's side, ignoring the restraining holds of those who
still held the ranger captive.
"A scratch," Aragorn murmured, pressing his arm more tightly against his
side as though it could staunch the pain along with his blood. "What of
Eomer?"
"He comes now." Hama's voice was grim as he gazed further down the road to
where Eomer was being escorted between two guards. In the gale that swept
across them Eomer's pale hair flew about his face, and it seemed strange
that even as a captive his bearing was far more high that those who held
him. The horse lord was brought up to the great wall, before the great
gate, and there Aragorn recognised the now familiar figure of Grima. The
councilor stood upon the ground, yet though he had not the stature of a
warrior, Aragorn's eyes felt drawn to him as though he were the spirit of
this grey morn and all its powerful forces.
Aragorn watched the situation unfold with growing dread. Grima's pale eyes
rested on Eomer for a moment, and the side of his mouth twitched. He then
shifted his gaze further up the slope to where Aragorn and Hama stood, and
again behind them, to where, if Aragorn turned his head, he could see
Gimli.
The Dwarf had evidently been dragged from his sleep, for his thick hair
was tousled, and the soldiers were attempting to restrain the anger of the
Dwarf. Aragorn almost pitied them. The fellowship had learned quickly that
any irate Dwarf in the morning was a thing to be avoided at all costs.
It was a few moments before he could sight Pippin amongst the crowd, and
at last he was relieved to see the Hobbit standing with the Lady Eowyn at
the side of the proceedings, his curly hair strewn about by the wind.
One glance at the lady's face filled Aragorn with pity, for now she would
lose her brother as she had lost father and cousin. Grima's eyes seemed to
linger on Eowyn too, yet pity was not what Aragorn saw stirring in those
pale depths.
At last Grima lifted up a parchment. "Eomer, son of Eomund, you are
charged that you did willfully defy the orders of your king, and ride
forth from Rohan in hindrance of our allies, thereby committing treason.
The punishment for treason being banishment, there is no other choice but
to banish you and all that follow you from this land."
Eomer strained against the arms holding him, and it pained Aragorn to see
the desperation and frustration upon his features. "Snake! What says the
king? What says my uncle? You may poison his words and make lies to rid
yourself of those who oppose you, but the king is not the dullard you make
him. What says he?"
Grima smiled, his thin lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. he turned
the parchment he held to face the crowd, and clearly visible upon the
sheet was the signature of Thoeden.
Eomer was silent then with shock, and as Aragorn was pushed closer to the
gateway the disbelief upon Eomer's face seemed that of the young man he
would have been had war not ravished his childhood. Grima approached him
and as he passed Aragorn barely managed to catch the whispered words. "I
also expect more welcome news. I am sure your uncle will give his consent
in this also." The man's pale eyes flickered meaningfully to the place
where Eowyn stood with Pippin.
Eomer stared at the man for a moment, and it seemed the wind had paused in
anticipation. Then with a great yell threw himself forwards. Grima had
expected anger, grief perhaps, but this terrible rage shocked even Aragorn
who knew Eomer to be one of little temper and great protectiveness for
those he held dear.
Grima was knocked to the ground for the second time that morning, and
received a blow to his head before the guards recovered the strength and
ability to drag their enraged captain back from the man upon the ground.
Eomer finally went down as a fist caught him in the chest and stole his
breath.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Legolas knew now that something inside him had died when first the fires
on the distant horizon had burned away his sight. He could feel the loss
now, eating away at him. Hope, perhaps. Faith. Nothing could be said now
of the glories of war, the valour of Elves, Men, Dwarves... and Hobbits.
The thought of little Pippin almost choked him with sorrow. Even now the
red haze from the fires clouded his vision, though he kept his eyes upon
the trampled grass.
"The fire, it may not be what it seems." Faramir struggled to keep up with
the Elf's long strides, yet it was beyond Legolas to care. The words were
hollow, without meaning or hope, as the man knew as well as he. There was
nothing now that could quell the fires within him but the truth. Yet even
then, though the burning ache might be appeased, he would drown in despair
and grief.
He topped the rise, and the wind rose up, spitting ashes and foul fumes in
his face as he stared down at the smoking pyre. He coughed, consumed by
the realisation that the ashes... His eyes watered, whether from the smoke
or the growing ache of despair and guilt, he did not know. He broke into a
run, feeling the wind in his face. Faramir called out to him, not being
able to follow, but the voice was caught in the wind and he heeded it not.
The great pile of bodies rose before him, black, charred array of limbs,
armour, twisted weapons all smoking.
He picked his way through the rubble, helpless confusion fogging all his
thoughts. Ugly heads with gruesome expressions of pain and anger glared
down at him from the poles upon which they had been displayed. Their
glares seemed to taunt him, blaming him for being too late. He did not
know what he was searching for. Some sign, some indication that the
horse-men, whose foot prints and hoof marks were clearly visible, had
found Aragorn, Gimli and Pippin alive.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"No, Aragorn, you cannot ask this of me!"
Aragorn dropped to his knees before Pippin, taking the Hobbit's small
shoulders in his hands and imploring him to understand. He was weary of
the need to leave swiftly, for their horses were prepared and Eomer was
already mounted, his normally open face darkened with bitterness and a
bloody gash across his cheek, a parting gift from Grima.
"We will return," he promised, "I would not leave you here were it not
so."
The look upon Pippin's face was enough to tear Aragorn's heart in two.
