Untold Tales of the Mark: The Banishment of Éomer

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Title: Untold Tales of the Mark: The Banishment of Éomer (#2441)
Author: Katzilla
Chapters: 45

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: A very different AU-take on what the banishment of the Third Marshal could have been like. Very dark and angsty, as you would expect from me. Now Chapter 45 up! "The Worm's Lair"... Now betaed to Chapter 10 by NeumeIndil!
Published: 14 Dec 2005
Updated: 22 Aug 2006
Warnings: Battle-scenes, angst
Type: Drama
Characters: Éomer; Éowyn; Grima; Elfhelm; Aragorn

Chapter 1 - The Hearing

�It was not your fault, �omer. That snake wants you to believe it was, but you know better. You must stop feeling guilty and start thinking about more urgent things� we must not let him get away with this!� Th�odred looked remarkably healthy despite the fact that he had been slain at the Fords of the Isen four days ago, and his intense gaze tolerated no objection. Still �omer felt unconvinced, and at the same time, he wondered that he felt not disoriented although he suddenly found himself standing at said riverbank beside his cousin, and the fast-flowing waters flooded around their feet. The sky was of a stormy grey, befitting the terrible scenery with the dozens of slaughtered men and horses of Th�odred�s �ored strewn on the ground around them. A slight drizzle had set in, and the cries of the crows and buzzards above their heads accumulated to a deafening din.

It was not the first time that he found himself standing here, but still his heart cried out at the sight of so much death. It took �omer great effort just to lift his head, and when he spoke, his voice sounded dispirited. He could not remember when the last time was that a day had brought something good for him and his kinsmen, and slowly he began to suspect that there would never again be joyful days for the Mark. Slowly but surely, their days seemed to draw toward the end.

�I only wish that I could have been at your side! Together we would have made that foul brood run. Not a single one of them would have returned to its master.�

Th�odred nodded wistfully while he followed the younger man�s gaze.

�Aye, Cousin, no army could ever defeat us together, but the worm knew that too, and his plan, I must admit, was faultless. Only now that it is too late can we comprehend its cunning. He and his master ordered their orcs to cross the plains exactly when they did because he knew they would draw you away from Edoras against Uncle�s orders, which, of course, Gr�ma had suggested to him in the first place He knew that you would disregard them once you learned of the threat. At the same time, the traitor Saruman summoned part of his forces to ambush me.� His tone became urgent. �It was an ambush, �omer, do not let yourself be fooled into thinking that it was just another one of their random attacks; they were sent to kill me. No matter what my men did, they charged right through them for me, accepting much higher losses than necessary because of that strategy. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. Do not torment yourself over it, because you will need all your wit to exact our revenge on that filth. Tell me, Cousin, can I count on you ? Will you avenge me?�

�You know that there is nothing I would like to do more.� Despair tasted bitter in �omer�s mouth. In the battle against treason within their own halls, he stood alone now. �But the tables have turned, and Gr�ma has seized the upper hand. If he succeeds in convincing Uncle to execute me�� He shrugged and shook his head, not knowing how to continue. It was strange how at the same time both the river�s surroundings and the presence of his cousin and the �other� reality were completely plausible to him. Some strange dreams he was having these days. He shook his head in frustration. �None dare to speak against him, not even H�ma or Gamling. What shall I do, Th�odred? What am I supposed to do without you now? How can it be that I am the only one left who dares to challenge that gravedigger�s words? We used to be a brave people; a people unafraid of consequences whenever we witnessed an injustice. Whenever something was wrong, we would set it right, no matter how high the price for ourselves. When did that change, and how did Gr�ma accomplish that? How has he turned us into a cowardly people?�

In spite of his frustrated outburst, the man he regarded as his brother smiled at him, and reassurance lit up Th�odred�s blue eyes as he laid a hand on his cousin�s shoulder in comfort.

�I wish I could advise you, �omer. But be assured that you are not the only one who feels this way, and B�ma knows you are not the only one determined to fight against the traitor. There are others who will remain at your side until the end, whatever end it may be. You must seek them out now, and gather them. Rouse our people and lead them against Saruman and his minions. You will know what to do once the situation arises. Your best decisions were always made on the spur of the moment, �omer. Trust your instincts, that is the best advice I can give you. Believe in yourself, Cousin. In your hands, you hold nothing less than the fate of our people. You cannot afford to doubt now.� Th�odred paused and, drawing his eyebrows together, seemed to listen intently to something �omer could not yet hear. But the son of �omund felt something else - a soft, but persistent pull. He knew the meaning of it already, and when his cousin�s attention returned to him, he saw the same knowledge in the blue eyes. �Our time is up for now, �omer. But I will be back, if you let me in again. Whatever help I can grant you, I am more than willing to give. Do not lose hope, and do not forget: I trust in you!�

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The soothing rushing of the water faded away and was replaced by the echo of distant steps. Hanging on to the sound of Th�odred�s voice until even the last vestige of it had vanished, �omer opened his eyes, but it remained dark. Sighing as the grimness of reality seeped back into his mind, he settled against the cold wall and listened to his body. The throbbing from the beating he had received when they had brought him here had dulled, and to distract his mind from it and the bleakness of his thoughts, he had spent the last days honing his sense of hearing. In the darkness of the dungeon, even the moving rats populating the moist caverns and corridors were audible to the imprisoned warrior. The persistent falling of water drops that made their way through fissures in the rock, the distant rustle of clothes of other prisoners in another corridor and their sometimes hushed, sometimes loud conversations, everything carried endlessly in these bare corridors of granite. In this perpetual darkness where he was trapped, it had been his only means of entertainment. �omer believed now what the people said of the dungeon: that even a short time down here, in hopeless blackness, made people lose their minds. B�ma, he himself was leading conversations with his deceased cousin, so presumably he was already in the middle of it.

Shifting his weight, �omer made a face when his body reminded him insistently of the beating and the days and nights he had spent on the bare floor. However, he had the unmistakable feeling that he would soon leave this cell, but remained sceptical whether his situation would improve once he was brought up into the hall. Several voices could be heard now, and the barest hint of flickering light came from the direction of the stairs. The other prisoners were calling out to their unexpected visitors, but �omer knew that it was he they were seeking. Against better knowledge, a flicker of hope lit up in his mind for a brief second.

Could it be that the three strangers they had met on the plains and lent their horses to had arrived and finally convinced Th�oden-King of his error of judgment? �omer could not tell why, but he knew that he could rely on his knowledge of people most of the time, and there was no denying that there had been something special about the leader of the three, something that had prompted him to help them on their quest even though it had meant that he would be laying his own life on the line for someone he barely knew. Something that told him that Aragorn, or Elessar, how he had called himself, would keep his promise and come to Edoras, at least to give back their horses. And perhaps he would � perceptive as the man had deemed him � notice that the state of Rohan was under siege not only by an outside enemy, but by a foe within their own halls. The next moment, �omer snorted, and shook his head to himself in frustration. Who was he to fool himself by laying his hope down in waiting for help from outside? If any change was to happen, the people at the Royal Court would have to bring it about themselves, and he could not lie to himself any longer: those chances were slim.

The steps were close now. Involuntarily tensing, the disgraced warrior straightened but still remained seated. He knew not for how long he had been incarcerated, but to someone used to the wide open skies above his head, it felt like an eternity. His time of punishment was about to find an end, and yet what kind of end, �omer could not guess. Would Gr�ma dare to have him executed underneath their people�s eyes? No matter what lies the counsellor had been telling the Royal Guard and the ordinary folk about the crimes of which he had been judged guilty, �omer was certain that an open execution of a member of the Royal Household would finally result in long-overdue rebellion. The snake would not risk that. Yet the question remained of what Gr�ma would risk. His men were not coming to simply release him, this much was certain.

Bracing himself for the confrontation as the flickering glow finally reached his corridor and pushed back the eternal darkness, �omer warily rose to his feet. Off-balance because his hand had been bound to his back and the long time he had been deprived of food had made him light-headed, the former marshal awaited his captors. And even though his eyes watered from the painfully bright firelight as they halted in front of his cell, he could see that he had assumed rightly that Gr�ma would not risk using Th�oden-King�s guards for the task of retrieving him. The six henchmen on the other side of the bars were Gr�ma�s own, part of an ever-increasing group of crooked men that had been invading the Royal Court over the course of the last three months.

�Come on out, rat,� their leader, a square-shouldered man with a swarthy, scarred face sneered at him with obvious glee, and a wide grin revealed several missing teeth. �omer remembered him as the man who had taken the main part in the beating �It is time for you to meet the cat.�

�omer forced himself to remain calm.

�As you apparently saw the need to bring five men with you to get me, it would seem to me that it remains still open for discussion who of us the cat is... and who is the rat.� He raised an eyebrow. �Unlock the door and find out.�

The ruffian narrowed his eyes at his rebuke, and the fingers of his free hand worked at his side as if he could barely wait to wring his prisoner�s neck.

�My orders say to bring you to the counsellor in unspoiled condition, because he does not want people to get angry over seeing you wounded. But if we break your ribs, they will never know it. Keep that in mind when I open the door now, arrogant forgoil bastard.� From a ring of many keys, he fingered for the right one and found it after two vain attempts. His gaze fixed on his prisoner, he ordered his men in. �F�ldroff, Dorl�k� go and take him by the arms. If he makes one move�� His bushy eyebrows twitched meaningfully. The rusty door screamed in its hinges as it gave way, and for moment, the men stared expectantly at each other, before the two guards entered the cell.

For a brief second, �omer thought about resistance. How wonderful it would be to unleash his accumulated frustration and rage against these men, even if they were not his true adversaries. He denied himself the pleasure. It would be short-lived, and not yet knowing what Gr�ma had planned for him, it would be best to conserve his strength for the time being. If they brought him up into the hall and the worm then announced his execution, he could put it to better use by snapping the filth�s neck before they killed him.

One of the ruffians poked him between the shoulder blades with a club he had no doubt brought along for a different purpose, and �omer moved. The henchmens� leader gave him a derogatory grin as he passed.

�Now will you look at this? Not only is the noble son of the great Marshal �omund not a cat, he is not even a rat! Indeed I think that our once proud warrior here is nothing but a little scared mouse!� He spat. �Disappointing. I was hoping I�d get the chance to sweep the floor with your ugly face!�

�Don�t worry. You will have the chance to see the ground up close soon enough,� �omer rebuked, his tongue for once faster than his mind. �From beneath it!�

A kick into the pit of his knee forced him to the ground, and he bit his tongue, angry with himself for letting himself be provoked so easily. Thick fingers buried themselves in his hair, and then his head was pulled back with a sharp tug.

�Say, filth, you do want the rough treatment, eh? My pleasure!�

A boot was planted against �omer�s shoulder blades, and he was pushed forward, while the guard held onto his hair. The thick strand was ripped from his scalp, and as his face hit the ground, �omer could not suppress a grunt. Blood trickled hotly down the back of his head, and he heard one of his tormentors curse.

�Gods, Felrod, what have you done? The counsellor said specifically not to hurt him in the face!�

��Tis but a scratch�, their leader spat, but �omer could hear the fear in his voice as he was pulled to his feet again. �It will not bleed for long. We will clean him up before we bring him out.� Again he poked his stick against �omer�s back, and forced him up the winding stairs. Despite the hot throbbing at the back of his head, the fallen marshal found himself chuckling in amusement.

�Terribly afraid the worm will squash you, aren�t you, Felrod? You remind me of a dog that mindlessly follows its master just to get a pat on the head while it stands with its tongue lolling and wags its tail. Only I fear that you will get the boot this time. You�ve been a bad dog, and you know it.�

�Shut your filthy mouth!� Felrod growled and pressed his big hand against �omer�s back, pushing him forward. �Or I might just forget myself. If I am going to get into trouble anyway, I might as well make it worth it. � Open up!�

Before them, the heavy oaken door to the dungeon was opened from the other side, and �omer squinted as daylight assaulted his deprived eyes. It was only the filtered light of the hall, but after days in impenetrable darkness, even the twilight hurt. Still he recognised one of the Royal Guards. The man�s eyes widened slightly at the unruly sight of his disgraced marshal, yet dared not to speak out. B�ma, how far had it come that a crooked liar and net-weaver like Gr�ma could do as he wished within their ancient Hall of Kings, and not even the king�s valiant guards would raise their voices in protest! These truly seemed to be the Mark�s last days.

�In here, filth,� Felrod�s gruff voice rang out to him from behind, and �omer was unceremoniously shoved into one of the empty guest chambers. �Dorl�k, get a piece of cloth.� The brute grinned as he eyed �omer. �I fear we must first clean up our noble rider, before we can lead him before the King. He is filthy.� He sniffed the air. �And he stinks!� He waited for a reaction, but �omer remained silent, instead of rising to the provocation choosing to look out of the window. It had been a clumsy attempt, and he knew better than to listen to it. Behind him, the door opened and closed as the other guard left, and heavy silence filled the room.

�Afraid, traitor? You should be. Your oh-so-noble blood will protect you no longer. My guess is that you will hang in the marketplace today before the sun sets. And what a nice sight that will be!�

A reply was on �omer�s tongue, an acid rebuke that desperately wanted to be said out loud, but again he forbade himself to do what the ruffian wanted. The stick was poked against his back again.

�Cat got your tongue, strawhead? Or are you afraid of me?�

�Afraid?� He did not have to swallow everything, did he? As they were expected in the throne room, Felrod could hardly beat him again. �omer gave the guard a deliberately disinterested glance back over his shoulder. �You are not worth wasting my breath. I will speak with my King, and with my King only, for he is the only man left I can still respect in these halls. Spare the effort, filth, for your words are of the same import to me as the sparrows� chatter outside.� He turned back to the window, and heard the door open behind him again.

�Here is the cloth, Felrod.�

�Then let�s teach our pig-lord about cleanliness, shall we? Hold him!�

Again, �omer�s arms were violently seized. He offered no resistance when the wet cloth was first wiped over his face and then pressed against the wound on the back of his head, followed by a dry cloth. When this was done, Felrod�s broad, ugly face appeared in front of �omer�s, grinning as if this was the best day he had ever experienced. It probably was.

�Ah, isn�t he pretty again? How the maids will swoon over this handsome face when we lead him out! Perhaps we should gift them with his head once we cut him down from the gallows. They would surely appreciate it.�

�You like to hear yourself talk, don�t you, Felrod?� �omer stared at the intricate pattern of tiles on the floor. �Or is it because you do not dare to talk once your master is around? A man of little wit like you is usually better served by remaining silent.�

�Oh, so you want to hear someone else talk, mighty one-time marshal? Very well! I forgot, you are a noble and you only answer to your King. Well, let�s see what the King has to say to you! I doubt that it is what you want to hear!� The guard rammed a big hand against his prisoner�s back and shoved him out of the room.

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On the short walk to the throne room, �omer did his best to keep his emotions locked inside an inner vault and his features bland, although the glances their little procession were gathering were excruciating. Wherever they passed, the folk stopped and followed their small procession with expressions that were a mixture of dismay, hopelessness - and, hardest to bear � disappointment. Did they truly believe the lies that were told? Did they believe that he was actually responsible for Th�odred�s death? It got to the point where �omer kept his gaze on the tiles although he knew that doing so would make him look guilty, and he only dared to look up again when the voice of the Captain of the Royal Guard announced him to the waiting people in the great hall.

�Th�oden-King, here comes �omer son of �omund, to be judged for his deeds. Will you see him, my Lord?�

�The King will see him, H�ma son H�rlond,� an oily, well-known voice answered, and �omer felt the short hairs on his neck rise in reaction to its sound. �Bring forth the prisoner!�

Although many people had gathered in the throne room, the only audible sound were the hollow echoes of their footsteps as they approached the dais. The silence felt almost solid, a weight on his shoulders that threatened to force him down. His blood a river of ice, his breath caught in his throat, �omer looked at the men who formed the corridor through which he was led. Most of them belonged to the Royal Guard, and they were clad in their whole attire and armed with spears and swords, thus underlining the official nature of this hearing. He looked them in the eye as he passed them, and one after another, they averted his gaze, and their expressions became distant and went right through him as he searched for a sign in their features that they were still on his side. His heart sank.

The last man before the dais was Gamling, and he at last had the courage to face him. A silent exchange took place between the two warriors, a wordless admitance that the old man knew of the wrongness of these proceedings, but was unable to speak up in protest. Whatever held him back, �omer could not guess, but all of a sudden he understood that he was being led like a lamb to the slaughter. The people he had grown up amongst, the people he had always thought to remain loyally on his side in good times and in evil times, they had decided to sacrifice him, but it remained a mystery to the son of �omund of Aldburg for the sake of what. Did they not know that once he was gone, there would be no one left in Meduseld whom Gr�ma feared? That once he was gone, the worm could act as he pleased?

Laying his disappointment into his gaze, �omer slowly took his eyes from the older warrior� and rested them on the only person he still trusted, even if the pain in her eyes was hard to bear as their gaze met. Usually of an already pale complexion, �owyn�s face looked ghostly white as she stood beside their uncle, her fingers unconsciously digging into the fabric of her garments and her eyes unusually red. There were dark circles underneath them telling of sleepless nights and nightmares, and for the sight of her distress alone �omer felt tempted to jump forth and strangle the darkly-clad figure at his uncle�s other side. His eyes narrowing in disgust and resentment as he slowly dropped to his knees before his king, the warrior finally faced his true adversary.

