My Sword Weeps
by Agape4Rivendell
Chapter 18: Rohirric Remedy
“The snows are deep across this plain.
If we
turn in a more westerly direction, perhaps the drifts will lessen?”
Elladan knew what Aragorn would say before the words had even left his
mouth, but he deemed it wise to at least broach the subject of a
detour.
“Perhaps if you sent your horses back to Imladris and left me and
mine to trudge through these drifts… It is at times like this when my
ancestry as a man galls me. To be able to walk upon the drifts instead
of through them would hasten our journey!”
Elrohir smiled. “You are at least able to ride a horse as well as
any Elf I know. We will not sway from our course, Elladan,” he said to
his brother. “The drifts should lighten once we round that bend on our
left. The land, if I remember correctly, is filled with tall
grasslands, but the unseasonable cold will have crushed them. It should
be flat riding, with only a pause for a drift now and again. Your
estimate appears to be correct, Estel. We should reach Edoras in three
days time. I know you do not like the delay, but we must protect our
mounts.”
Aragorn squinted into the setting sun, willing the leagues to pass by
while time stood still.
They had not brought wood with them and could find only small twigs and
branches from frozen bushes on the plains of Rohan, but it fazed
neither Elf. However, Elrohir was beginning to be concerned for
Aragorn. They had ridden a full day’s ride with nary a stop. True, the
gait had been slow so as not to tire the horses, but Aragorn would need
rest and warmth soon.
“Are their caves or some such cover anywhere in this direction?” the
elder Elf asked.
“None that I know of, though I have not been in the Mark for at least
twenty years. After I left Gondor, I turned south, then eastward. I
came back to Rivendell through Nanduhirion. There are plenty of caves
there, some even built by the Dwarves.” Aragorn gave a low chuckle. “We
cannot, of course, turn in that direction.” He pulled up and looked
towards his left, then southward. “I believe we have passed into the
Westemnet. That is a good sign.”
“The sun sets. It is time for rest for our horses. Aragorn,”
Elrohir stopped in confusion and dismounted. “I am concerned, brother.
It is bitter cold and you have only the clothes on your back to warm
you. I think it time we asked our mounts to share their warmth.”
Aragorn swung himself off his own horse; his need was to press
onward, it was just sunset, but he knew their mounts needed rest.
Finally, bending low, he picked up his animal’s hooves and checked for
snowballs. There were none. Then, he removed the saddle and pulled on
the horse’s reins, whispering to it. At once, the horse lay down.
Aragorn lay as close to his steed as possible. Elrohir and Elladan did
the same, though more for their horses comfort than their own.
Morning came. Holding the bit in his hands, Aragorn tried to infuse
it with some warmth, rubbing it furiously between said hands before
fitting it in his mount’s mouth; then he saddled it. As he rubbed the
horse’s withers, he spoke words of encouragement. The mare turned its
head and nuzzled him. He smiled. He had never understood the love of
these great animals for a mere man, but he was grateful.
They each swallowed a drop or two of miruvor, ate some dried meat,
and quickly mounted. Only two more days, Aragorn chanted silently, only
two more days to Edoras. There, he hoped to find some further news.
Some hope-filled news.
The Westemnet lay cold and barren before them. The winter indeed was
harsh. Once in awhile, they were able to snare rabbits, which they ate
near raw. Fire was hard to come by in this wilderness; quickly made, it
was quickly consumed.
Singing was out of the question; their breath froze as soon as they
opened their mouths, but Aragorn had to laugh as the low hum of Elven
tunes emanated from Elladan. His brother could not stop the song in his
heart from flowing forth. It was the song of Ëarendil. Remembrance
of
the words made him shiver, for were they not of ice and cold? Now he
remembered them - "From gnashing of
the Narrow Ice where shadow lies on frozen hills."* Was it as
cold there for the Elves on the Narrow Ice as it was here on these
unprotected plains?
The day passed and long into the night they road. He could smell
Edoras, though both Elladan and Elrohir told him it was his
imagination. He could smell Edoras. The smell of horse was strong
there; never had he seen so many horses in one garrison.
“Look!” Elrohir cried. “There is smoke to the west of us. I see
buildings. What suppose you this means?”
“Breeding paddocks!” Aragorn shouted in delight. “I knew I smelt horse.