"I will not be a burden to you," he pleaded. "I don't want to stay here. I
want to ride with you and Gimli."
Aragorn sighed. "It is for your own protection." The look on the Hobbit's
face told him that tact would get him nowhere. "And it is your duty!"
Pippin's eyebrows rose tiredly. "Duty?"
"I need you to do something for me. I can trust no one else. I need you to
protect the Lady Eowyn."
Pippin sighed, seemingly caught between his fear at being left behind with
strangers, and his desire to help in their fight.
"Eomer needs someone he can trust to protect his sister, and you are the
only one who could do this. She is proud, and will not accept the aid of
other men. She trusts you."
Pippin bit his lip, staring at the dust beneath his feet. The noise of
shuffling horse hooves increased Aragorn's desperation, yet he needed to
make sure Pippin decided for himself. "Saruman could be here at any
moment. I want you to keep Eowyn out of sight. Do you understand?"
Pippin nodded, and with a sigh he finally met Aragorn's gaze.
Aragorn gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Do not let yourselves be
seen."
He stood and took the reins of the horse he had been given, looking back
to see Gimli take his farewell from the Hobbit.
"I see you are abandoning me to the companionship of that scruffy ranger."
The Dwarf patted Pippin fondly on his curls. Aragorn saw Pippin's attempt
to smile fail as he grasped the Dwarf in an farewell embrace.. Take care
of yourself, young Hobbit. "Mind that you take care of yourself, master
Hobbit, till we return."
With difficulty Gimli clambered up behind Aragorn, looking behind to see
if Eomer was following. The horselord gazed up at his city, and Aragorn
felt for him as he rode from the gates of his home perhaps for the last
time. Something else, though, had caught the rider's eyes, and even as the
three companions passed through the gates a horn sounded clearly.
"A salute?" Gimli suggested, glaring up at the city with narrowed eyes.
"Nay," Eomer shouted, turning his horse about, "a stampede. My Eored, they
come!"
And as Aragorn turned about his own steed he heard the thunder of the
horse-hooves through the city, and the gleaming glint of helms of steel.
They thundered from the gates, and it seemed as though the love they held
for their captain had held strong, for their number was hardly less than
the patrol that had destroyed the Orcs the previous day.
They rode north, for it was Eomer's desire that they should wait and watch
and be there should Edoras call for aid. For himself and Gimli, Aragorn
had decided, they would ride with Eomer until safely out of the path of
Saruman's approaching army, then make west for Isenguard. There, he hoped,
they would find the answer to their long awaited question. What had become
of Gandalf?
Aragorn looked back over his shoulder, and saw, or perhaps only imagined
he saw the small figure of Pippin standing by the tall gates.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Legolas shifted another charred orc helm with his foot, closing his eyes
for a moment to retain his composure. The wind threw his hair into his
face, as though trying to break through any sense of sanity that still
remained. They had been here perhaps an hour, and not for one moment had
he halted in his quest. He felt though that for once he was coming to the
end of his endurance.
He stared blearily over at Faramir who seemed to have given up some time
before, lowering himself the ground with his head on his hands while he
stared vacantly at the ground. Legolas gritted his teeth angrily,
realising pathetically at the same time that his own search was proving no
more use than his companion's.
He dropped to a crouch, resting his aching limbs, and wishing, with
confounded irony, that he had Aragorn to help him decipher the ground
beneath him. While Legolas valued his own tracking skills, somehow Aragorn
had always managed to best him. Growing up with the devious Peredhil twins
had no doubt honed his senses.
That though had Legolas wondering how he could ever break the news to
Aragorn's adopted family, to Arwen... He closed his eyes and took a few
shuddering breaths.
"Legolas!"
He looked up, catching some excitement in the other's tone, and feeling
unknown hope rise within.
Faramir was kneeling upon the grass, his eyes seeming wild and his hair
brought upwards by the wind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They ran, all weariness seeming to have fallen from them. Legolas grasped
the small dirty golden belt in his hand tightly as the grass whipped
against his legs. It seemed a miracle that Faramir had happened to choose
the place where the Rohan wounded had been laid to rest, and further still
that he had happened to notice the dust covered end of Pippin's belt
aligned with the mark of where the litter had pressed against the earth.
Surely this meant Pippin had been rescued from the flames and taken with
the soldiers to Edoras.
He was aware of Faramir lagging behind now, and he slowed in his pace
though it irked him to do so. With hope filling him and his morose state
of mind having dissipated, he realised he had not been caring for the
other in a way that befitted him.
He waited till the other man reached his side, and a moment more till
Faramir had caught his breath once more.
"Forgive me," Faramir said after a moment. "I am a burden to you, I know.
I would move faster were it not for my shoulder."
Legolas shook his head, worried suddenly by the man's pallor. "It matters
not, now, at least, we can hope they are safe."
Faramir nodded, raising his hand to press against his shoulder, "You
should go on, I understand your haste. He has become a brother to you and
losing him would be losing a part of yourself."
"Nay," Legolas smiled, feeling his wildly beating heart slow and a calm
finally come upon him. He realised, perhaps for the first time, that
Faramir and he were not so very different. The man had understood him
despite Legolas' determined idea that he was trying to take Aragorn's
place. They had both been striving for the same thing, to see Aragorn to
the throne of Gondor, while both seeing a desire to be approved of by
their fathers die because of their personal loyalties. "It is not far now,
and we can walk it together."
tbc
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