Seemingly ignorant of the prisoner�s hate-filled gaze, but secretly casting him a smirk that lay only within his eyes, Gr�ma raised his voice.

�Honourable members of the Council of Edoras and of the Royal Guard, we have assembled here today to sit in judgement over this man who has been brought before you. The reasons for a Marshal of the Mark to stand accused of treason before us today are known to you, but for the sake of protocol, I shall repeat them now.� The focus of the pale blue eyes came to rest on �omer. ��omer son of �omund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, you have been brought before your King to hear your ruler�s verdict to the following accusations: disobedience against your direct orders by riding into battle when you were specifically told to stay and guard Edoras, a deed resulting in the death of Prince Th�odred, Second Marshal of Riddermark and heir to its throne. Again against your King�s orders, you did not bring the strangers you encountered on the plains before this court, but granted them free leave instead. And worse yet, you lent them two of our valuable horses, which we will most likely never see again. What else you agreed upon with them we cannot know, but calling your actions unwise would be too mild a verdict. For all we know, and specifically in the light of your other decisions, there can hardly be a different conclusion than to see your deliberate acts of disobedience as a conspiracy against the Throne of Rohan. Lastly, upon your return, you sought to withhold valuable information from your King and threatened a member of his household with death within these halls. What have you to say for yourself, Marshal?�

Rising from his knees, �omer�s gaze came to rest on his uncle, who had so far remained silent, in a desperate attempt to bring out the man he had known and loved like a father. But Th�oden seemed to look right through him, his eyes veiled by a mist and his gaze turned inward. �omer could not even tell whether the King heard him, but it was the sick man he addressed nonetheless, exclusively, it seemed, as if they were alone. This was the last opportunity to force a reaction from Th�oden, the last attempt to reach his King, and, as it seemed, his very life depended on it. He bowed his head.

�My Lord� I already pleaded my case, so I will spare you from hearing my words repeated. But I beg you to consider this: better than any other man in all of Edoras, you, Sire� Uncle� know that I loved Th�odred like a brother, and I would gladly exchange my life for his were it possible. I grieve for him no less than you, but the truth is that we are in the midst of a war, and a war feeds on blood. Whether it is our �oreds or the common people, all of us are in constant danger in these dark times, and a life is claimed fast. It is not always in our power to prevent the death of a loved one. It is true that I disobeyed your orders and was not here when Th�odred�s call for aid came. I felt that it was important to intercept those orcs who raided our land before they brought further death to our people. Our kinsmen depend on our protection, and I felt it was my duty to honour this ancient treaty between our farmers and the armed forces.� He turned his head to look at Gr�ma, and his tone hardened. �It is also true that � even had I been here when the call came � I could never have reached Th�odred in time to prevent his death. In fact, one other consideration that led me to ride out against your orders was that I knew that Marshal Elfhelm and his �ored were already on the way into the Westfold. He had an advantage of a full day on me, and even he came too late.� Feeling his blood beginning to boil in his veins at the sight of his adversary, �omer paused, deliberately trying to calm down. He needed to remain calm.

�As for the strangers I encountered: I have no doubt that once they fulfil their own quest, they will keep their promise and come to draw their swords together with us against the plague that has befallen the Mark. I am not known to be in the habit of trusting people lightly, and whenever I chose to do so, that person always justified my trust. We need allies in this war, my Lord, however unlikely they may be, or we will not prevail.� He fell silent, waiting for a reaction. A wink, a glance, anything that told him that the man he had once known and loved was still living within the hollow shell seated on the throne in front of him. But nothing came, and so �omer braced himself and shifted his attention to the man next to his uncle, and his voice hardened.

�But while we are speaking of trust, my lord, I cannot let it go unsaid that your own has been betrayed in the most serious manner, by someone other than me. The man at your side-�

With astonishing speed, Gr�ma stood up, and the pale blue of his eyes changed into ice.

�The King knows very well what he has in me, young serpent! It is not I who stand accused before this court!�

�But it should be you!� �omer shouted, his grasp on his temper slipping as he took an angry step forth, enough for the guards to seize and pull him back. �You are the traitor in this hall! You have been poisoning our king�s mind and body for years, and your secret nets and intrigues have held the Mark hostage for far too long! But your time is coming, scarecrow, remember my words! All it takes to take you down is a man unafraid to do what is right, a man who sees through your lies and realises the blackness of your heart!� Against the men holding him, �omer turned around, and his urgent gaze found Gamling.

�Gamling, we fought together in uncountable battles! You saw me grow up underneath your eyes; you taught me yourself! How can you doubt me now? All you need to do is draw your sword and cut off this snake�s head, and the Mark will be free of him!� He looked at the other men, then at H�ma further back, desperate and angry at the same time. �What is it that you fear? I am telling you, the plague that haunts Rohan has two names, and one of them is his! The other one being that of his master, the traitor Saruman! Among them, they-�

�Enough, �omer son of �omund!� Gr�ma raised his voice, and his eyes were narrowed to a malicious slit now, sparkling with fury. �I understand that it is only natural for you to lay the blame for your failure on others, but if you abuse your right to speak to insult the present men and issue death threats and a call for rebellion, I will order you to remain silent! You will hold your tongue, or it will be cut from your mouth right here!�

�I take no orders from a treacherous worm, scarecrow! You are but a servant, and not even a servant of this house! The authority to command me belongs solely to the King, and him alone I will obey!� Another quick look at Th�oden revealed that his uncle�s gaze had become clearer, but still �omer could not say whether the sick man had heard all he had said. Nodding curtly, Gr�ma bent to the bowed man at his side, his furious sparkling eyes still on his adversary.

�Very well, young man. If you insist, we shall hear what the King himself has to say to you! It is of course consistent with your character that you would force a weakened and grief-stricken man to such a painful statement!� He whispered into Th�oden�s ear, and while �omer still waited with baited breath for the sign of recognition, his uncle�s gaze became clear� and hardened. Finally, Th�oden-King returned his nephew�s gaze, awakened from his stupor, but when his milky eyes came to rest upon the young man before him, their bitterness froze �omer�s blood.

�You killed my son, sister-son, and you expect mercy? You killed a man who loved you like a brother, and you expect to be spared? And instead of admitting your wrong-doing, you accuse others of treason and call for rebellion underneath my very eyes?� With considerable effort, the King rose to his feet. �I welcomed you in my house when you were little and orphaned, but it seems that unwittingly, I invited a serpent into my home. I raised you as my own son, and this is how you repay me. Cursed be the day when our bloodlines were united: first your father killed my sister, and now his son has killed my own flesh.� He stumbled, grief-stricken, and only the strong hands of �owyn and Gr�ma prevented him from falling and helped him back onto his throne. Hiding his face in his hand, so that he would no longer have to look at the aghast expression of his nephew, Th�oden mumbled: �Be gone, ungrateful curse to my house! You are no longer welcome in this hall, nor in this realm. You are herewith banished from the Kingdom of Rohan, under pain of death should you ever return.� With a last feeble gesture, he motioned the guards. �Take him away. I can no longer bear to see his face.� Wearied from effort and grief, the King hid his face behind his hands, and only the silent shaking of his body told the assembled men that the sick man was weeping.

For an endless moment, the silence in the room was deafening as none of the present dared to breathe. For the eternity of a dozen heartbeats, �omer continued to stare at his uncle, unable to move, to breathe, even to think as he felt coldness creep into his body. A part of him had just died upon these stairs. And as he shifted his view just the slightest bit, he could see that it was the same for �owyn. The stunned silence was finally ended by Gr�ma, who patted the King�s arm reassuringly.

�You spoke well and true, my Lord. It was about time this wolfling heard the truth, although I wished you had been in better health for this most unfortunate business.� Gr�ma looked at the guards. �You heard the King: Take the traitor outside and relieve us of his unbearable presence! I will meet you outside in a moment, but first I need to tend to our King. I fear the strain of these last few days has been too much for him. He needs to rest.�

They pulled him to his feet and shoved him in the direction of the door, and yet �omer hardly felt their hands on his arms or heard their voices around him. He neither saw his sister�s dismayed expression, nor the stunned-looking faces of the Royal guards who led him outside. There was only numbness, the feeling that he had been cast into a nightmare from which there was no waking. Had he been offered a reversal of his verdict, he would gladly have chosen the gallows over this. What point was there left in living on when your own kin thought you a curse? What reasons were there left to fight?

Chapter 2 - Leaving Edoras

The sound of light, urgent steps underneath the guards� marching prompted the men to turn around.

��omer! �omer, wait! H�ma!� Rushing to reach the procession before they left the hall, �owyn stepped up to the Chief of Guards, breathless from the running. The man she had chosen to address looked uncomfortably at her, already slightly shaking his head in denial of whatever the king�s niece would ask of him.

�Lady �owyn, I am afraid I cannot allow you to-�

�owyn�s glare promised the Captain of the Guard instant death if he didn�t let her pass, and her voice gained a cold edge.

�You do not want to tell me that I cannot speak with my brother, H�ma, do you?� Her blue eyes tore into those of the broadly-built man she had known and trusted for most of her life. �You do not want to tell me that he will be banished and you won�t even let me say farewell to him? Has it come so far that you will do the counsellor�s bidding without using your own judgment? I used to know a different man under the name of H�ma of the Royal Guard.�

Ashamed, the warrior lowered his gaze. It was obvious that conflicting emotions were tearing the man apart inside, but at this moment, �owyn cared little. Her brother had been banished, and not only this, she feared that their uncle�s words had destroyed what will to fight had been left in �omer. The Gods alone knew how strong her inner urge was to leave the men standing and run to her chambers, throw herself onto the bed and cry her eyes out, but she would have to withstand the reflex. It would not help �omer, and she could not afford to show weakness to their enemy, especially not now that her last protector was being chased from these halls.

H�ma, whose face had turned an astounding hue of red, gave her a small nod.

�I apologise, my lady. You heard the king�s words yourself� but I suppose that there is indeed enough time to grant you your request.� He invited her with a gesture to step over to the convicted warrior, but she shook her head.

�No, not out here. At least let us be alone for a moment.� With her chin, �owyn gave a brief nod to the nearest door and sighed in frustration when she saw the hesitation in her opposite�s eyes. �H�ma, what do you fear we could do? I beg you, grant us this brief moment of privacy, please! I did not hear the king specifically forbid it, and you are still the Captain of the Royal Guard, a man of power yourself. Surely there is still enough power left to your position to honour my request?�

With a deep intake of breath, H�ma finally gave her the little nod she had hoped for, and stepped aside, motioning for his men to release their prisoner.

�I am sorry, Lady �owyn. These are dark days we are living in. And with each passing day it becomes harder to make the right decisions. I will grant you this moment you asked for, but please-�

�We will not cause you trouble. You have my word, Captain.� With a meaningful glance at her brother, �owyn stepped over to the door one of the guards held open for her, and mechanically, he followed her inside. The door closed behind them, and silence filled the little guest room as she turned to him, the rigidity she had displayed in front of the guards suddenly melted away as she took �omer in her arms, gently at first, but with growing intensity as the dam of her restrained threatened to break, and the fact that his arms were still bound on his back and he could not return her embrace made it even worse. This could not be! Reminding herself to remember her most important task first, because she did not know how much time they would be granted, �owyn then suddenly took a step back, and her gaze grew urgent as her tone.

��omer, listen, I will send someone to bring you your weapons, or any weapons I can get a hold of. Ride to our old hiding place and wait there until darkness, and I will see that the weapons are stored in the little niche underneath the rock. If that snake thinks he can kill you by sending you out there unarmed, he is mistaken!� He did not react, and the stone-set look on his face almost broke her heart. �Promise me you will wait there, �omer! Do not go into the wild like this, because that is what Gr�ma wants. He intends to kill you!�

�Does it matter?� �omer finally spoke, but his voice sounded dead all the same, his eyes which had always carried that spark of defiance and willpower now two open wounds, wide open windows to his hurt soul. �My own uncle deems me a curse to his house. I am expelled for a deed I haven�t committed, and none of the men I grew up amongst speak against it though they know for the wrongness of these accusations.� He swallowed visibly. �It hurts, �owyn� more than death. Given a choice, I would have chosen the gallows instead of this.�

Her eyes widened in dismay as she cupped his face with both hands, thus forcing him to look at her.

�Do not speak like this, �omer! Please, you must not let yourself be fooled! That was not our uncle speaking! The worm�s foul spell is holding his spirit captive, and he will say all that Gr�ma bids him, without knowing the import of his words! In your heart, you know better, brother!�

�Do I?�

Now her dismay shifted into anger.

�Yes, you do! You should at least, after all those years we have lived here. Is your bitterness so great that you cannot remember the man our uncle once was? How he comforted us when we came here? How much love he gave us? He is a weak, ill man in the claws of a most dangerous traitor; he is not an evil man himself!�

�omer looked down on her from his superior height and shook his head.

�He accused me of treachery before. He believed Gr�ma�s insinuations that I wanted to claim the throne for myself. No, I lost his favour long ago, �owyn. He meant what he said.�

�But it was the poison in him speaking, will you not see that?�

�Then why not kill the man who gives it to him and release him from his suffering?� he rebuked heatedly, bending forward. �But they all prefer to stand back and watch the Mark fall to ruin right in front of their eyes, because they are cowards!�

�There is a reason for that,� �owyn began hesitantly. �You do not know of it yet, because it surfaced only when you were away. I meant to tell you when you returned, but they forbade me to visit you in the dungeon.�

�They forbade you to visit me?� �omer repeated, incredulous. �Who? Gamling? H�ma? That is what�s wrong in these halls, �owyn! All of them do the snake�s bidding, even though they know it�s wrong! They say they do it for the good of Rohan, and yet they help him destroy it. You are the king�s niece; they shouldn�t be able to forbid you anything!�

�I know. But I dared not to stress my standing, because Gamling told me what Gr�ma showed him.� She looked into �omer�s skeptical eyes. �The potion that made uncle his pawn� he will die if he is denied it. Gr�ma, of course, calls it a �strengthening potion�. Anyway, while you were away, Gamling quarrelled with him, and it got to the point where he brandished his sword against him. Gr�ma said that if he killed him, he would kill the King, too, because he is the only one who knows the secret ingredients to the potion that holds Th�oden alive despite his illness. Gamling dared not kill him then, but to prove his words, the worm withheld the draught from uncle for two full days.� Her voice began to tremble. �He almost died. It was not until Gamling fell to his knees and apologised that Gr�ma finally relented. Believe me, it is tearing him and H�ma apart to see you treated like this, but they must maintain their position! If they, too, are replaced, there will be no one left to stop Wormtongue. It is for the good of the people and uncle!�

�Forgive me, sister, but I fail to see how our people profit from our Chiefs of the Guard silently nodding to all that the crooked liar can conceive. Sooner or later, they will be replaced by his minions nonetheless, and they will have done nothing to prevent it.�

Her shoulders sagged.

�You were not here. You did not see how uncle suffered.�

�Bu I see how our people are suffering. I swore fealty to my lord and my land, �owyn. And as my lord seems no longer capable of providing safety to the people under his care, it might be time to separate the two and decide who is more important: a single man, blood-kin or not, or many thousands.� �omer lifted his chin, and his expression hardened. �I made my decision. What about you, �owyn?�

She studied his expression and shivered. He meant it.

�You are saying then that you are giving up on our uncle, the man who was like a father to us until he fell prey to the dark counsellor�s devilry? You will desert him in the time of his greatest need?�

�It is not I who deserts him, �owyn,� �omer retorted, his eyes blazing. �It is he who expels me!� The awkward moment stretched between them, neither sibling knowing what to say. At length, �omer lowered his voice, his unexpected rage gone, and his tone was apologetic. �Will you not come with me, �owyn? I do not know what expects me out there, but I do not want to leave you behind� not with this bastard doing as he pleases.�

�And leave our uncle at his mercy?� �owyn shook her head, even though the thought her brother had just voiced chilled her blood. �I cannot, �omer. I cannot yet give up on our surrogate father. Somewhere inside that weakened shell of him sitting on the throne, there must still be the great and generous man who raised us, and I will not leave his side until he is dead.�

�Even if that means placing yourself at Gr�ma�s mercy, too? You know that once I�m gone��

�He will not dare to touch me,� she explained forcefully, wishing she felt as convinced as she sounded. �omer�s expression told her that he did not fully believe her, either. �I know how to fend him off, and Gamling and H�ma would never tolerate it if he laid a hand on me.�

�They tolerated that I was banished,� �omer thought, but he chose to remain silent. She knew. So at last he cast his once proud eyes down and wished his sister farewell as the first knock on the door interrupted the heavy silence.

�Until we are united again, I will not stop worrying for you, �owyn.� After the heated outpour of his emotions, he suddenly felt utterly spent and choking on his emotions as he leaned forth to kiss her gently on the brow, and at last, her anger, too, faded away and gave way to a despair so deep, it threatened to leave her breathless.

