The Ring will come to Gondor by Varda

The Ring will come to Gondor

by Varda

Chapter 71; The Chariots of Rhun

A short time before dawn Legolas roused the Company of Gondor.
'Awake! Stir yourselves!' he called to each one, picking his way among the bodies of his sleeping comrades and gently shaking them.
'Wake and be ready! Something is coming!'

At once Aragorn was awake and on his feet, buckling on his sword belt and striding across the frost-hard ground to the look-out point. Gimli, struggling to cast off his cloak, scrambled after him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and picking up his axe. Eowyn woke shivering, and looked around as if dazed to find herself out in the field on a cold, frosty dawn....

Legolas walked quickly to the ridge where he had stood guard all night, and the others hurried up to stand beside him. They looked out across the plain, towards the East....

Dawn was only minutes away, and the moon had set. The land and the sky were the same grey-blue, fading into deep rose in the East. Legolas stared intently towards where the sun would rise, but he was not waiting for the red disc to appear, but gazed intently at a line, a mere blur on the dim landscape. He pointed with his bow.
'There!' he cried.

Gimli squinted hard, but could see nothing. Boromir stepped out in front of the company and settled his gaze on the spot, but to his great annoyance could see nothing either. Aragorn, however, narrowed his eyes and stood without moving, even without breathing, and after some time said in a voice little more than a whisper.
'I see them, Legolas....what are they?'

Legolas stared hard at the distant shadow on the grey land. His brow was furrowed. In a soft voice he said;
'I can see horses....banners...the tips of spears, round bronze shields catching the last starlight....'
Boromir burst out impatiently;
'Yes, but what are they? Are they friend or foe? In these lands, they could be the Rohirrim....'

Eowyn had by now limped up to the spot. Although she could not see the host yet she heard Boromir's words. She shook her head;
'Alas!' she cried. 'There is small chance they are from Rohan, Lord Boromir. Wormtongue would never let my uncle send a strong force so far, to aid Gondor or anyone else. I regret, lords, it is not a host of my countrymen!'

'Then who in the underworld is it?' muttered Gimli. To the surprise of the whole company, Legolas replied calmly;
'Easterlings'

'Easterlings?' exclaimed Boromir 'On horseback? Their warriors never fight on horseback....'
'It is fortunate for Gondor that they do not often use cavalry' replied Aragorn quietly.
'But they certain do send mounted warriors to battle, and with great loss to our cause....'

Boromir was staring at him in disbelief. Aragorn could tell that had any other man said this, Boromir would have laughed him to scorn. But he respected Aragorn too much, and listened as patiently as he could, his face frowning and baffled. Aragorn went on quickly;

'I have fought them before, Boromir, many times, although the last time was long ago and far in the North. They move their people by wagon, and fight on horseback....'
'How do you know they are not Haradrim?' interrupted Gimli. 'The Southrons fight on horseback all the time....'
'They are not Southrons' said Legolas. 'I know by their banners. The banners of the South bear the sign of the serpent, and the salamander. These are banners wrought with devices of a winged lion in gold on black. They are the banners of the Easterlings....'

Aragorn fell silent and a feeling of dread settled on the company. At that moment the sun had crested the mountains of the East, and a ray of fierce golden light shot across the plain. Even the others could see the enemy now, and they gasped.

The host, for it was a great force, covered the plain to the North-west of where the company stood. As the black dots came closer, the company could see they were larger than men, larger even than men on horseback. 'Chariots!' shouted Legolas. 'The chariots of Rhun!'

Everyone started talking at once, and for a moment there was confusion. Eowyn said simply;
'What on earth are they?'

It was Aragorn who replied.
'My lady, we have no time for explanations! I can just tell you that these Easterling warriors, riding on light chariots drawn by swift horses, are faster and more deadly than any cavalry. By some means they have found us and are charging to attack at full speed. They will cut us off from our route to Rohan and the north if we do not hasten at once to outrun them....'

'Do you mean they are Wainriders?' exclaimed Boromir in disbelief. 'Surely you are mistaken, Aragorn! They are only legends from the past!'