It is a breeding paddock for the men of the Mark. I’d forgotten.” He
spurred his horse into a gallop; Elladan and Elrohir followed.
~*~
“How could you let her leave with such a small contingent?”
Éomund
strode across the Great Hall, his spear flashing ever few seconds as
the sun, peering through the windows, caught it. His anger sparked near
as brightly.
Imrahil waited for him to approach the Chair, waited for the anger to
subside, waited for the Captain of Rohan to recover his comportment. He
noted wryly the Guard allowed the man to bring his spear into the Great
Hall.
“I did not let her do anything, my Lord Captain. You know the Lady; she
does not let anyone tell her what to do. You know yourself that even
the Lord Denethor could not order her about. Do you think that I, a
lowly Prince of Dol Amroth, could sway the Lady once she had made up
her mind.”
Éomund stopped. His lips pursed in a fine line and he took a few
deep breaths. “I would expect you to do something.”
“Come with me to my study. They are only gone a few days. You will
be able to catch up with them. Indis had planned on using the Great
West Road once they were past Eilenach.”
The two men, one blonde and one raven-haired, left the Hall. The
servants scrambled to prepare the study. Wine was put into carafes, the
fire was stoked, and candles were lit. The guard opened the door; then
stood back.
“I am shamed by my outburst, Prince Imrahil,” Éomund said as
soon
as they entered the room. “If I had been here, the outcome would have
been the same. Indis is a strong-willed woman; none can stop her once
she has made up her mind.”
“She only wanted to take a few with her; I threatened to bar the
gates if she would not accept Gorlim, Gildor and Baranor. With grace,
she accepted.”
Éomund burst into laughter. “With grace? I doubt that highly.”
Imrahil laughed himself. “If you would take a few more of Gondor’s
finest with you when you follow her, I would be most grateful. Once you
are on the road, she cannot turn them back.” He sat and poured a glass
for himself and the Rohir.
Taking the glass from the Prince, Éomund said, “What
precipitated
the sudden departure? I thought I had at least a week’s time before she
was going to leave.”
“A servant died. A likwain was being sent with the body to the
Pelennor. She deemed it a perfect ruse to hide the transport of Faramir
from the City. Our custom is to bury the dead as soon as possible. It
seemed a perfect time to leave. She left this note for you.” He opened
the desk drawer and pulled out a folded, sealed piece of parchment and
handed it to Éomund.
The Rohir sat back, took a sip of wine, and opened the note.
“My dearest Éomund, friend of my heart and friend of my brother,
brother-in-arms during the last dreadful battle.
“I implore your forgiveness at our sudden departure. Know that in
my heart, I wanted you with me, for your protection, your wisdom, but
most particularly, your friendship. I did not do this on purpose,
please believe me. But matters were taken out of my hands; I had to
depart when I did.
“My hope is that you will follow. I do not think I have the courage nor
the strength to do this alone. But I cannot ask this of you. The way is
dangerous; perhaps more dangerous than our previous journey together.
If you do not follow, I will understand. For what it is worth, I hope
to see you again soon. You have been more than kind to me during
Gondor’s time of woe, during my time of sorrow. If you decide to return
to Rohan, please give your King my regards,
“Your friend, Indis, Lady of Gondor”
He held the note before him, tears glistening in his eyes. “She is a
doughty Lady whom I have grown to have great respect for.” He smiled a
little and looked up at Imrahil. “Do not tell her I ranted a little at
her stubbourness?”
Imrahil smiled. “I will not, Captain. When will you leave?”
“As soon as I can pack and be off. Do you have any suggestions as to
whom I should take with me?”
“Unfortunately, there are none here who I can offer to you, but the
Captain of Amon Dîn has courage and his loyalty to Lord Denethor
was
complete. Go to Amon Dîn first, take these orders with you to
him, and
he will follow you, along with whomever he chooses. I think that is the
wisest course.”
“Are you safe here, my Lord?” Éomund asked quietly. “I do not
wish to leave you in jeopardy.”
“I have many Captains of Gondor about me whom I trust. And the
traitors are even now being made known to me. I have already arrested
two. More, unfortunately, will follow. But do not concern yourself
about Gondor. Go to my aunt and protect her and Faramir. See if you can
find this healer from the north. Then bring them back to me safely, so
that I may return to Belfalas and my father.”
*JRRT - FOTR - Book Two - Many
Meetings - The Mariner's Song