�Ssshh�� she made, the tears finally welling up behind her closed eyes as she pulled her brother close und ran her hands through his hair, revelling in the sensation of his warmth and scent perhaps for the last time. �Do not worry for me, �omer, I can hold my own. Be careful out there, you must promise me this. You are a great warrior, but you stand alone now, and must weigh your actions even more carefully than ever before. No man, however valiant, can defeat all hosts of his enemies alone. You must hide, and only surface when the time is right. Do not let your pride lead you into an early grave.�

�Lady �owyn,� H�ma�s voice reached them from outside. �I�m afraid we must leave. Will you please come outside?�

�Just one more moment, please!� she shouted, unwilling to let go. �Oh �omer� may B�ma himself hold his protective hand over you!�

�And you, sister mine,� he breathed, and his heart felt leaden in his chest. �Yours may very well be the harder task. I wish you the courage and the good luck to see it done in the end. We will see each other again, �owyn, mark my words. One not so far day, I will return, and we will rid the Mark of the plague that has befallen it.� He kissed her again, inwardly cursing his adversary that by binding his hands, he was denied the comfort of embracing the slender body of his sister.

She lifted her chin, and the sudden expression of defiance in her eyes soothed �omer�s mind.

�Aye, brother, we will. Gr�ma overestimates himself. He thinks he can foresee everything, but he will find out that he�s wrong. We will prove him wrong.�

A second, more insistent knocking interrupted her and suddenly, the door was thrown open and the armed guards of Gr�ma Wormtongue stood in the entrance. Behind them, �omer beheld the distraught looking face of H�ma. With a derogatory sneer, the leader of the counsellor�s private guards seized �owyn�s arm to pull her away from her brother.

�Aw� what a sweet farewell! It brings tears to my eyes. � but now it is time!� A second later, Feldrod gasped as �omer rammed his shoulder into his stomach, and landed unceremoniously and undignified on his behind, gulping for air like a fish while the former marshal towered over him like a god of wrath.

�Touch her again, and you�ll lose that hand. Do you understand me?�

�Back! Back, both of you!� Throwing his full authority into the situation before it would severely spin out of control, H�ma pushed through the group of quarrelling men. ��omer, Felrod � apart! I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour.� He eyed �owyn with concern. �Are you all right, my lady? Did he hurt you?�

�It is nothing. Just see to it that this brute won�t touch me again, Captain!� She rubbed her arm and glared at the squarely built guard who was just beginning to draw shallow, painful breaths again. His whole insides twisting into a painful knot by the knowledge of what he�d have to do now, H�ma � with a deep sigh � shifted his attention back to the man he had regarded as a brother-in-arms for many years and would now have to cast out.

�Lord �omer, will you follow me peacefully, please, as I would much prefer to lead you out unchained?�

�omer�s narrowed eyes were still on his adversary.

�As long as this piece of horse-dung keeps his dirty fingers away from my sister��

Felrod huffed as he picked himself up from the floor and wiped his trousers clean. Incredulous, he glared at the Chief of Guards.

�Captain, you cannot seriously consider leading that man through the city unchained! B�ma knows what he will do! We both know-�

�I have known the Third Marshal for most of his life,� H�ma retorted forcefully, his tone for once determined and his piercing gaze indicating that this time, he wasn�t about to back down. There were limits to what Gr�ma could ask of him. ��omer is an honourable man. When he says he will come peacefully, then there will be no need to cast him in chains. This is my decision to make, Feldrod, and if you like, you can run to your master and complain about me, but this you will not change. Stand aside!�

------------------------------------------

The hour following his exciting of the Golden Hall settled in �omer�s memories as one continuous nightmare. At first, they led him out onto the terrace where they bade him to wait, while one of the guards hurried back to his chambers to retrieve the one piece of his personal belongings he was allowed to take along: his old, weathered riding cloak. Then they made their way down to the stables, where they left him under the surveillance of four armed guards while the rest of them readied their horses and the stable-hands and masters silently stared at him. At last, they led Firefoot out of his stall, unsaddled, with only a halter for them to lead him. The mighty grey stallion, perceptive as ever, had felt the unusual tension among the group and given the men a hard time, and for a while, their cursing and swearing had amused �omer as he watched them fighting with his horse. And yet at last, when they had ordered him to calm down the stallion for them, he had done so with only a few Rohirric words as he stepped into Firefoot�s path. The dangerous hooves had at once ceased their threatening dance, and although he had snorted indignantly, the grey had followed his master�s plead and lowered his head to him, and the warm breath from his nostrils had been the greatest token of comfort �omer had received all day. Here at least was one whose loyalty would be his until the end of their days.

Still with his hands bound behind his back, �omer had then been wrestled onto his steed�s unsaddled back, and they had thrown his cloak over his shoulders. He understood that it was to not needlessly aggravate the citizens of Edoras while they led him to the gates. When they would see him, they would see a dishevelled looking man in deerskin breeches and a torn, woollen tunic underneath the old cloak, dirty after the three days he had spent in the dungeon and reeking of the mouldy, damp cell and sweat. His golden mane was a stringy, unkempt mess flying in the gusts of the winter storm, and his overall appearance, �omer realised, was no better than that of an ordinary thief. If he was lucky, they would not even recognise him.

Refusing to let his despair show by his bearing, �omer had then straightened on Firefoot�s back, sitting perfectly balanced and proud despite the lack of a saddle while they led him down the lonely hill in the midst of the two lines of guards around him, the procession snaking down the steep path in ghastly silence while a mixture of snow and rain had fallen from the heavy clouds above their heads.

�Even the sky is weeping�, �omer thought numbly as they made their way toward the city gates, and his innards twisted at the sight of the dismayed expression with which the people they passed averted their gaze, as the procedure required. It was meant as a ride of shame, a last passing through the city while its inhabitants deliberately turned their back on the convicted man. Banishment did not simply mean to be expelled from the land one loved, it also meant that it was forbidden to ever utter the name of the expelled person ever again, neither in conversation, nor in song. �omer�s entire existence would be erased and forgotten by the people of the Mark. For the Rohirrim, who were a people with no written language, it was the worst punishment thinkable. Before they turned their backs on him, �omer caught a glimpse of hopelessness and despair in many of his countrymen�s eyes, but again none of them dared to raise their voice in protest. Halfway down the slope, he decided that he had enough of the sad spectacle and chose instead to look at the thatched roofs of the cottages they passed, and beyond them, at the snow-covered peaks of the Ered Nimrais in the distance, and he could not suppress the thought that perhaps this was the last time he was granted this view. The urge to turn his head and look at the Golden Hall from up close for the last time was almost irresistible, but �omer defeated it nonetheless. He did not want to give the impression that he thought this to be final. After all, he planned to return, and not alone, but with an army, victorious and triumphant, and rid the land he loved of the true plague that had befallen it. Focussing on this internal image in his mind, �omer squared his shoulders. For as long as there was a single breath left in his body, he was not defeated. In his veins flowed the blood of Eorl, and by B�ma, he would show the worm the meaning of it!

A loud shout to his left woke him from his contemplation as the group of riders around him came to a halt.

�Open the gate! Open the gate for the traitor!�

The first shout was repeated from the guards� position above the high wooden fence that surrounded Edoras, and �omer recognised the voice as belonging to his friend �othain. The pain was unexpected and sharp, and instead of looking up to bid his brother-in-arms farewell, he kept his gaze fixed on the two wings of the gate as they separated now under the screaming protest of their rusting hinges. Behind them, the wide vale of the central Mark stretched along the jagged mountains all the way to the horizon, and the fine rain that had accompanied his ride of shame slowly began to turn into snow. �omer saw it with concern, because it would make disappearing without a trace much harder, but of course, there was nothing he could do against it. It seemed that these days, he was doomed to absolute helplessness. Had B�ma truly deserted the people of the Mark? Was he playing a cruel game � or putting them to a test? Was all that was happening just a means of decision for the Gods to determine whether the Rohirrim were still worth their effort?

�Out, scum,� a voice behind �omer bellowed, and Firefoot gave a, startled jump that caused some of the men around them � all Gr�ma�s, �omer knew � to laugh. �A bit skittish, your mighty steed, Marshal, isn�t he?�

�It might be because you sound like a warg, not a man, Felrod,� �omer returned, and in looking at the swarthy guard, added: �And not only do you sound like one, with your ugly face, you look like one, too� and I won�t even mention your smell.�

Again some of the guards laughed, but the furious glint in their captain�s eyes silenced them quickly and efficiently as he unsheathed his knife.

�Now you are still laughing, son of �omund. But I know it won�t be for long. Soon you will wish your mother had never born you!� With three quick moves, he severed the ties that held �omer�s hands behind his back, and for the longest moment, while his hand with the knife was still within reach, the two adversaries stared at each other and tension built around them. At last, �omer�s mouth twitched, and his dark eyes stayed on his opponent as he pulled his arms in front against the exquisite pain in his knotted neck muscles.

�I still believe that you are the mouse among the two of us, Felrod,� he said at length, digging his fingers into Firefoot�s thick mane. �And I promise you that I will be back to show our people, you have my word.� He threw a quick glance back over the guard�s shoulder, to where the citizens of Edoras stood and watched, and pointed his chin at them. �They will see what a sorry excuse for a warrior you are. I am known to keep my promises. Ask them.�

An amused flicker danced in the henchman�s eyes.

�As a matter of fact, I would be glad if you did return, strawhead.� Felrod pulled a face and shook his head. �But I have this strange feeling, how shall I say it?� He grinned. �I have a strange feeling that I will be waiting in vain. After all, it is dangerous out there, all on your own. There are so many things that can happen to a lonely wanderer these days�� His pursed his lips meaningfully and met his opponent�s gaze unflinchingly. A hard glint briefly glistened in �omer�s eyes.

�If you believe that Edoras is a safe place for you, warg, then you are mistaken. Sooner rather than later, the people you believe to have tamed will rise against you and your master, and when they are done with you, they will lay your hides at the steps of Meduseld as a rug for visitors to clean their boots on before they enter the hall! This is my promise to you. Remember it well! Heya!� Kicking his heels into Firefoot�s flanks and letting the mighty stallion rear, �omer thrust his steed around and into a gallop that took them away from the lonely hill of Edoras at breakneck speed, and the now thick-falling snow soon dissolved their silhouette.

Chapter 3 - A Game of Chess

Gr�ma Wormtongue watched his foe’s silhouette disappear in the diffuse winter light, and his hands unconsciously balled into fists inside the pockets of his heavy cape. He had succeeded so far, his most dangerous adversary was gone. He felt satisfied, butat the same time the son of G�lm�d knew that it was too early to relax. For as long as the king’s nephew was alive, he remained a threat, and having him expelled had only been the first step toward ridding himself permanently of the troublesome son of �omund. The counsellor held no illusions that �omer would not even attempt to leave the Mark in the five day’s limit he had been given. Doubtlessly he would instead hide in one of the many hideouts he knew from his forays into the wild, and from there, plot his return. There was no telling what the wilful young man was apt to do if permitted to roam the Mark. He was much loved by the people and – even more important – well respected among the armed forces, especially by the two most valiant captains of the West- and Eastfold,and for as long as he lived, the threat of a revolution would continue to exist.

Gr�ma felt amazed that he had actually succeeded in driving that final spike between the king and his nephew, but he knew better than to believe in his victory yet. The people here had not objected to their Third Marshal’s banishment because they were afraid of punishment, not because they believed the accusations to be true; Gr�ma held no pretence in this particular question. His position would only be secure once the former Third Marshal was dead, and he was determined to make this requirement reality before even the weakest spark of mutiny could rise among the Rohirrim. �omer was one skilled at rousing the people, so he needed to be silenced once and for all. As always, G�lmod’s son already knew what he had to do.

Shifting his attention from the plains below, Wormtongue suddenly beheld the pale shape of the king’s niece on the other side of the terrace. Staring in the direction of the White Mountains although her brother could no longer be seen, the White Lady of Rohan ignored his presence, but the rigidity of her posture told Gr�ma that she had seen him.

Motioning for one of the guards near him, Gr�ma turned his back on the view and said in a loud enough voice for �owyn to hear:

“Dorl�k, when the lady has had enough fresh air, you will guide her back inside to her chambers. Under no circumstance is she allowed to leave Meduseld. Do you understand me?” From the corners of his eyes, he saw the object of their conversation pivot, and her expression was that of someone who did not believe her ears.

“You do not possess the authority to lock me in, Counsellor! I am still a member of the royal family, and I will not accept orders from either you or your men, unless I hear my uncle voice them himself!”

“These were your uncle’s words, actually. He is resting now, but if you insist, we can go and disturb him,” Gr�ma gave back in a silken voice,his features neutral. Heindicated a little bow. “I suggested to the King that you should be kept inside the hall for those five days until your brother has left the Mark, for no other reason than your own protection. Th�oden-King is well aware that you will of course feel inclined to help your brother in his predicament even if this action would make you a traitor under the law yourself.” He shook his head in pretence of sympathy. “I would hate having to throw you into the dungeon, too, my lady. As I am certain you would. It no place for a woman of noble blood, but you would leave us no choice if you chose to betray your King.” He indicated another bow and extended his arm to gesture �owyn in the direction of the portal. “Please, Lady �owyn, be wise. Accept my apologies for this inconvenience, but surely five days spent in Meduseld in the comfort of your own chambers will be more pleasant than sitting in the darkness of a cell underneath the hill or following your brother into this winter storm.” He squinted as a gust of wind blew snow into his face, and only barely managed to keep the smirk which wanted to accompany his words from his lips. Of course there had been no way for him to plan this, but seeing how the banishment of his adversary fell together with this winter’s first severe snow-storm was a well of intense satisfaction.

�owyn’s eyes threw daggers at him, and from her balled fists and widened nostrils Gr�ma could easily conclude how enraged she was. He threw a quick glance at the nearby guards. With the hot-headed children of �omund, there was no telling whether the fair maiden would think twice before she would assault him to scratch out his eyes.

When she spoke, her voice was even colder than their surroundings.

“And if I tell you to take your good advice and choke on it, and then go down to the marketplace for a few belongings I need despite your order, what will you do then, dear Counsellor? Convict me?”

He regarded her gravely, his expression telling her that he meant what he said.

“I’m afraid I’d have to, my lady. But I honestly hope that you’ll be wiser than to force me to this measure.”

The moment stretched between them with the nearby guards uncomfortably shuffling their feet, and at first, Gr�ma was certain that �owyn would put him to the test… but then with a huff, the fair maiden turned on her heels and with great, unladylike strides and haughtily lifted chin, retreated into the Golden Hall. Following her path with his eyes until the doors closed behind her, Gr�ma then turned back to the guard he had been instructing.

“I want a guard positioned in front of her chambers at all times. She is not to leave them without my permission. Instruct your men accordingly.”

“Aye, Counsellor, it will be done. But what if…” The red-haired man interrupted himself, not daring to look his superior in the eye.

“What if what?”

“What shall I say if Lord Gamling or Lord H�ma inquire about this? I am not in the position to—“

“If these two noble gentlemen want to know more about this special order, you send them to me. I am sure they will understand. After all, it is only in the lady’s best interest. And, Dorl�k? I need you to accomplish two more things for me, both with a certain urgency to them: first, you will go down to the gates, or send someone, if you like, and summon Captain �othain. I expect him in the throne room an hour from now. Afterwards, you gather all serving personnel of Meduseld in the servants’ common room. I need to address and instruct them about a change of procedure that will take effect in these halls from now on. One traitor was more than enough, and we must take any precautions possible to prevent that there are followers.” Clenching his fingers in the fur collar of his cape, Gr�ma began to descend the stairs leading to the path into the city. “I will be back shortly.”

---------------------------------

Standing at the window overlooking the western plains with unfocussed gaze, �owyn bit her lip, and her fingernails unconsciously dug into the wood of the sill in silent frustration. It was hard to believe what was going on in Meduseld these days, and the impertinence with which the worm had dared to send her to her room like a disobedient child robbed her of her breath and left her with the distinct wish to unsheathe her sword and take that black-robed snake to it. Perhaps �omer had been right, perhaps she should have accompanied him. If Gr�ma could even lock her into her chambers without the other men objecting, what else would they permit? What if he locked himself in here with her? What if…

It took her great effort to shove the ugly thought away. No matter what happened, she would sooner die than allow letting herself be used in this way. She still possessed the hidden dagger she had carried for years, ever since she had first become aware of the counsellor’s intentions, and if that scarecrow made the mistake to think that he could have her now, he would taste it, no matter what threat he’d utter against her or her family.

�omer… Again her lips tightened to a bloodless line as she stared at the swirling white world beyond her window. Somewhere out there, alone, without the protection of his �ored and unarmed, was her brother. He depended on her. There was something she had promised him, and although her initial attempt had been intercepted, �owyn was determined to keep it. Reprimanding herself for letting herself be distracted, �owyn turned away from the window and crossed the room with energetic strides. Swallowing her indignity, she knocked against the door, and heard the key turn inside the lock. A moment later, the guard who had been detailed to stand watch in front of her chambers looked at her. He had to be one of Gr�ma’s men, she concluded, because she could detect no trace of discomfort in his expression. Most of the men she had known among the lines of the Royal Guard for most her life would not have dared to look her in the eye after making her suffer this indignity, but that orkish-looking brute in front of her seemed to have no problem with it. Although he stood one head taller than she, �owyn felt far from intimidated as she defiantly lifted her chin.