Behind the Company, craning to see what the fuss was about, were Cathach in the dark blue livery of an elite archer of Gondor, and Ciall, the page. The lad, still dazed with sleep, blurted out in reply;
'Nay, my lord Boromir, they are not legends! Ages past the chariots of the Easterlings pressed Gondor hard in war, until they were defeated by the King of Gondor, Earnil...'
The lad's voice trailed off; everyone was staring at him and he feared he had spoken out of place.
'Pardon me, my lords, I meant no disrespect...' he murmured.

Boromir however was regretting his missed history lessons. Faramir, he thought ruefully, would have known all about these Wainriders. But despite their danger he was proud that in Gondor a mere page could know so much of his city's history. Even if his prince had forgotten it...Boromir put a hand on the lad's shoulder;
'There is no offence in speaking what you have learned of the lore and history of your city... ' he said with a smile.

Aragorn was silent, but he knew that before Earnil destroyed them, these same Wainriders had slain the King of the North and both his sons, and that they were a terrible foe, even if they had been long forgotten. He had thought those he had met in battle in the North were just scouts. But many things believed vanished forever been brought back from the past by Sauron....

Then Gandalf said to the company;

'The boy is right, and we have no time to lose. Their chariots are swifter than cavalry, as their horses are not weighted down by armoured men. Come, we must make all speed North, before they cut us off!'

Gimli had been gazing at the growing cloud of dust.
'I never thought...' he said, thinking aloud 'that I would be glad to get on a horse, but at this moment, I can't wait to be back in the saddle and away...'

No-one was listening to the Dwarf, for everyone was in a fever of haste to gather up their bedrolls and cloaks and saddle their horses and get away. The steeds, sensing their haste, reared and fought their riders, their eyes showing white with fear. Ciall held the bridle of Eowyn's mount, but it sidled away from her and would not let her approach. In her health she would have nimbly leaped into the saddle, but her wounded leg hindered her. Suddenly she was seized around the waist by a strong arm and lifted bodily into the saddle. She looked round in surprise. Boromir was standing beside her horse.
'Pardon me, my lady! Haste knows no etiquette..' he said with an apologetic grin. Eowyn blushed then bowed her head and gathered up the reins, and Boromir was gone, running to where his great black charger Seabhac was rearing, impatient to be away....

The plain was grey-silver with frost, and across it streamed the host of the enemy, led by a chariot emblazoned with gold and with a great banner fixed to its prow. On the banner was a winged lion trampling a fallen tree, the White Tree of Gondor; such was the enmity between Gondor and the Easterlings that even their heraldry spoke of their long wars.

Behind the leader streamed a host of these chariots, each drawn by two horses, tall and swift, with two men standing on the narrow platform between the high, light wheels. One of the men was the charioteer and the other was the warrior, armed with a handful of javelins and a bow and quiver. The horses, faster than any carrying a rider, flew across the level plain, and the warriors gazed ahead, ready to pick off their fleeing enemy with lance or bow. Already they had seen the Company, and wheeled to run South-West, and cut them off from their path to the North, and Rohan. Behind the chariots came a great force of mounted warriors, their black and red and gold banners catching the fire of the newly-risen sun. Even from this great distance, the Company could hear their war cries....

Legolas helped Gimli up behind him on the saddle and urged their horse forward.
'This is where we are undone by our own skill...' muttered the Dwarf.
'What do you mean?' asked Legolas. Gimli nodded at the swiftly-advancing host.
'The steel axle-trees of the chariots..' he said grimly. '..they were made by Dwarves. Not of my folk, nor of Eriador or the Lonely Mountain, but of the Iron Hills, where they have such fine steel.'
'So you knew of these chariots?' asked the Elf.
'I thought our cousins of the Iron Mountain were just making them up, that they were just a legend...' replied the Dwarf softly.

Legolas looked over his shoulder at the chariots, so close now he could see the dappled grey horses of the lead chariot.
'Not a legend any more, my friend....' he replied.

Unable to sleep, Faramir had risen before dawn and pulling on his cloak he walked down to the Great Gate of Minas Tirith and up onto the battlements. The sentries saluted him and the commander of the watch spoke to the Steward in a low voice.