“Guard? Send for my handmaiden. I wish to see her.”

“I am not permitted to leave this door, my lady,” the man grumbled, his tone indicating that he was having trouble with the unfamiliar elegant wording. “I’m afraid you will have to wait until-“ Her furious look silenced him.

“You bid me to wait? Who are you that you think you can talk to me, a member of the Royal Family, like that? You have not even a name worthy of remembering, and you dare to deny my request? I know there has been much going wrong in these halls since that worm seized command, but trust me that the king will hear about it if you will not get me Maelwyn this instant! Maelwyn!”

The young, woman in the plain servant’s dress, who had been on her way to the kitchens, hastened her steps at the call of her mistress and looked questioningly at �owyn and the guard. The tension between them was thick, and not knowing the reason for it, the maiden from Aldburg lowered her head as she asked: “What can I do for you, my lady?”

Her eyes still shooting daggers at the guard as if she dared him to object, �owyn pressed: “I will discuss this with you inside my chambers. I see no need to discuss my private needs in public, nor did I hear my king forbid me to have visitors!”

“I am not certain whether-“ the man began, but �owyn interrupted him.

“Leave the thinking to those of greater wits and simply do what you have been told to do: guard this door, and leave me alone, guard! I do not wish to be disturbed! The presence of you and your kind gives me a headache!” She nodded at her servant and followed her back inside her chambers, throwing the door with all her weight behind it. If they insisted to keep her like a caged animal, she would make certain that they had miserable time doing it!

Realising her public explosion of temperament had made her the object of her trusted handmaiden’s scrutiny, �owyn took a deep breath. She needed to calm down, or she would forget something vital and �omer would have to pay for it.

“My lady? Is aught wrong? How can I be of assistance?” Maelwyn was only two year younger than she, but right now she sounded like a frightened child. Four years in the service of the Royal Family had not yet prepared the quiet but reliable woman from the Eastmark for such a flare of her lady’s temper. It was unlike �owyn to shout or throw doors, or to throw a tantrum of any kind. Her brother, yes. �omer was known for his heated temper, but also for his sense of justice. Whoever he shouted at usually deserved it. It had always been easy to determine how the Third Marshal thought about something or someone, whereas �owyn had remained an enigma to most members of this household up to this very day. While many incidents hinted at the fact that the White Lady was possessed of the same strong will and stubbornness as her brother, she usually remained in the background, observing and keeping her thoughts to herself. Yet while Maelwyn still regarded her with uncertainty, �owyn’s angered expression slowly melted into one of exhaustion, worry and regret as she gestured toward the chairs.

“I am sorry, Maelwyn. It was not right of me to make you a witness of this quarrel. But it is hard these days to remain calm while our honourable counsellor gets away with deeds that would have formerly been unthinkable.” She made her way over to the sitting group and lowered herself into one of the chairs.

Still uncertain of her mistresses’ demeanour, the younger woman smiled shyly.

“You need not apologise, my lady. I understand that these past days have been very hard on you. They have been hard on us all.” Looking into her mistresses’ sad eyes, Maelwyn spontaneously added: “Your brother is a mighty warrior, Lady �owyn. He will not be helpless out there.” Spontaneously, she extended a hand in comfort, and �owyn was glad to accept it even though the other woman’s compassionate words caused her sense of despair to resurface; her eyes once again starting to burn. Angry at herself, she wiped them with her free hand.

“I know, Maelwyn. But I fear that Gr�ma is not done with �omer yet. They hate each other, and he knows that �omer will remain a danger to him for as long as he lives.”

The grey-blue eyes in front of her widened slightly.

“You mean he will attempt to have him killed, my Lady? But that would be against the king’s orders!”

“Gr�ma cares nothing for the king’s orders, and my uncle is too ill to see how his orders are executed.” �owyn shook her head, and a great silence followed her words as she gazed unfocused into the distance. Seeing how her mistress seemed to ponder a thing of such great import, Maelwyn dared not interrupt her. Finally, �owyn’s attention returned to her, and the piercing look she was given caused the young woman’s heart to jump into her throat. “Maelwyn, what I tell you now must remain among us, you must promise me this. Please know that I have always trusted you, but in these days of madness, it seems that even the walls of Meduseld have ears. You must speak to no one about what I will tell you now.”

The handmaiden shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“My Lady, I do not understand-“

“Promise me, Maelwyn, or I cannot tell you. And I need your help!”

It caused the young servant almost bodily pain to hear her mistress beg.

“I will not say a word, Lady �owyn. You entrusted me many secrets over those years I have been in your service; you know that your secrets are safe with me.”

“Yes, but this is different, Maelwyn. This time, lives depend on it, my brother’s and mine, if word gets out, so even though I want to put my faith in you, I still need to hear it from you again.” �owyn had never sounded or looked more intense, and the younger woman’s discomfort grew. What had she gotten herself into this time? Lowly, almost in a frightened way, she said:

“I promise, my Lady. I will not speak a word about it.”

“Except to one man.” Taking a deep breath, �owyn began. This was the point of no return. She hated having to drag the innocent girl into this net of lies and intrigues, but there was no other choice. She had to save �omer. “Maelwyn, I need you to deliver a message for me to our blacksmith. It is very important that he receives it soon. Will you do that for me?”

“To our blacksmith? Bergfinn?” The handmaiden furrowed her brow in confusion. How could a message to a blacksmith be of any greater import?

“Yes, Bergfinn. I need you to seek him out and tell him to send his eldest son to our old hiding place before darkness today. �lric will know what place I speak of, he accompanied us there many times. Tell him to pack a knife, a bow, and, if he can, a sword, and perhaps some food, too, and deposit them for �omer. He knows where. And he must make sure that he is not followed! It is of the utmost importance!” �owyn tensed upon seeing hesitation in the younger woman’s eyes.

“But… helping a convicted man… wouldn’t that be against the king’s orders? Wouldn’t I become a traitor then, too?”

“To betray a traitor is no crime, Maelwyn. It is, in fact, our duty. And the king’s order was to banish �omer, not to kill him; in fact, it was not even his order. It was his voice speaking those words, yes, but they were not his words; they were given to him.” She shook her head to herself, seeing how the girl got even more confused by her explanation. “I only want to ensure that the king’s orders are obeyed, Maelwyn. It was not his wish that �omer be killed.”

“But how do you know then that is the counsellor’s intention… if I may ask this? I know it is not my place.”

“I know it, Maelwyn. Trust me, I know it as certain a I know that the sun settles in the west.” Suddenly deciding against telling the girl too much, �owyn fell silent. The inner urge to share all her worries and frustration with someone she trusted was almost impossible to resist, but she would have be even more careful than ever. She stood alone now in Meduseld, and the Law of the Hall not the one being followed these days. The less Maelwyn knew the better. She drew a deep breath. “Will you help me, Maelwyn? I cannot deny that there may be a certain danger involved in the action, but it should not be too great if we do this smartly.”

The young woman looked miserable, and from the way her hands were clutching each other until her knuckles turned white, it was easy to see her discomfort. �owyn’s heart sank. Maelwyn had done nothing yet, and already, she looked guilty. Gr�ma would have to be blind not to notice the look on her face. But if she staged a diversion, perhaps he would not pay attention if her handmaiden slipped out of the Golden Hall.

Maelwyn’s voice was barely audible when she finally answered, not daring to meet her mistresses’ gaze. “I would love to help, Lady �owyn. I am not blind to what is going on, and I would very much like to see that dark man gone from Edoras, but what if I am caught? I have two small children to take care of. I must think of them first… and of my husband. “

“You will not be caught. I have a plan, Maelwyn. It is impossible that Gr�ma learns of it if you follow it.” If only she could have been as certain as she sounded.

“I’d rather not, my Lady.” The grey-blue eyes were pleading now. Had Maelwyn sensed her doubts? “The thought frightens me. I am only a servant, not a shield maiden. I am not a person possessed of great courage; I am not one of those people who can make a difference.”

“The people who make a difference are not usually those possessed of greater skill, Maelwyn; they are the ones who decide to make a stand, whether they succeed or not,” �owyn said embittered. “There are too many among us who believe that it is not in their power to change the course of things, and it is this belief that allows Gr�ma to do as he pleases. It is comfortable to lean back and let others fight one’s battles, but it opens the door for those who are determined to take fate into their own hands and not to the good of others.” She allowed those words to sink in, coming to her feet and starting to pace as restlessness seized her. “I do not believe in fate. It is I who decides how I live, and no one else. There is no fate but what we make. And if we all decide to do nothing, �omer will die, and Rohan will fall to ruin before long,” �owyn said matter-of-factly, her tone flat. She turned on her heels and stopped. “My brother, Maelwyn, was sent out into the wild with no weapons, and no food, and without the protection of his men. The verdict forbids for the people in the settlements to help him, and a snow storm harrows the plains. He needs not even to run into orcs to perish under these conditions. �omer has given his blood repeatedly for our people, and now those same people he rescued lean back and do nothing. Isn’t that most unfair, Maelwyn?”

This was her last weapon, her last resort, and �owyn despised herself for using it on this innocent, frightened girl. She had no right to endanger the mother of two young children and wife to a young, hard-working man. But she could not bear the thought of losing �omer.

Before her, Maelwyn now hid her face in her hands, terrified by the decision that had been laid upon her shoulders. The trembling in her voice indicated that she fought against tears.

“Of course it is, Lady �owyn, and I wish I could do something to help him! Your brother was always kind to me… he and the Prince. They never treated me like a lowly servant.”

“Well, you are no lowly servant, Maelwyn, you are a member of the Royal Household, dear and trusted. And you are in the position to make a difference now. The danger involved may not even be great, at least not for you. If you are caught – which, I guarantee you, will not happen – you were simply following orders. As my handmaiden, you are not in a position to deny my orders, so the blame would be mine, and the consequences mine alone to face.” Seeing how the younger woman battled with herself, �owyn fell silent. Maelwyn was her only hope; what she would do if her plea was denied, the daughter of �omund did not know. There was no one left within these halls she trusted enough to pour out the contents of her heart to. And yet her heart missed a beat when the woman opposite her suddenly looked up. Her eyes looked wide and frightened, and her voice trembled as Maelwyn said:

“Well, then… if you say so, I will wager it, my lady. For you… and your brother. And for Rohan, perhaps. I cannot deny that the thought still frightens me, but I see the wisdom in your words. I come from a great family with eight sisters and brothers. We never had much, but my parents taught us that we could overcome all difficulties if only we stood as one.” She took a long, trembling breath, and then looked �owyn straight into the eye. “It is time now for Rohan to stand as one, isn’t it? If we all hold together, surely no evil can ever overcome us.” It sounded more like a desperate plea than a statement, and yet the sincerity of it nearly broke �owyn’s heart as she turned on her heels to embrace her utterly surprised handmaiden.

“No. No, Maelwyn, no evil shall ever triumph over the people of the Riddermark if they stand united. I thank you! I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I wish there had been a different way to help �omer, but I know you can do this. I have a plan, and Gr�ma will never know about it.”

---------------------------------

“You certainly know why you have been summoned, Captain? There are, of course, certain things that need to be discussed in the light of the recent developments.”

“Yes, Counsellor. I understand.”

With satisfaction, Gr�ma noticed how the young man kneeling in front of the dais dared not even to raise his eyes at him and resorted instead to silently grinding his teeth. �othain, the eldest son of Captain Ceorl, was known to be possessed of the same wilful temperament as the king’s nephew, whose best friend he also was, and seeing him dominated was a well of unexpected pleasure almost as intense as the banishment of �omer himself. Gr�ma knew how much the rider despised him, and the knowledge made this lesson in power and obedience all the sweeter. Pacing the dais before the orphaned throne with carefully measured steps, the dark counsellor began.

“You are here because the king’s �ored needs a new commander after the treason and banishment of its marshal. Naturally you would be next in chain of command, but I will not promote you to that position just yet. I will let you lead your men, but as their captain only, at least for now It is not unknown to me that you were well-acquainted with the Third Marshal, and so you will forgive your king and me when we delay that decision until we can be absolutely certain of your loyalty. As your reputation is that of a bright young man with an understanding for essential strategy, you certainly understand these considerations and feel not insulted by them. It is of course not the king’s wish to insult you.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Oh, this was delightful. Where was �othain’s haughtiness which he had displayed whenever he had been in Meduseld together with �omer now? It seemed that the punishment of his friend had turned the grim, muscular warrior before him, who was easily twice his weight, into a scared little mouse. It seemed as if with one well-executed strike, he had ridded himself of the three most notorious troublemakers in the kingdom. How sweet the taste of victory was… and how premature to savour it just now! Pushing all thoughts of self-congratulation away to where they would not affect his concentration, Gr�ma’s attention shifted back to the task at hand. So far, he had won a few battles, but not the war yet, even if there could be no denying that his master would be very pleased with him when he learned these new developments.

“You will of course further understand that in the light of the same events, your king needs reassurance of your loyalty. Friendship is a valuable thing, and not easily cast aside. Yet if our friends err, or even tread on grounds that will not only endanger their own lives, but those of their friends and kin despite our repeated warnings – it is our duty to make our choice. So let us hear your decision, brave son of Ceorl: Where does your loyalty lie: with your Lord and Land… or with an old friend who has entered those ill-conceived paths?”

�othain’s chin trembled under the almost unbearable strain, and Gr�ma tensed despite his delight, establishing with a brief glance at his guards that they were ready in case that the hot-headed warrior’s restraint should break. Yet �othain did not jump at him, but when he spoke, his words were so low, they were almost inaudible.

“My loyalty belongs with the Mark and its people, Counsellor.”

“And that is well, but what of your king, Captain?” Gr�ma pressed further, rejoicing in seeing the temperamental young man squirm under his inquisition. “It goes without saying that we all strive to protect our land, but whose path do you believe to be the right one? Your King’s… or the former Third Marshal’s?” It was unmistakable that it caused �othain almost bodily pain to speak, in the way he avoided his gaze and chose to speak to the tiles on the floor instead.

“My loyalty lies with my King, Counsellor. Whatever commands he will give, I will see them done. My Lord can trust in me.” Overwhelmed by his emotions of his betrayal against �omer, �othain closed his eyes.

Satisfied, Wormtongue clasped his hands and cast the young captain a benevolent smile.

“Th�oden-King will indeed be glad to hear this, son of Ceorl. Yet as the Eorlingas have always been inadequate tellers of falsehoods, you will forgive me if I do not fully believe you yet. I am, however, willing to let you back your statement with actions. Until further notice though, your host will remain at Edoras for the protection of the city, and all matters needing a decision will be brought before this court by you personally. Until the king decides to further set his trust in you, you will do his bidding unquestioned. I realise that this measure of course takes away from your position for the time being, but if you satisfy your ruler, it will only be a temporary inconvenience.” He looked up as the sound of hasty steps echoed approached. “Yes, D�ordred?”

The guard came to a halt. He seemed out of breath and quite shaken, a sight that caused a sudden shiver of uneasiness to race down Gr�ma’s spine.

“It is the Lady �owyn, Counsellor! It is serious; I think she must have taken poison!”

Chapter 4 - First Moves

On the fringes of the mountains, high above the central plains, �omer sat in the sheltering niche of his favourite hiding place, the gaze of his dark eyes unfocused sweeping the distance while he unconsciously let a handful of sand run through his gloved fingers. Somewhere behind those low clouds and falling snow, there was the lonely hill of Edoras; and it was his home no more. He swallowed, still not acquainted with the thought he knew he’d sooner or later would have to concern himself with. The past morning’s horrible events were still too fresh to have settled with all their considerable implications in his mind. The Mark was no longer his home; he was no longer welcome here. And his own kin considered him a curse.

With a sharp intake of air, �omer forced the image of his uncle and the sound of his voice back into the vault of painful memories inside his mind. They would escape from there again as soon as he let down his guard, but right now, he had to deny them the pleasure of tormenting him further. There were more important things he had to concern himself with right now than submerging himself in a sea of self-pity. After all, not everything seemed to be against him: to his intense relief he had found his hideout undisturbed and his provisions – some dried meat and fruit he had stored there in early autumn– untouched, and there had been no sign that someone might have discovered this sheltered outlook since he had last used it. Since the narrow switchbacks leading up to the lookout was not accessible for horses, he had left Firefoot in a sheltered vale close by. The steep path lay below him now in full view, enabling him to detect any foe long before he could be seen himself. As the path also ended right where he sat and above him and to his left was nothing but the sheer cliff wall, unwelcome visitors would have to pay a high price for admission. For a warrior skilled in the use of a bow, this place was a fortress.

Not that he had a bow. Unarmed as he was, this otherwise impregnable place could very easily turn into a mousetrap if he was indeed found here in his helpless state. But while there was hardly anything left for �omer to trust in, he still believed in the secrecy of his sparse sanctuary. This was a place he had always searched out when he had felt the need for solitude; he doubted that even �owyn knew of its existence. And though the worm knew many things, he, too, would not find him here.

A particularly strong gust of wind howled along the sharp angles of the mountain, and �omer frowned while he listlessly chewed on a piece of dried, smoked deer-meat. He was not hungry, but had forced himself to eat anyway since he would need his strength in the days to come. Still, the meat’s taste did nothing to brighten his spirits, and in his mind �omer knew better than to take his frustration out on his cousin, but there was no one else left to talk to. Not that Th�odred was actually here, but he could nonetheless hear his familiar deep voice in the back of his mind. A voice which had forever been silenced by treachery in real life. The pain was still too fresh for him to hold back the bottomless, despairing sigh.

"I know it hurts, cousin, but you must never forget that it’s all Gr�ma’s doing. All that evil comes from him and his master in Isengard. However hard it may be to bear, and however great the injustice done to you, you must focus on the task at hand now, �omer. If it is still your aim to free Rohan from their siege, you cannot think about yourself now. Put aside your emotions and become a weapon yourself, the spear of the �orlingas, if you will."

How much �omer wished that his cousin were truly up here with him, sharing this little draughty cave. If only to vent his frustration aloud, to shout the words into Th�odred’s face. Gods, he was so tired of it all.

"Aye… it is my duty, isn’t it? It is about the oath I swore to my land." He spat out the words in sudden disgust as if they were a curse. "Duty. All I ever have ever known for all these past years was duty. Ever did I cross the plains in pursuit of it. I never thought about myself. I sought no personal happiness, I did not seek to found a family because I would always be gone in protection of our people. I served to the point of utter exhaustion for more times than I can count, and yet that same duty took my parents away from me. I gave our people all I ever had and more, and the one time that I need protection myself, they turn their backs on me." �omer shook his head, uselessly fighting against another surge of despair and rage that threatened to overwhelm him, and balled his fists when a powerful urge to lash out at someone seized him. " Our people have taken all I ever possessed, so what more could they want? What else do I owe them? Tell me, Th�odred!"

The addressee of his vented anger sounded understanding and yet firm, and not intimidated by his embittered outburst. And why should he be, �omer thought bitterly, after all, Th�odred was only a faint memory, a ghost. He had nothing to fear from his younger family member.

"Nothing. You owe them nothing, �omer. You are right, you’ve given them plenty. But what about �owyn? I know there is no use in trying to speak with you about father yet-"

"And there will never be!"

"—although you know the truth behind that yourself. But do I really have to remind you of all the people who are undoubtedly still on your side, and willing to fight with you until the end, whatever end it may be?"

�omer remained silent, and his dark eyes swept the diffuse swirling grey below in a half-hearted attempt to keep watch. He had not seen a rider approach the little patch of forest to his far right yet, but given the conditions, it would be a wonder if he made out anything smaller than a troll in this snowstorm at all. Of course Th�odred was right: He knew Elfhelm and �othain well enough to know that he could still count on them. About Erkenbrand, the valiant captain of the Westfold, he was not entirely certain, but it was no secret that the respected warrior had little love for the counsellor’s craven advice.

And still the path he’d have to enter would be stony: in a society as theirs, a society that had never questioned their king’s word in centuries, there were bound to be people of a different mind, too, and as likely as convinced of their righteousness as he was. His reputation was that of a passionate warrior, and his personal feud with the orcs well-known. �omer knew that like his father, some of their people considered him rash and impulsive, a man who’s hatred for the Dark Lord’s creatures would occasionally lead him to accept challenges even when the odds were unfavourable. No, he could not fool himself, there were bound to be captains out there in the Riddermark who believed that he was responsible for Th�odred’s death. With the armed forces split into two camps, Rohan could easily erupt in a civil war if he forced his position.

"But what of the others? The situation is already grim enough without having Rohirrim killing Rohirrim," he said at length. "I cannot risk an armed conflict within the Mark when we can hardly keep our enemies at bay while we stand united; it would be our undoing."

"Do you honestly belief that our kinsmen would raise their swords against each other?" the voice in his mind asked incredulous.

"I would never have thought so before, but after what happened today, I must tell you that I deem nothing impossible anymore, and certainly will I no longer take even the most natural things for granted. I do not know how successful Gr�ma’s net-weaving and lies have been outside of Edoras, but these are certainly very strange days we are living in when a proven traitor can act as he pleases in the king’s name and none do anything against it." The expression on �omer’s face hardened with determination. "I will not risk civil war, and I will not become Wormtongue`s reason to execute Elfhelm or �othain by drawing them into this."

"And what will you do? Surely you will not obey the verdict and leave the Mark while �owyn stays behind?"

Long silence followed Th�odred’s question. Through the whiteness the sky was still shedding, the dark silhouette of Edoras in the distance seemed to be only the faint ghost of a memory. �omer’s lips formed a tightly drawn line.

"I will start with arming myself tonight. And I will take it from there, step by step."

------------------------------------------

EDORAS

"What has happened?"

"Is she ill? Is it serious?"

"What is the matter with her?"

"But she was standing outside on the terrace only two hours ago, and there was no sign that—"

It seemed to Gr�ma that most members of the Royal Household had gathered in front of the White Lady’s chambers, and the agitated voices of servants, maids and guards alike accumulated to a deafening din of questions, suggestions and rumours. Purposefully, he strode toward them, his strangely torn emotions well hidden behind a perfectly bland mask of indifference, even if he was seething with rage on the inside. How dare the king’s niece defy him by demonstrating that she would sooner die than surrender to his will? And – even more infuriating – why did he care so much? Why not simply let her die and be done with her, another troublemaker erased, and this time making it clear to everyone that their suspicions were unfounded and he, Gr�ma, was not the source of the evil in this house? That people could indeed die without him having a hand in it!

�owyn despised him and let no opportunity pass unused to demonstrate her hatred, and although he enjoyed their daily battle of wits and words, Gr�ma had somehow reached the point where it was no longer possible to deny his true emotions: that his attraction to the wilful maiden was not born from the desire to torment one of the proud nobles of this land who had forever looked down upon him for his mixed ancestry, an act of vengeance, but that it was genuine longing for a companion; a need to love and to be loved in return, something he had almost given up on. Oh yes, certainly he had had his share of women over the years, but he could not pretend that they had shared his bed because of his engaging personality. There was no doubt that he could be charming, certainly, very much so, but he was even better at corrupting, and so what had drawn those women between his sheets had either been fear or greed, a lust to feel the power of a man whose words were commands even to the king of their land. The service they had provided him had been enough to satisfy his bodily needs, and yet it had not stilled the yearning deep within his soul, a yearning the son of G�lm�d had long denied to feel at all. There was only one who could quench that thirst; and she could not depart and leave him behind unfulfilled!

Anger once again overtaking him, Grima pushed his way through the crowd to the door where he was suddenly stopped by G�mling. The red-haired older man seemed uncharacteristically determined to remain an obstacle in his path, and Gr�ma wondered briefly what had caused the bout of heightened protectiveness in the old warrior. Did the guard truly think that he would try to take advantage of the situation? That he would try to bend �owyn to his will while she was weak and unable to defend herself? It was a good idea. But no, no matter how minuscule his chances of still gaining the heart of the woman he desired had become, this was not how he intended to make her his’. In his dreams, she came to him willingly, as only that way would lead to the fulfilment he longed for. Yet he was no fool; regarded with the bidden realism, it was more likely that if he wanted to have her at all, he would have to take her with force, and it would be the acknowledgement of his failure if it came to that, not the victory he was still dreaming of. It would be domination, not love.

Waking from this brief inner discourse and its grim prospects, the counsellor met the guard’s stern gaze in a show of righteous anger at the man’s intrusion.

"Will you please step aside, Lord Gamling? I believe I should see first-hand what has befallen the White Lady to report it to the king."

He creased his brow as Gamling showed no intentions to move.

"The Lady wants to see no one, Counsellor. Hildegard is with her and I sent her handmaiden to fetch Y�landa. Apart from them, I believe we would do best to honour �owyn’s wish for solitude. This day has been very hard on her, and it would be best not to aggravate her further."

Wormtongue stared at the door as if he could see through the wood. The notoriously mistrustful voice in the back of his mind was whispering unintelligible words, and he could not help feeling a vague twinge of unease.

"What is her condition, it is known?"

"As the healer is not here yet, I cannot say much, but apparently she has suddenly developed a violent fever and has trouble breathing. Whether it is a result of the grief she has suffered today or something else, I dare not say. The healer will find out."

"Let us hope so. The King has been very weak the past days. I do not think he could bear to lose another member of his family." Creasing his brow in deep thought, Wormtongue cast a long, pensive look at the doors of Meduseld. He had instructed his men very carefully, now he could only hope that they had heeded his words and paid close attention to what �owyn’s handmaiden had done out there. The king’s niece was usually of remarkably good health and not lightly cast down by illness, which made this little unexpected bout all the more suspicious. "You sent Maelwyn for Y�landa? When?"

"Only a little while ago. The smithy is not far, she should be back very soon, all the more as she knows of the urgency of her errand."

"Indeed," Gr�ma muttered to himself and turned away from the man. He needed to know now. Any delay in the conveyance of information could prove fatal to his plans. If his men had failed, not even the Gods would protect them from his wrath! "I will go and await her on the terrace."

----------------------

Her heart beating in her throat so loudly she could hardly hear anything else, Maelwyn hastened down the steep path leading from the Golden Hall to the first cottages, one of which was the smithy and the home of their old healer Y�landa, and her husband Bergfinn. She could hardly believe her luck that she was still alone; for even if �owyn’s plan had sounded proper, the young handmaiden had been sceptical whether she would be allowed to leave Meduseld on her own. To her immense surprise, the guards had allowed her to pass without a word of protest. Apparently, they had forestalled the counsellor with this course of action, but as she ploughed hastily through the snow, Maelwyn still counted on it that a guard would be sent after her, and made hardly five steps without confirming with a glance back over her shoulder that she wasn’t followed. The snow was still falling thickly and visibility poor, but she seemed to be alone yet.

Slightly relieved by this discovery, she clutched the collar of her cape and slung it tighter around her body as she turned toward the noise emitting from the building next to the little hut where the old couple lived and found the blacksmith’s son at his workplace. He looked up as if he sensed her approach; a tall man in his beginning middle-years, strong of build as a result of his hard work and with the blue eyes and flaxen hair that would give his Rohirric ancestry away even in a great crowd of people.

"�lric! �lric! Quick, where do I find your mother?"

"Mistress Maelwyn?" He squinted at her, his expression suddenly overcast with concern and the instrument in his hand temporarily forgotten as he sensed the urgency in her voice. "Is aught wrong? Is it the King?"

"A sudden fever has befallen the Lady �owyn! We need your mother’s service very urgently."

"�owyn!" The blue eyes widened in dismay, and Maelwyn remembered that her mistress and her brother had been well-acquainted with Bergfinn’s family for a long time. "My mother is in the house. I will get her immediately!," He turned toward the main building he and his wife and their parents shared. "Come with me!" Another look over her shoulder confirmed to Maelwyn that they were still alone, but still she could not help feeling as if all eyes in Edoras were directed at her every move. "Do you reckon it is something serious?"

"The fever seems to be very high and struck her without warning. Apart from that, I’m afraid I cannot say." She had to tell him now, the opportunity would never be better. Taking her heart in both hands as �lric shoved the door open and called for his mother, Maelwyn laid a hand on his arm. "And �lric, there is something else."

"Something else? What do you mean, Maelwyn? " He drew his eyebrows together in confusion and then looked down the corridor again as he heard no answer to his call. "Mother? Where are you?"

"My Lady asks for your help in an urgent matter. She made herself deliberately ill by taking a special potion so that they would send me for your mother and allow me to leave the hall. By telling you this, I lay both mine and my Lady’s life into your hands, �lric! Please, help us!" She stared into bewildered blue eyes and fell silent when the sound of steps approached them from the kitchen. A moment later, the old healer rounded the corner, and the woman’s wrinkled face turned to her in alarm.

"I am here, �lric. No need to be so impatient. Is that Maelwyn I see there? What is the matter, child? Who has fallen ill?"

"Alas, it is the Lady �owyn," the young handmaiden reported dutifully. "She has a violent fever and trouble breathing. They sent me to fetch you."

Snorting angrily, Y�landa turned to take her old fur-cape from the hook.

"I knew it was too much for that poor girl! All this grief she had to endure over the last few days had to lead to something like this sooner or later. I hope Counsellor Gr�ma is proud of himself now." She bent to look for her leathern healer’s bag, then laid a hand on her brow as she suddenly remembered where she had left it. "B�ma, what a forgetful old woman I have become! Wait here, child, I will be right back!" She disappeared in one of the rooms at the far end of the corridor. Still confused, �lric turned back to his unexpected visitor and whispered:

"Are you saying �owyn took poison? Was she trying to kill herself because of what happened to �omer?"

"No," Maelwyn whispered back with the same intensity. If only she had been granted more time for her task! "She wanted to ask you herself to help �omer, but the counsellor wouldn’t allow her to leave Meduseld, so she sent me instead. The counsellor must not know about this!"

Incredulity was written all over the blacksmith’s broad features as he stared at her.

"The counsellor forbade �owyn to leave Meduseld? But he has no such—"

"Things are getting worse within the Golden Hall with each passing day, �lric, but that is not why I am here. My Lady asks you whether you could ride out and deposit weapons for �omer at their old hiding place, underneath a certain rock. She said you knew of what place I am speaking."

"I do indeed."

"When they banished the marshal, they took all his weapons. He is out there all by himself and unarmed, and �owyn fears some foul play by the counsellor." From the far room, they heard Y�landa rummage through her things and talk to herself.

"Ah, here it is. I wonder why I left it here instead of where it belongs."

Her eyes one great plea, Maelwyn shifted her attention back to �lric. Was that a shadow she saw on the other side of the path?

"Please, I cannot say more, and there is no more time! Will you help? Can I tell my lady that she needs no longer worry?"

"Does the counsellor know you are here?"

"He knows I am here to fetch your mother, and I must return with her, ere I wake their mistrust. Please, tell me, �lric, what should I tell my mistress?" The shadow was gone, or perhaps it had never been there. Its absence calmed her not.

Following her gaze into the grey-white swirling snowstorm with pensive features, �lric mused: "It would raise suspicion if I rode out in this weather without a good reason." Deep in thought, he scratched his beard, his thoughts leagues away. The sound of his approaching mother brought him back, and finally, to Maelwyn’s utmost relief, he gave her the little nod she had been hoping for. "I will think of something. Tell �owyn that I will see it done."

"Today?"

He looked at her strangely.

"Of course today. �omer will need his weapons, won’t he?"

Relief lighting up her eyes, Maelwyn was already in the midst of throwing her arms around �lric’s neck when the sight of the healer behind him stopped her. Y�landa’s lined face wore an expression of mild bewilderment as she regarded her son and her visitor, whose demeanour seemed to have abruptly changed from gloomy to exultant, but then she shrugged it off and squeezed through the little opening in the door frame her son left.

"Come, child. Let us help the White Lady ere it is too late."

Chapter 5 - Countering

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Twilight had fallen when he woke. And despite the thick cloak he had tightly wrapped around himself, �omer felt at once that the temperatures had again dropped. A lazy trail of vapour rose from his mouth with each of his breaths, and as he lifted a hand to wipe his eyes which were still heavy with sleep, his fingers brushed over a thick crust of ice that had formed in his beard. Disorientation washed over him while he waited for his eyes to accommodate to the darkness, his muscles involuntarily tensing as he straightened, grimacing when his stiff body creaked and groaned in reaction to the movement. Finally, he dimly remembered where he was, and with a soundless groan, settled back against the wall of the cave. This was not the dungeon. They had not found him yet.

Turning his likewise creaking neck to look outside, �omer found to his relief that the snowstorm had stopped while he had been asleep. To the east, a great stripe of inken blackness began to paint the sky that was only weakly lit by the myriads of tiny bright pin-pricks, which sparkled like precious jewels on a bed of velvet. Due north, the greatest of them, marking the eye in Felarof�s outline on the nightly firmament, cast its cold light onto the frozen Mark, and later, the waxing moon would add its silvery light to the sparkle and reflect from the unspoiled blanket of white that covered the ground. It would be a bright night, a beautiful night, but �omer felt not in the mood to appreciate its wonders. Snow was enjoyable only for as long as one had a home to return to once the fun of frolicking around in the white wetness was over and one�s limbs were numb from the hours in the cold. In his current situation, it was both a blessing and a curse: for as long as he remained where he was, the snow would be his friend, for it covered the tracks he had made on the way and muffled all noise, both his own� and those of potential foes. And as soon as he left this hideout, it would betray his whereabouts to anyone looking for him.

Slowly rolling his shoulders to warm up his aching muscles for the task at hand, �omer mused whether they were already searching for him. Would they try to follow him from Edoras, or come at him from a direction they thought he wouldn�t expect? Did they have an inkling where he was headed? And who would his hunters be; orcs? Dunlendings? Or Felrod and his companions? It would be too good to be true. �omer felt confident that he had what it took to take Gr�ma�s henchman down without looking twice. The mud-blooded filth was strong, but the light in his head shone not too brightly.