'The Enemy have advanced closer to the walls under cover of darkness, my lord. They lie now not more than three bowshots from the gate...'

'But what are they doing?' asked Faramir with a hint of impatience in his voice. Gazing out across the moonlit plain, even he could see the dark mass of the enemy, still now but no longer under the spell which had kept them unmoving before. Now, they were alive and alert, but waited for a signal to attack.
'What are they waiting for?' he repeated to himself. The captain, understanding the question was not addressed to him, and in any case not knowing what to say in reply, was silent.

Faramir gazed till his eyes ached and a grey tint paled the Eastern sky. A heavy feeling lay on his heart; somewhere out there were the two people he loved most in the world, Boromir and Eowyn. He would admit no conflict in his affections; he knew that either he or his brother could win the lady, but not both. And yet his heart longed for both to win safely to their destination.

And yet....during the night a feeling of doom had settled on him. Dreams, troubled and dark, assailed him. After midnight a vision came to him in fitful sleep; a great black horse galloping across an empty plain, riderless, its saddle and saddle-cloth stained with blood. The horse was known to Faramir. It was his brother's horse, Seabhac.....

'My lord Faramir?'

The words startled him out of his reverie and he turned sharply to see a cloaked woman standing beside him, her hood drawn up to hide her face. Faramir stared at her, and under his gaze she drew back her hood, revealing a pale, fair face and long dark hair bound back with a length of blue silk. He saw then that the cloak was the dark blue garment worn by the Sisterhood of the Healers, and the girl was Airdeall. He bowed.

'Lady, can I be of any service...?'
'You told me to bring you word if the halfling Meriadoc grew any worse..' she said, abruptly interrupting the Steward in mid-sentence. Faramir looked up at her in surprise. Airdeall coloured.
'My Lord, I am sorry to be so blunt. But the leeches say there is not much time and the little one is close to death. They wish to attempt a desperate treatment, and would ask your permission first. I came to tell you as quickly as I could.... '

Faramir pushed himself away from the wall. Merry dying! he went to hurry down the walkway and return to the Houses of Healing. But then he turned to the tall, dark-haired girl and said;
'The other halfling, Pippin, is he with Meriadoc?'
'Aye my lord' replied Airdeall 'he cannot be prevailed upon to leave him, even to take food or rest. Now he begs you to come to him...'
Faramir was about to hurry on his way when he stopped and looked at Airdeall again. She was staring out across the plain.
'What is it, Lady?' asked Faramir.
Airdeall went to shake her head, but stopped, and Faramir saw tears in her eyes. He remembered he had been told that she had lost her betrothed in the war.....
'It is a hard doom, is it not, Lord Steward...' she asked softly '..to have to watch from the walls, waiting for the return of those you love, never knowing if they will return at all...'

Faramir stared at her, somewhat startled that she had read his thoughts. He said;
'Is it any consolation to you that your betrothed died doing his duty, defending his city and keeping his oath of allegiance?'

Airdeall did not reply for a while. Then she looked straight at him and asked;
'Would duty be any consolation to you, my lord, if your brother and the Lady Eowyn were slain?'

Faramir thought for a moment, then said in a low voice;
'No, my lady; it would be no consolation at all.....'

Airdeall raised her head and drew in a long breath and a slight smile came over her face.
'It seems we agree' she said.
'for what my word is worth to a prince...'

Faramir gazed at her without replying. In the dying moonlight Airdeall's face was white as ivory, and her grey eyes dark as jet. Faramir thought suddenly of his mother, Finduilas, although her memory was little more than a rustle of silk and the smell of late summer roses....Faramir smiled.
'Your word means more to me than you can guess....' he said.

Airdeall gazed at him uncertainly. All the city knew Faramir had fallen in love with the foreign princess, Eowyn of Rohan. Now, he looked at her with longing. She bowed.
'We cannot delay my Lord Faramir...let me lead you to the halfling...'

She turned to descend the stone steps to the street so hastily that she stumbled. Faramir was at her side in a moment, taking her hand to steady her.
'Let me help you down the steps...' he said.