His gaze once more travelling over the twilit plains and finding nothing alarming, �omer finally forced himself to his feet. It was not late yet, and some time remained before moonrise. The night would be too bright for a man in his situation, and the low temperatures would likewise work against him as they inevitably meant visible clouds of breath. At least, that would be a disadvantage he shared with his hunters... if he came across them. He did not expect Gr�ma to know of his secret hiding place in the fringes of the White Mountains, but if he did, the small grove of trees and the reed-covered edges of the Snowbourne would make for an interesting, deadly game of hide and seek.

It was time to move out. With a last sweep of his surroundings, �omer carefully descended the narrow path to where he had left his trusted steed. Firefoot was nowhere to be seen when he reached the sheltered vale, but following the tracks in the snow, �omer quickly discovered him underneath a crevice further back, and the big grey at once made his way over in response to his master�s low whistle, a low whicker leaving his throat in greeting. A thin, humourless smile wandered over �omer�s face as he watched the stallion approach: there was another good side to the snow � it hid his horse well, dissolving the dappled dark and light grey form as it moved through the night. It was about time that something worked to his advantage.

Snorting and expelling a white cloud of warm air in �omer�s face, Firefoot came to a halt in front of his master, thankful for company after the long hours of solitude. The feeling was mutual. Rubbing the stallion�s cheeks with his gloved hands, �omer�s smile deepened. It was good to be no longer alone.

�Good lad. Good lad. What would I do without you?� He pressed his face into the thick winter-fur, briefly rejoicing in the sensation of warmth on his half-frozen skin before he gave himself the mental nudge to proceed. �Say, oh grey one, do you feel ready for an adventure?� A low guttural noise answered him and the way his horse clamped his teeth shut around the folds of his cloak to chew on them told �omer that for once, Firefoot would probably have preferred the shelter of a warm, comfortable stable, a manger filled with oats and a good rub-down instead of his offering. He raised a brow in apology and patted the muscular neck. �I am sorry we are out here, Firefoot, but it seems that it cannot be helped for now. Let us pick up my weapons first, and then I will pay my debt and find you a warm, cosy cave for the night, what do you say?� With a last friendly clap, �omer seized a handful of the stallion�s thick mane and swung himself onto the broad back. �Let us be on our way. The sooner we are finished with this business, the sooner we will be warm again.�

--------------------

THE PLAINS

A very distinct feeling of anxiety had befallen �lric. At first, it had been but a vague notion of danger that had nestled in the pit of his gut even as he rummaged around in his workplace to find the items he would pack for �omer. He had thought nothing of it, had even shoved it aside to concentrate on the task at hand. It was perfectly explainable why he felt uneasy; after all, he was preparing for an undertaking that would be regarded as an act of treason if he was caught, an undertaking that could easily cost him his head. For the briefest of moments, a voice in the back of his mind asked angrily why, of all the powerful people she knew, �owyn had sought out him for her dangerous errand. He was no warrior. He knew how to wield a sword well enough from his sparrings with the White Lady and her brother, and because his profession as a metal-worker and weapons smith required such knowledge, but the truth was that he had never held a weapon of any kind against a living being with murderous intentions. How could she ask this of him?

The voice was abruptly silenced by the one he had been listening to all his life: the two siblings were his friends. They had grown up together, and the fact that he had been eight years older than �omer had mattered little, because in certain regards, their minds had been alike. As the eldest of three brothers, �lric had displayed the same streak of fierce protectiveness toward his younger brothers as �omer had toward his sister, and extending his protection to the king�s nephew and niece had not even been a conscious resolution but something that had simply happened. At first, �omer had seemed irritated by it, but soon he had learned to take advantage of the situation by teaching his older and strongly-built friend the finer rules of swordplay he learned during his daily training lessons before passing �lric off to his uncle as a valiant protector he would rather wish to take along on his forays outside Edoras instead of a member of the Royal Guard.

And so it had happened that as a commoner, �lric had spent an unusual amount of time with the two royal siblings, learning of their secrets and hiding places as their friendship gradually deepened. It was friendship which had landed him in this pickle, and if the son of Bergfinn the blacksmith knew one thing, it was that friendships were proven in hard hours, not on days where the sun smiled down upon them. It had been a while since his sword lessons with �omer, but �lric was nevertheless determined to be a good friend, a friend whose loyalty would not waver under any circumstance. And so here he was, riding out into the middle of a beginning snowstorm all by himself even though it could cost him his head in more ways than just one. What if he ran into orcs? What if something happened to his horse and he would be unable to return to Edoras before nightfall? And what if his departure had indeed been noticed by the wrong people?

For the umpteenth time since he had left the city, �lric�s gaze went back over his shoulder, and his heart missed a beat when this time, he discovered indeed four shadows to his far left, almost invisible behind the thick curtain of falling snow. The cold hand of fear tightening its grip on his stomach, his mind began to race. It could simply be a coincidence; after all, he was still on the road. Perhaps those riders had nothing to do with him. But what if? Should he try to outrace them? In these conditions of poor visibility, it might indeed be possible for him to disappear. But no, �lric dismissed the thought almost instantly. In addition to being a few years past his prime, the heavy-boned gelding he rode was not built for speed. And what use was there in shaking his pursuers if he had been identified and would be interrogated upon his return to Edoras? Fleeing would be an acknowledgement of guilt. No, the only way to handle this situation would be to keep to the plan he had made before his departure.

Quickly the shadows grew more solid which each of the horses� leaps. Their riders were here for him, �lric noticed, because even though their steeds could have easily overtaken him at the slow pace he was going at, they remained level with him for a while before they were suddenly directed toward him, encircling him. Fighting against the panic rising in his chest as he recognised the heavily cloaked guards, �lric pulled on the reins and brought Ga�r to an abrupt halt to not run into the rider who blocked his way.

�Excuse me, my lords, is aught wrong? Has a danger been reported on the road, or��

�It is I who asks the questions here, blacksmith,� the rider before him growled impatiently, and �lric recognised him from the bushy black eyebrows as the man seen most often in the company of the king�s counsellor. �Whereto are you riding in this storm? I gather it must be rather important for you to leave the city under these conditions.�

They were all around him now, so close that Ga�r fidgeted in discomfort at the other steeds� proximity. Fighting with his mount as well as his own rising fear, �lric drew his eyebrows together in an attempt to appear righteously angry over the intrusion.

�I am indeed on my way to my brother�s family in the Folde. I finished a few tools for him today that he will have need of if these temperatures remain or drop even lower, as predicted. Like this axe here, for example.� He took it out of its pouch to show it to the guards. �His own was stolen, and he will need it for firewood.�

�And when was it that your brother told you?� the deep voice rebuked. �A few weeks ago? I cannot remember having seen anyone enter Edoras who did not dwell there since the beginning of winter. And only now that the weather turns ill you suddenly remember?�

�I had no iron to work with,� �lric insisted. �Like you said, there were no traders in the last weeks from outside. So I finally decided to melt some old horse-shoes yesterday and reworked them. I felt I could not longer wait.�

�And decided to ride through the hardest storm we had all winter to bring that axe to your brother. Aw, such loving dedication breaks my heart! My brother would rather kill me than do such a thing for me!� The ice-encrusted eyebrows twitched meaningfully while the other men laughed, then suddenly, there was the flicker of bright metal, and �lric found himself in the snow, his feet still in the stirrups of his saddle which had slid from his horse�s back. With a single fast swipe of his sword, the guard had cut his saddle girth, leaving a bloody scrape on the side of the old gelding. With a panicked scream, Ga�r bolted, and the blacksmith suddenly found himself in the midst of an ever-tightening circle of restlessly shifting horses. Virtually at the last second, he withdrew his hand before a heavy hoof landed on it and crushed his bones. Deadly afraid and at the same time with mounting anger, he craned back his neck to glare at the leader of the pack.

�What have I done, my lord? How can you��

�Look what�s in his saddlebags, D�rlak,� Felrod ignored him, and his companion to the left quickly slid from his saddle and drew his sword. �I got a funny feeling that we have found the first Roh�r in the history of the Mark who tries to tell us fairy-tales.�

�You cannot do this!� Hastily, �lric freed his feet of the stirrups and robbed backwards, with a quick glance trying to determine where his axe had fallen, but his path was cut off by another guard. �You are in the King�s service, you swore to protect us, not to terrorise us, have you forgotten? What you are doing is against the law!�

�It is funny that you should talk about the law, blacksmith,� Felrod replied calmly while he accepted the heavy leather pouch D�rlak held up for him. Once glance into it was enough to determine the contents. The guards voice dropped to a dangerous snarl. �After all, you seem to be in the very process of violating it yourself in the most serious manner. Or do you want to tell me in all honesty that these weapons are for your brother, too?� He unsheathed the short sword he had found in the pouch and pretended to examine it. �Not a particularly kingly instrument. I assume it is for your brother to cut bread with because his knife has been stolen as well?� He threw it into the snow and took out a thin, sharp-bladed knife instead. �This is a much better work, even worthy of belonging to a member of the Royal Guard. Thank you for that wonderful gift.� He kept it in his gloved fist as he dismounted, the threat in his bearing unmistakable.

�You cannot do this!� �lric repeated anxiously, finally succeeding in scrambling to his feet, but he fell again when the rider behind him shoved him down by riding into him, and then the son of Bergfinn screamed when the horse�s hoof stomped forcefully on his thigh, breaking the bone with an audible crack.

Running a finger over the glistening blade of the knife, Felrod came to a halt only a step away from their groaning victim and glowered down onto the injured man with grim promise in his eyes.

�You have still not told us whose weapons these are, but that is all right, for I can easily guess. What I cannot yet guess is where you will meet with �omer, but that is all right, too, for you will tell me!� He squatted down in the snow, his piercing gaze never once leaving �lric�s face. �You will tell me, blacksmith, or I swear, even though it is cold now, I will make you sweat every ounce of pain your body is capable of before I kill you, and upon my return, I will see to it that your parents and that treacherous bitch the king�s niece sent to you will be arrested and thrown into the dungeon. I doubt they would last very long down there. It is dark, and cold, and moist. In winter, most prisoners perish quickly from the infection to their lungs they catch there.� He shook his head and grimaced. �They suffocate on their own matter. Some take days before it is finally over. It is a very ugly death I�ve been told.�

�My parents have nothing to do with it,� �lric breathed, horrified by the thought. �They do not know��

�Do you honestly believe that I care, traitor?� The gleaming steel-blade held directly in front of his victim�s face, Felrod�s voice dropped to a confidential whisper. �Tell me where you were taking these weapons, and they shall live. Lie to me � and I�ll make it true. It is your choice!�

------------------

MEDUSELD

The world behind the windows had turned dark grey when the old healer�s expression finally lit up. In the warm light of the flickering candles and oil lamps, the woman�s wrinkled face looked ancient to the frightened handmaiden who shared her watch over the king�s niece, but for the first time since they had entered �owyn�s chambers, Maelwyn was certain that it was relief she saw reflected in the pale blue eyes. For hours they had tended �owyn, administering her bitter teas and potions and wrapping the White Lady�s calves and brow with cold, wet cloths to lower the fever that burned within her body until the first results showed.

Maelwyn had assisted as best she could by fetching and sending the other servants for the items and herbs needed, but on the whole, she had been forced to stand back and watch with a terrible feeling of helplessness how �owyn restlessly shifted on her sweat-soaked bed. The secret she carried within about her conversation with the healer�s son burnt on Maelwyn�s tongue, and yet she dared not utter a word in the presence of the old woman for fear that �owyn, who kept unconsciously mumbling to herself in her fevered dreams, would accidentally spill it herself to the wrong ears. How much she longed to tell her lady that her plan had worked and help for her brother was underway; how much she longed to ease �owyn�s troubled mind, but although they seemed to be alone in these chambers, Maelwyn remembered all-too-clearly the glance the counsellor had given her upon her return to the Golden Hall. As soon as his pale blue eyes had found her climbing up the stairs to the terrace, they had held her captive; piercing her like an arrow would pierce a deer. It had seemed to her that he had looked right into her head, not seeing her treacherous thoughts clearly but sensing their distinct scent nonetheless. Luckily, Y�landa had quickly pulled her along and out of the dark man�s reach, but even as the door had closed behind her, it seemed to the young handmaiden as if she could still feel the counsellor�s stare on her back.

�owyn�s plight, however, had soon occupied her thoughts so thoroughly that the counsellor had been forgotten. Strewn on her bed, her always pale face so ghostly white that Maelwyn had actually feared for a moment that they had arrived too late, �owyn had seemed near death, too weak to lift her head or even speak as Y�landa began her work on her. This was not the situation her mistress had prepared her for. Yes, she had said that the potion would give her a fever serious enough for the healer needing to be summoned, but not that it would bring her to the brink of death itself. �omer would be horrified if he ever learned that his sister had almost killed herself in order bring him help.

Only now that she felt encouraged by the healer�s satisfied expression, Maelwyn dared to stand up from the chair in the corner she had occupied for some time now, silently observing, and asked:

�Is the fever dropping?� She was granted a tired nod.

�Aye. She feels cooler to the touch. It deems me that she has mastered the worst of it.� Gently, Y�landa smoothed a wet strand of �owyn�s golden hair from her exhausted looking face, and her eyes registered with satisfaction the regular rising and falling of her patient�s chest as she slid deeper into the arms of healing sleep. �Sleep well, child. We are here, watching over you.� She turned to Maelwyn.

�I will remain in Meduseld for the night, Lady Maelwyn, but I cannot deny that I am feeling fatigued myself. I believe it would be best if we could split the night watch between the two of us, that is if you could stay, too.�

To the young handmaiden, it was not even a question.

�Of course, Mistress Healer. I would not want leave my lady in this state and go home; I could find no sleep myself that way. I already sent one of the lads home to tell my husband. He will understand.� She looked at the peacefully sleeping �owyn. �It was horrible to see her suffer so much. Do you truly believe that the worst has passed?�

�Aye, child. It looks to me like the White Lady is sleeping the sleep of healing now. I would be surprised if she woke before tomorrow evening. The rest will do her more good than I could ever do with all my herbs and potions. Do not worry, Maelwyn, I am certain that you mistress will survive this. � But tell me, could I ask you to keep the first watch? I am no longer as energetic as you, young lady, and fear that I need a few hours of rest myself before I can continue, as much as I would like to remain at �owyn�s side.�

Maelwyn smiled.

�Of course, Mistress Y�landa. Sleep well. I will remain here.�

�I will be in the guest chambers should you need me, and release you of your watch three hours after moonrise. But do not hesitate to wake me earlier if something arises.� With considerable effort, Y�landa made her way over to the door, bent like an old branch. Touching the handle, she looked back. �Shall I instruct the kitchen to send you something? I cannot remember having seen you eat the whole day.�

Maelwyn�s smile deepened as she sat down on the edge of �owyn�s bed.

�That would be nice, my lady. Now that you mention it, I do indeed feel hungry.�

Yaland� nodded.

�I will tell them to send you some soup and bread. It is ill enough that the king�s niece has been struck down by the fever, we cannot afford to have the few people of intelligence and compassion left in this hall weakened, too. It is us who hold the kingdom together these days.� The door closed behind her to a silence that was only interrupted by the crackle of the fireplace.

Love and concern in her eyes, Maelwyn gently laid a hand on �owyn�s brow to feel for herself. Aye, the lady definitely felt cooler to the touch.

�Fear not, my Lady,� she whispered confidentially. �Help for your brother is on the way.�

Chapter 6 - Hunter and the Hunted

�omer heard the urgent rush of fast-flowing water long before he saw the dark floods of the Snowbourne glisten through the steady change of sparkling snow, the shadows of trees and the absolute blackness of the thick undergrowth. With the merest pressure of his thighs and a slight tug at Firefoot’s mane, he signalled the grey to halt his steps, and breathlessly, both rider and steed reached out with their combined senses to listen to the many different voices of the night. Each rustle in the thicket of dead plants, each stirring in the crowns of the trees and each call that reached their ears was registered and identified: close by, the urgent sound of a rabbit breaking cover; from above, the almost inaudible rustle of air on feathers as a bird in the crown of the nearest tree stretched its wings, and from a distance, almost on the edge of �omer’s perception, the hesitant, careful steps of perhaps a deer moving through the deserted forest. There was no crunching of snow underneath heavy boots, or the distant whickering of horses left tied to a branch while their riders lay in a stakeout for him; nor muffled noises or urgent whispering giving away the presence of nightly visitors to this corner of the Mark. It seemed to �omer that he was indeed the only human soul in this forest… and still he knew better than to trust first impressions. He waited, biding his time.

The blanket of white he saw over the stallion’s pricked ears looked undisturbed except for a few animal tracks, yet further confirmation of his solitude since the snowfall had stopped hours ago. From the left, the rush of wings prompted �omer to turn his head just in time to see a big owl land on one of the stronger branches of an old oak, and for a moment, wide orange eyes met his before the bird lowered its head to tear a strip of meat from the prey it held in its talons. An faint, unconscious smile wandered over �omer’s face at the sight. Owls were shy, elusive birds. If this one felt secure enough to feed, it probably meant that there was indeed no danger to be feared.

And still he waited for another moment before he dismounted, his senses now exclusively focused on his mount, and the experienced war-horse knew what his rider expected of him. The slightest twitch of the mighty muscles or even the lowest hint of a whicker from his throat would mean that Firefoot sensed the presence of others in their vicinity, but for now, his steed remained quiet. The large dark eyes swept the silent forest as the stallion drank the chill air through his widened nostrils, tasting it for the scent of predators. At last, he shook his head and released the breathless tension with a heartfelt snort. Following his example, �omer allowed himself to relax as well and patted Firefoot’s shoulder as he slid from the horse’s back.

The last part of the way he would have to go on foot. So far, the trees had provided them with excellent cover from potentially hostile eyes, but his old hideout lay closer to the edge of the river, well-hidden within a broad belt of dried reed. As children and even more as young adults, they had often sought refuge here whenever the days in Meduseld had been too dark and depressing to bear. Endless hours had they spent here together with �othain, and on occasion also �lric, making plans and vows about what they would change as soon the necessary power was theirs. Although it had been their shelter, the memories �omer held of this place were bittersweet.

Forcing himself to concentrate anew, he shoved away the distant images and assessed the situation: it would be difficult to move through the reed without giving himself away. So far, �omer had neither seen nor felt the presence of others, but he had not survived countless battles and risen to the position of a marshal at his young age because he underestimated the necessity of caution. This was not the time to rush things. Out in the wild, even the smallest mistake usually proved fatal. He had seen enough valiant warriors unexpectedly called to the halls of their ancestors because a single, brief moment of impatience, and he was determined not to fall prey to the patterns of behaviour expected of him. They believed him to be rash, unconsidered. Very well if they thought that. It would make his task easier.

“Wait here,” he muttered under his breath to Firefoot, knowing that the stallion understood and would not stray far from the place he was left at. On second thought, �omer also slipped out of his cloak, although he hesitated to abandon the excellent camouflage its grey colour provided: it would render it impossible to move silently through the reeds. Laying the folded garment on a tree stump next to his stallion, �omer stealthily made his way over to where the last rows of trees granted him cover before the area of dried scarp, his eyes tirelessly sweeping his surroundings for the treacherous columns of frozen breath. The crunching of the snow beneath his boots seemed treacherously loud to his ears as he ducked through the undergrowth and halted. A brief flicker of movement in the shadows of the thicket to his left caught his attention and was quickly identified as a fox. Suddenly aware of the presence of his unbidden visitor, the beast darted away, a white blur in the nightly forest, and only its tracks in the snow remained as proof of its existence.

Savouring the sensation of crisp air filling his lungs as he took a deep, silent breath, �omer suddenly noticed a first slivery sparkle in the water. The moon was about to begin its course over its silken black realm, and its pale light would soon reflect from the freshly fallen snow and illuminate the night; a combination favouring the hunter and putting the hunted at a disadvantage. No matter if he was indeed the only human soul out here, it would be best to hurry, as he had no intentions to change from predator to prey. Only one question still remained, and soon enough, it would be answered: had �owyn succeeded in sending his weapons?

With infinite caution, �omer lowered himself onto all fours and began to edge through the scarp toward his destination. Skilfully using the cover it provided without causing the dried stems to sway and betray his whereabouts, he moved along; a cat on the prowl, the born hunter, his movements noiseless and fluent as he advanced and at the same time soaked up the noises around him. Nothing escaped his attention: not the low song of the mild breeze in the thicket of dead stems, not the low gargle of the river through the patches of ice which tried to hinder its waters from their journey south – and not the sudden flutter of wings as three small birds suddenly burst into flight before him.

Cursing soundlessly while his heart pounded furiously against his ribcage, �omer sat back and held his breath. Anyone looking had now been alerted of something moving through the thicket, and so he waited anxiously for the noise of heavy boots in the snow closing in on him, or the tell-tale rustle of a heavy bodies in the scarp. Yet it remained calm. Closing his eyes for a brief moment as relief almost became too great to bear, �omer silently shook his head to himself and proceeded. It was about time he finished this and went on his way, for his nerves would not take many more of these incidents.

When he finally caught sight of the group of rocks he was headed for, a first wave of exuberance flooded his veins as he detected the single line of footsteps leading up to the biggest of them, the one with the small den underneath they had used as a storage for their provisions and later, messages. From behind, the lonely cry of the owl emitted into the night, unanswered. Encouraged by the silence, �omer moved on, and as he approached, he caught a first glimpse of a heavy leathern pouch underneath the rock.

‘B�ma be praised! Oh �owyn, I am forever indebted to you!’

His heart beating a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, he advanced, and the feeling of the first triumph over the worm, even if it was only a small one, pushed him forward with renewed purpose. All of a sudden, his prospects would vastly improve: armed with sword, bow and knife, he would give any foe he met, orc or man alike, a fierce fight. His reputation as one of the Mark’s most valiant warriors had scared away solitary enemies for a long time now; in fact it had been years since any of them had been willing to test their battle-skills against him in a one-on-one fight at all. As long as it was no army Gr�ma would summon against him, �omer felt confident that he had what it took to emerge yet victorious from this greatest of his challenges. The object of his efforts now almost within reach and impatient to feel the encouraging weight of a sword in his hand again, �omer pulled off his gloves with his teeth and reached out, his fingers closing around the pouch. Frowning at its absurdly light weight as he pulled it out from the den, he unpacked the one item it contained, and suddenly the feeling of a sling tightening around his neck paralysed him: it was a stick he held in his hand.

Frozen by the implications of his discovery – ‘They caught �owyn! Is she dead? How many- ‘ - �omer stared at the gnarled parody of a weapon in his hand, until a sudden rustle in the scarp broke the spell. Reflexes honed by years of experience sent him to the ground and into a controlled spin before he had consciously realised the danger; the warrior in him taking over as with a sharp thwack, an arrow embedded itself into the ground he had occupied only a heartbeat before.

Back on his feet, he instantaneously charged into the wall of reeds, not pausing once to look back and check how many foes there were on his heels or whether they were men or orcs. As cunningly as this trap had been laid, they had probably spread around him, and even the slightest hesitation would buy him an arrow in the back. Abruptly breaking to the left, �omer felt the current of air on his neck as another shot missed him only by the breadth of a hair.

From further behind where he had left Firefoot, a horse’s shriek suddenly pierced the air, and �omer cursed under his breath as he ploughed through the thicket in a hare’s zigzag, performing another sudden switchback only to drop to his knees and breathlessly wait for his pursuers to give their positions away. How many were there? Would there be a chance to take one of them by surprise and acquire his weapons? Sensing movement to his right, he crouched deeper.

“Is he dead?”

“I missed. Rabid dog’s faster n’ a snake! But he can’t be far. Be silent!”

Two men so far. And at least another one back where Firefoot was. Silently praying that they had not killed his horse, �omer laid a hand on his mouth to disperse the vapour of his breath as he cautiously exhaled. From behind him, the concussion of approaching steps caused his strained muscles to vibrate with tension. He was ready for the fight, but where was the other man? To his right, moving away, the distance between them growing.

Flexing his fingers, �omer concentrated on the steps and tensed. His life probably depended on him killing the man silently. The darkness in front of him took shape as the reed parted, and he threw himself at his adversary with the velocity of a striking snake. The surprised man he crashed into barely had time to utter more than a breathless gasp before �omer had him in a death grip and snapped his neck with a powerful jolt.

“Dorl�k?”

Alas, their brief fight had not gone unnoticed. As there was no use in easing the dead man soundlessly to the ground, �omer dropped him where he stood and stooped to retrieve his knife, the rustle in the scarp already indicating that his foes were closing in on him again. Deciding to place his hope in speed rather than stealth, he bolted as an excited shout erupted into the night.

“Mordred, Gunthard, he is here! Hurry!”

The reeds whipping his bare face as he raced toward the forest’s edge, �omer somehow managed to collect enough air for a sharp whistle. It compromised his position but could not be helped, for there was but one thing left to save him now, and the furious shriek of his horse told him that he had been heard. Almost simultaneously, a pained shout rang out from the darkness of the forest, followed by the distant thunder of hooves.

More shouting, orders screamed regardless whether they were overheard. They were certain they had him cornered and advanced from two sides now, cutting off his path to the cover of the forest. It did not change �omer’s strategy. They would not be able to shoot at him with greater accuracy while they ran, so �omer dashed toward the shadow closest to him; already switching his grip on the knife toward the blade. Only at the last possible moment his ears told him that the man had already stopped and was probably aiming his bow in his direction, and he acted instinctively. A pained shout rewarded him as the knife he had thrown blindly indeed found its mark, and with a dull thud, the arrow meant to kill him embedded itself into the ground at his feet.

Starting toward his adversary to retrieve his just won knife, �omer parted the reed and froze: the thug was still on his feet, the heft of the weapon protruding from his left shoulder while he already held his sword in his other hand, looking both pained and eager to kill. With his comrades advancing fast, there was only one decision open to �omer, and he ground his teeth and bolted, abandoning the blade with a heavy heart.

“Aye, you better run, filth! If we catch you, we’ll skin you alive!”

“Firefoot!”

The stallion answered him immediately, and suddenly, his great grey body broke through the undergrowth and raced toward �omer. A rope dangled from his neck, but there was no one at the other end.

“Shoot! Shoot! He must not escape!”

In full run, �omer shot out his hand, and his fingers closed around the horse’s thick mane as he virtually threw himself onto Firefoot’s back. A hail of arrows rained down on them, one even leaving a tear in his tunic, but then �omer had found his right seat and the Half-Meara accelerated, leaving only little clouds of snow in his wake that had already settled while the hunters realised that their trap had been sprung.

Grinning at the sound of the frustrated shouts behind him even if he could not understand the words, �omer cast a quick glance over his shoulder to establish that his assassins had indeed stopped at the edge of the forest. A flood of pure energy raced through his veins, so intense it stole his breath. He had bested them. They had been waiting for him, five of the worm’s henchmen, heavily armed and with the advantage of surprise on their side, and yet he had managed to kill one of them and wound another man. For the first time, the stinking traitor in the Golden Hall was getting a taste of what it meant to be at war with the sons of �orl, and if it was in his power, �omer was determined for it to be only a vague hint of what he had planned for Gr�ma Wormtongue and his minions.

The sensation of triumph was fleeting though, as the question of how those men had found out about �owyn’s plan sobered him quickly and thoroughly. He doubted that the snake would actually hurt his sister, not while he still desired her and with ultimate success within his grasp now that all her protectors had either been killed or expelled, but still the question remained: what had happened?

Still battling with his unsettling thoughts, �omer was suddenly cast back into reality by his stallion’s enraged shriek, and from one leap to the next, Firefoot accelerated to full speed. A moment later, a similarly angered answer emitted from the thinning trees they were headed for, and next to them �omer could make out the shapes of six horses in full tack. What a lucky coincidence: by sheer chance, he had just stumbled across his assassins’ means of transportation, and the opportunity was too good to let it pass unused. Acting on impulse, �omer directed Firefoot at the small group with a malicious smile: he would buy himself some rest for the remainder of the night, possibly even longer.

“Heya, Firefoot! Run!”

His eyes watering from the icy wind in his eyes, �omer blinked as they charged toward the horses and could not help being amused by the display of his own steed’s fury. The way the grey stallion stretched beneath him, his hooves hammering the ground in a frantic rhythm at the challenge of the other horse, it appeared to him that Firefoot - just like he - was in desperate need of unleashing the accumulated frustration of the past days against someone. He wanted to fight, and the bay horse that presented itself to him by stepping away from the others was an ideal target. Yet as much as �omer sympathised with his animal ally, killing those horses was not what he had in mind. If he could succeed instead in re-directing Firefoot’s fury to chasing the horses away and thus rob his hunters of their transportation, the manoeuvre would buy him valuable time. And perhaps, if he was lucky, Gr�ma’s henchmen would not even make it back to Edoras on foot. The Mark was dangerous a dangerous place not only for the righteous men out here. Yes, this plan seemed sound. Now all he had to do was convince his furious stallion of it.

“Hoh, Grey One, slow down! No need to scare them senseless! They’re your kin, remember? You’re not a warg, so stop behaving like one! ” He tugged on the mane and shifted his weight to bring Firefoot alongside the other horses – and found himself ignored. “He! I am talking to you!”

Now forcefully attempting to hinder the Half-Meara from charging into the others like a ram, �omer was almost unseated when without warning, Firefoot performed a wild swing to the right. Clinging to the thick mane for all he was worth, �omer – to his bafflement – suddenly heard a surprised shriek and caught the fleeting glimpse of a dark shape in their path before he felt the impact of Firefoot’s hooves on something soft. Looking back as his steed continued almost without interruption, he saw the man collapsed in a heap behind them, unmoving. Of course. They wouldn’t have left their horses unguarded. Not finding it in himself to pity the man when he had come here to kill him, �omer regained his seat and shifted his attention back at the horses they had almost reached by now.

The bay who had challenged Firefoot had apparently come to his senses at the close-up sight of his steaming opponent, because he suddenly turned on his hind legs and bolted, taking the others with him. Swearing and seeing his stallion’s ears twitch at his angered outcry, �omer slapped the grey neck hard with his flat hand.

“Stubborn mule, now see what you’ve done! It could have been much easier!” Still angrily shaking his head to himself, �omer decided that he had enough of being just a passenger on his steed’s back. It was about time he claimed back control. With a few rigorous commands, he threw Firefoot around almost in a circle, clinging to his back like burdock, before he allowed him to resume pursuing the other horses, only at a much slower pace. As soon as they were no longer spooked, he would ride up to them and grasp their reins, and then lead them far, far away…

Chapter 7 - The Longest Night

MEDUSELD

Dawn lay yet hours away when Maelwyn left the servants’ quarters after a few hours of shallow, restless sleep. Although �owyn’s condition had further improved during her watch, concern had kept the handmaiden awake for the greater part of the night even after the healer had relieved her of her duty, as so many questions of consequence were still open and would only be answered in a few days, if they were lucky. What was �lric doing right now, and was he someplace safe? Had he succeeded in bringing the weapons and provisions to �omer? If he had indeed travelled on to his brother’s in the Folde after depositing them at the secret place, he would not be back for at least another two days, a torturous span of time when so many lives were at stake. Was �omer still alive, or had some horrible destiny befallen him even before his sister’s plan could have brought him relief? And what about herself, Maelwyn could not help wondering; had her conversation with the blacksmith been observed? Or had the counsellor made the connection after being informed about �lric’s sudden departure despite the harsh weather? Would he perhaps even wait for her at the White Lady’s door for a thorough interrogation? That thought frightened her. What would happen if he found her guilty of treason?

The hand of fear digging its cold fingers into her stomach, Maelwyn hastily directed her steps over to the kitchen to fetch �owyn’s breakfast and occupy her mind with something else for a change. A wonderful scent of freshly baked bread wafted into the great hall whenever the kitchen doors opened and closed, and under other circumstances, she would have found it mouth-watering. Yet after the long day and even longer night of worry, Maelwyn felt not yet ready for food. She also thought not that �owyn would like much of a breakfast after the fever, but at least the tea would help her restore some of her strength. And Y�landa might want the rest of what she would bring them. Silently working in the kitchen until she had everything assembled on her tray, Maelwyn turned and left the cooks to their daily business, suddenly very intent to reach the relative safety of �owyn’s chambers before she could be intercepted by the counsellor or one of his men.

She was intercepted nonetheless, but not by the man she dreaded. No, it was �othain who called out to her as she was already bracing herself for the confrontation with the stern-looking guard in front of her lady’s door. Inwardly thankful for the reason to delay the inevitable, she turned to the warrior who apparently had been waiting on one of the benches close to the hearth, balancing the tray in her hands. Although �othain still stood several paces away and the flickering light of the few torches kept burning at night was not bright enough to let her see his face well, the dread in his eyes caused Maelwyn’s stomach to contract painfully.

“�othain!”

“Maelwyn.” He came closer, and the defeat in his body language almost made her cry. She had always liked the powerfully built young man who was so akin to the king’s nephew. Possessed of the same fiery temperament and strong sense of justice as his friend, �othain’s slightly different brand of humour and talent for gallantry had quickly caught her attention after she had taken up her service for the Lady �owyn four years ago. Like �omer, however, the son of the esteemed Captain C�orl was no man she could ever hope to win for herself, but certainly �othain had never made her feel like just a lowly servant. To see him in this state of dismayed helplessness was yet another blow to her spirits Maelwyn desperately struggled to uphold. “They will not tell me anything apart from that she’s sleeping. Tell me the truth, Maelwyn, how is �owyn faring? Has the healer been able to help her?”

They’d have to be careful under the guard’s observation. She’d have to watch her words. This was an entirely new experience for her, to be part of a conspiracy. It could have been exciting if she hadn’t been so frightened.

“Aye, she was, �othain, don’t worry. When I left my lady last night, it seemed that her fever had dropped, and I believe that they would have woken me had there been any changes to the worse in her condition. Y�landa and I shared the night watch, and she is still with her. �owyn is in good hands, �othain.” How much she wanted to embrace and comfort him. But was it advisable under the guard’s scrutiny? On the other hand, they had been amiable with each other before, why should they stop now all of a sudden? In reaction to her short report, �othain’s expression lit up, but the hint of mental fatigue and even shame in his eyes would not dissipate. Shame? Surely he blamed not himself for what had happened the day before, did he? Stepping away from the door under pretence of having to put down the tray on one of the long tables, Maelwyn signalled for the warrior to follow her and lowered her voice as she turned around, not to a whisper which would have woken instant suspicion, but to a level that was just low enough so that the man at the door wouldn’t understand their words.