The stone stair was narrow and steep, built to aid defenders as they prevented incursions by attackers on the battlements. Faramir held Airdeall's hand tightly as they descended. He noticed it was warm despite the frosty morning. When they reached ground level safely, he did not at once relinquish his grip. But his thoughts went to Meriadoc, and his face grew dark....

Legolas led the Company of Gondor on their gallop across the Southern plain of Rohan. He kept the Easterling host in his sight, ever trying to find a path that would gain the open Riddermark and leave the enemy behind; but the chariots were too swift, and the Company found themselves headed off to the South, pinned in the foothills of the White Mountains.

If they went deeper into the hills, they would shake off the chariots, which could not traverse the rough uplands. But then they would be trapped, unable to reach Edoras.

'We must go faster!' shouted Aragorn to the Elf; he too had seen their predicament. Legolas nodded, but glancing across his shoulder, he knew with a cold feeling of dread in his heart that they could go no faster; some of the horses were chargers, capable of leaving the chariots behind. But others were more sturdy than swift, and their riders not skilled horsemen. And there was Eowyn, still not returned to her full strength....Aragorn saw the dust cloud of the Easterlings coming closer and wondered desperately how they could escape this trap; for they could not leave any of their number behind, however slow....

Suddenly the ground fell away steeply, almost under the horses' hooves. The Company reined in sharply, wheeling to prevent toppling over down the slope of rough scree and bushes. Boromir spurred up to the brink.
'What is it?' he shouted at Aragorn.

Aragorn peered into the cloud of dust raised by the horses' hooves and saw a deep ravine, a narrow rocky valley carved out by a river, now dry. It yawned in front of them, at least a bow shot wide.
'By my beard!' exclaimed Gimli 'what now? we will be sliced up by the armoured wheels of those chariots....'
'No! shouted Legolas, looking from side to side desperately.
'I know this place! There is a bridge, built long ago by the Kings of Gondor....'
'But where is it?' cried Gimli. 'If it is to the North, we are lost, for we must encounter the Easterlings to cross it...'
'No!' shouted Legolas. 'There it is!'

He pointed and the rest of the Company followed his arm and saw, almost hidden in scattered furze and partly broken down by time, a narrow stone bridge spanning the valley on three graceful arches. It lay between them and the mountains; the Easterlings would have to double back to follow them. If they passed over quickly and safely, they would have a strong lead....

'Come, let us cross at once!' shouted Aragorn...

The land at the edge of the ravine was overgrown and the Company with difficulty found a path to the head of the bridge. The old road that led to it had long ago fallen away, washed by winter floods and hammered down by mountain tribes for the stone. But once they were crossing the ravine, they could see far downstream, and they made out the host of Easterlings checking their speed; they had found the valley blocking their way too. They saw the bridge too, though, and changed their course at once to follow the Company across.

One by one the Company crossed the narrow stone span. The surface of the bridge was of fine dressed stone, the best workmanship of ancient Gondor. Despite his danger, Gimli gazed approvingly at the smooth blocks, and wondered if any of his people had been involved....

Aragorn led them off onto the other side of the valley, and up a long rocky slope. Boromir reined in to see the others safely off the bridge and on their way. His eyes lingered on Eowyn, managing her horse with practised ease as the beast strained to reach the top of the hill. Then Boromir spurred after her....

The slope was strewn with broken blocks and smaller stones. As Seabhac gathered speed, Boromir heard a crack, and the great black horse suddenly lost pace, began to limp heavily, then stopped.

Boromir at once threw himself from the saddle and bent to examine the beast's leg; Seabhac had thrown a shoe in the rough ground, and had then cracked a hoof. He held the wounded foot off the ground, unable to walk on it. Boromir laid a soothing hand on his flank and spoke comfortingly to him. He was aware of the others reining in and returning to him, but for all that, Boromir knew he was doomed; for none of the other horses could bear him as well as its own rider. He must be left behind, or delay the company to their deaths.....

And in that instant, the Easterling chariots appeared on the shore, running at full speed, less than twenty bowshots from the bridge....