“�othain, you are not at fault here. There is nothing you could have done for �omer yesterday. There was nothing anybody could have done.”

�othain seemed to stare right through her; the lowly burning fire in the hearth gleaming in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

“I should have left together with him, along with the other men of his �ored. My father eventually talked us out of it, but it still feels to me as if I betrayed my best friend.”

“But you are needed here, �othain! The people of Edoras need you. What would we do if all righteous men left and we’d be at the mercy of these crooked men? As long as some of you remain here to put limits to what he can do, we can still hope that there will be a change for the better. Please, do not rob us of this hope. �othain?” Impulsively, she laid a hand on his arm, but his thoughts were still somewhere else.

“Those were my father’s words. And I do understand his point of view, but still…” he looked over Maelwyn’s shoulder in the direction of the royal chambers, his lips tightening. “Perhaps we could be of better help to our people if we had left.” His voice dropped even lower. “I know what �omer will do out there: he will summon the riders and return, he will not accept the verdict. And at least Elfhelm and his men will follow him, and I do not think that they will be the only ones. Perhaps �omer will succeed in uniting our people against what has befallen us.” His expression darkened further. “I only wish I could ride with them. Of what use can I be here? The worm only keeps me here so that he can carry out his foul plans outside the city gates. It is not like he gives me any important errands to carry out within the confines of Edoras. He jus wants me to stay out of his way.”

“That may be so, but I will tell you again, �othain: your very presence guarantees the safety of the people here in Edoras. And once �omer returns, it will be your task to stop the counsellor’s men from within the city, before they can think of anything horrible to do.”

The young captain still seemed unconvinced, but at least she had his full attention now.

“But what if we hope in vain for his return? What if he is already dead? I think I am the one who knows best what skill �omer has with the blade; I know he is not a man who is easily thwarted, but he is all alone out there, and without arms! And even if he was armed, he needs to sleep some time. He cannot be on his guard all day and all night! What if orcs find him while he’s sleeping, or-“

“�othain!”

“-or if he has an accident out there? What if Firefoot falls and-“

“�othain!” Maelwyn raised her voice. “You must not think of that now. It is not in our power to prevent it.” Feeling the strong impulse to comfort him, she first cast a cautious look over the young captain’s shoulder to make sure that his back obstructed her from the guard’s view before she whispered with a meaningful twitch of her eyebrows: “Help for �omer is underway. My lady arranged for it yesterday, her illness was part of the plan to get me out of Meduseld. Please, I cannot say more, just rest assured that �omer is not alone in this. Have faith, �othain. We must not lose hope now.” Craning back her neck, Maelwyn met his scrutinising glance freely, and at last, he seemed to believe her. Taking her into his strong arms, the son of C�orl – to Maelwyn’s as well as to his own surprise – suddenly kissed her brow before letting her go. For the longest moment, they looked at each other in bafflement before he nodded and turned to go.

“Thank you, Maelwyn. Be assured that that knowledge is safe with me. I will do what I can to help our people here, but please, come to me if there is anything I can do for you or �owyn; no matter what, no matter when! Do not trust anyone else.” He interrupted himself, the sudden uproar of emotions to strong to be kept inside nearly choking him. Aware of Maelwyn’s stunned expression, he only managed two more hastily spoken sentences before he virtually stormed toward the exit: “I will come back later. Be careful, Maelwyn.”

-------------------------

EASTFOLD

It was still dark when �omer halted Firefoot with a slight tug at the reins. Following the loss of his cloak, he had literally clung to the stallion’s neck for the better part of the ride to soak up the warmth his horse exuded, but inevitably the moment had come where it became impossible for him tocontinue his ride only in his tunic and breeches. To his misfortune, the horses he had abducted had carried neither spare garments nor blankets with which he could have substituted his thick cloak; likewise he had found no additional weapons in the saddlebags, only a few provisions. Together with a set of tack, they were the only things of use to him. Relieving the horses of their saddles, �omer had put one of them on Firefoot’s back and filled the bags with his sparse loot, then - in order to prevent the animals from running straight back to their masters as any well-trained Rohirric horse would do once he released them - he tied their reins to a thick branch. To leave them a chance to free themselves if a danger should arise, however, he did not pull the knots very tight. It was a gamble he was taking, but Rohan needed its horses. About the dark bay whose bridle and saddle he had used on Firefoot, he could do nothing to keep him close, but thought not that the gelding would stray far from his companions. In any case it would be a long walk for Felrod and his band of thugs to reclaim their mounts.

Yet not even this amusing thought could lighten his spirits anymore. While the ruffians would simply be cold for a while, but certainly were in no danger of freezing to death, �omer himself felt chilled to the bone, his teeth were clattering and he knew that he would not live to see the light of the new day if he did not take immediate action. Keen on making the most of the advantage he had gained by the abduction of his foes’ horses, he had relentlessly pressed on to reach the mountains instead of seeking shelter from the elements, and only now that they had travelled over terrain where the snow had been blown clear from the rock for a while, �omer felt secure enough to stop. Perhaps not for the night, but long enough to help himself to some shelter from the temperatures.

Looking back the way they had come, he registered with satisfaction that they had left no tracks and shifted back in the saddle to concern himself with the new challenge he was faced with: behind Firefoot’s flickering ears, a thin column of smoke lazily rose into the sky from a group of buildings. �omer knew the hard-working people living here well and felt miserable about having to drag them into this most unfortunate business, even if he could see no other option. It was either freezing to death or… steal? Grimacing at the word alone, �omer took a deep breath. Yes, he would have to steal indeed, for it would be the only way to keep the couple out of trouble. It was no secret that their people were anything but adept at lying. He did not doubt that Forlorn and Th�a would grant him anything he asked of them even if he woke them in the middle of the night, but if Gr�ma’s minions somehow found out that he had disappeared in this direction, things could get very ugly. No matter what happened, he would not be Gr�ma’s justification for the killing of innocent people. For once, it would be best to simply swallow his pride and take what he needed like an ordinary thief, and be gone before anyone found out who had paid them a nightly visit.

Patting Firefoot’s neck, �omer slid from the saddle and ground his teeth at the discovery of how numb his body had already become in the cold.

“I know you would rather want to be in that barn than out here, Big One. I would that we could stay, too, but it is something that we just cannot do.” Narrowing his eyes as his gaze swept over the peaceful picture of the farmhouse and its stables and barn, �omer clenched his jaw. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

The stallion’s snort sounding rather annoyed behind him as he advanced on feet he didn’t even feel anymore, �omer listened into the night. He knew that the couple owned two fearsome watchdogs, a breed of wolfhound that was kept throughout the Mark as guardians for the stock, and scanned the patches of snow for their tracks without finding any. With luck, they would be kept inside the stables at these fierce temperatures, and his tired and freezing mind refused to come up with a solution for the case if they were not. After all he had been forced to endure these past days, wouldn’t it just be fitting to be ripped to pieces by his own people’s guard dogs? Surely Gr�ma would delight in such news, which was one of the reasons why he could not let it happen. Yet without arms, what should he do if he was detected?

‘Firefoot would come to my aid, even if he is cross with me at the moment,’ �omer thought, briefly pausing in the shadow of the last tree before he would actually enter farm territory. There was still no sign of the dogs. Looking back, he briefly confirmed his stallion was indeed paying heed to his order before he advanced, treading even more carefully. There was no light anywhere in the house as he passed, but �omer was still glad when it lay behind him. Now, where to go? Where would he find anything of use? Since entering the main house was out of the question, �omer decided to try his luck first in the biggest building, since the barn was the place where most farmers kept their tools. What he would do if his search were in vain he did not know, and he pushed the thought back as he stealthily approached the great wooden structure over the patches of ice in an attempt not to leave a trace and at the same time, not to slip.

From the long building to his right, the muffled noises of sheep could be heard, and their scent reached his nose with amazing clarity through the chill air. Still no dogs. He reached the barn and craned back his neck to peer at the small window below the roof. To reach it, he would have to climb the pile of firewood stocked next to the building’s wall, an activity he was not looking forward to as it would be far too easy to slip on these ice-covered tree trunks and send the whole pile tumbling and seriously injure himself in the process. Yet what else could he do? A quick test revealed what he had already assumed: the door was locked and secured with an additional iron-chain. No way to get in through here, so the window it was for him.

Flexing his numb fingers to get at least some feeling back into them, �omer began the ascent by carefully placing his foot on the first trunk. It did not roll away under his weight, and encouraged, he moved on, swiftly and cautiously at the same time nearing the narrow rectangle above him until he was directly below it and able to reach the wooden frame with his fingertips. Another quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that he still had the night to himself, and he turned back and tensed, then jumped. His fingers closed around the middle beam of the window, and with a chin-up, �omer pulled himself up to see a barricade in the form of a pressed block of straw in front of him. Finding hold on the small ledge, he placed his shoulder against it and pushed cautiously, but persistently. Slowly, the block gave way.

The first sensation as he squeezed through the window was that of warmth… and then the smell of the animals and the noises of their restless shifting trickled into his awareness as well. Stretching his neck to orientate himself in the semi-darkness from his elevated position, �omer looked down on two rows of stalls holding cattle and two heavy-set horses. From their calm demeanour, �omer concluded that the beasts had not yet picked up the scent of their unbidden nightly visitor, and so he used the moment to look around further. The flickering light of an oil lamp that enabled him to see stemmed from an even higher place opposite him, where two booted feet stuck out from underneath a blanket: a guard. He tensed, even though he had not expected to find himself alone in here. These days, no farmer could risk his stock by leaving it unprotected. He would have to be quiet.

With careful, conscious movements, �omer silently advanced to the edge of the straw and peered down. There was still no sign of the dogs, but as he looked to his right, he saw to his excitement a couple of fur-lined, thick leather capes hanging from hooks at the wall underneath the sleeping guard’s position. There was a small shed there, as well, which probably contained work tools such as axes, hammers and sickles, things he could use well for a weapon in lack of a better option. His heart beating faster at the sight of this treasure, �omer climbed down and came to stand on the stone floor only a moment later. A brief glance upwards confirmed that the guard was still asleep, and so he took his heart in both hands and closed the distance to the wall with a few fast and soundless steps, his fingers already digging into the thick fur to unhook the cape – when a sudden low, menacing snarl turned his stomach into a block of ice. Inwardly swearing, �omer turned around. From the corridor between the two rows of stalls, a pair of amber glowing eyes was set on him, and even as he looked, the growl rose in volume, the flickering light now also reflecting from an impressive looking set of pointed fangs as the wolfhound they belonged to approached.

‘Gods, I almost had it! Am I spared nothing?‘ Lunging for the first thing within his reach, �omer’s fingers closed around a hayfork, which he stabbed menacingly in the direction of his attacker. Yet instead of jumping, the well-trained guard dog immediately retreated to wake the barn with his hysterical barking. The alarm was instantly picked up by the cows and horses and filled the building with an ear-splitting din that could impossibly be overheard even in the distant main house.

“Morgoth’s stinking breath…!” Still attempting to hold the dog at bay with the fork single-handedly, �omer seized one of the capes and started to edge his way back to the pile of straw blocks when a young frightened voice from above froze him in his tracks.

“Faestor? What is it? Is there something-“ The light of the lamp started to move down the ladder, and with a sigh of resignation, �omer retreated all the way to the wall while a burning feeling of shame twisted his insides. So it had come to this: the former proud Marshal of the Mark had been reduced to a petty thief who broke into stables at night to steal from the people he had once sworn to protect and scare their children. No longer attempting to escape detection, �omer waited until the young lad he knew to be the oldest son of the couple saw him. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

The lad, no older than thirteen or fourteen summers, held a small axe in his hand which he lifted now in pitiful threat upon the sight of the stranger in his barn. Not intending to scare the boy further, �omer did not move a muscle.

“I mean you no harm, H�lrod, relax. I only wanted to borrow one of your capes.” Slowly, he lifted the hand with the garment. “I am sorry for the disturbance, but--”

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Holding up the lamp to see better while his still growling hound walked with stiff steps over to his master, H�lrod looked confused at hearing his own name uttered. Yet before he could think of anything else to say, the sound of the heavy door being unlocked and pushed open interrupted his train of thought, and the next moment, a broad-shouldered, unkempt looking man in his middle-years entered the barn, a sickle in his right hand. Inwardly sighing to himself, �omer looked down the corridor. So here came Forlon. B�ma certainly seemed in a mood to spare him not even the least indignity these days. Holding up his own oil-lamp, the farmer squinted at him and when he spoke, his tone was harsh.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in our barn in the dead of night, thief? What did you hope to find here?” He squinted even more, and suddenly his eyes widened in disbelief. “No, it cannot be! Marshal? Marshal �omer? Is it really you?”

Straightening to his full height and squaring his shoulders, �omer swallowed his pride. His approach had not worked, so he would have to think of something else now, even if the thought of including the family in his act of disobedience against the banishment still caused him stomach cramps.

“Yes, it is indeed I, Forlorn, even if I am no longer a marshal, and you must believe me that I am truly sorry about this. Circumstances brought me here in the middle of the night to try and borrow one of your capes.” He took a deep breath and added in a low voice: “I would have brought it back later.”

“But…” The man obviously doubted whether he was truly awake yet, but his hand with the sickle sank. “-why did you not knock and wake us, my lord? We would have given you gladly everything you needed.” He paused as his memory slowly returned. “There was a rider here two days ago, telling us that… oh B�ma! They did not even leave you your coat? But that is murder!” Casting an angry glance at the still growling dog, the farmer shouted: “Silence, Faestor! H�lrod, take him back to his stall before he causes the animals to panic. There is no foe to be found here.”

With another insecure glance at him, the lad grasped his hound by the collar and did as bidden.

“It is a long story,” �omer sighed as he slowly relaxed. His hand with the cloak sank. “Of course I would have rather liked to ask you for this instead of simply taking it, but you know the rules of the banishment. It was not my wish to draw you into this any more than necessary.”

“But is it true then that the Prince is dead? The errand rider said that he died in battle in the Westfold.”

A shadow crept over �omer’s face as Forlorn’s questions brought back the hurt of his own loss.

“Aye. Alas, I fear that it is so. It is not true that I played a part in it. But as I said, it is a long story, and –“

“So the heir to the throne is gone. Alas that we should live to see such days of darkness…” The farmer’s expression told of his dismay. “And of course I know that it could not have been your fault, Marshal, you do not have to tell me. Although we live far from the court, we know better than to trust information coming from Edoras these days.” He shook his head, motioning �omer closer. “I would never have thought that I would say such a thing one day. But tell me, what is the matter with the king these days that he makes such strange decisions?”

“Gods, Forlong, will you look at the poor man?” another voice suddenly interrupted their conversation harshly from the direction of the door. “The Marshal is shivering like autumn leaves, and his teeth clatter. He must be half-frozen! Will you not ask him first to come to our house for some warm broth and tea? You can continue to speak there.” Th�a, the frail-looking, yet astonishingly resilient wife of the man before him stepped into the barn with an expression of irritation on her plain face as she regarded her husband. “Marshal �omer, please, it will be an honour for us to welcome you in our home”

“And I thank you, Th�a, but I am afraid that I cannot accept your invitation, as much as I would like to. If I am found here, you will come to harm. And I will not risk it, under no circumstance. “

Yet to his utter surprise and then, sudden, secret amusement, the diminutive woman put her hands on her hips in a resolute gesture, seemingly far from intimidated by her high guest.

“I understand, my lord. You would rather freeze to death out there. But how in �orl’s name is that supposed to help us?”

“You say you understand, Th�a, but you don’t. I was banished, which means that all who help me will be treated as traitors if it becomes known, and I will not be responsible for your death.”

“There is no one here to see you. It is the middle of the night! There have never been many Rohirrim forces around here, not even when we really needed them… except for your �ored, of course. You and your men risked your lives for us many a time; it would only be far to repay you for it now, even if we cannot do much, I’m afraid.”

“If you could borrow me this cape, it would be more than I could have hoped to find. That, and perhaps something I could use for a weapon, a knife, or an axe, should you have one to spare…”

“The cape is yours, let us talk no more about it,” Forlorn rejoined the discussion. “And before you leave, we will also find a blade or such for you as well, but for now, I fear I have to agree with my wife: we will not let you leave like this. We would see it as a serious insult of our hospitality.” He paused and looked back. “Wouldn’t we, Th�a?”

“Oh, we certainly would.” The woman was actually glowering at him now, �omer noticed, torn between laughing and feeling annoyed over the stubbornness of the couple. And yet, wasn’t this the very character trait their people were famous for, the one trait which had ensured their survival through all those hard, violent centuries? “I even believe that I could be insulted enough to take back our gift.”

Incredulous, �omer narrowed his eyes. Was he being blackmailed?

“I do not believe my ears. Are you trying to force me to accept?”

“Aye,” Th�a beamed. “Thus I think it would be best for you to give in. We are two, after all, and there is only one of you… and of course, we also have the dogs.”

Now �omer could no longer help himself, the grin broke through as he slowly shook his head in wonder.

“I see. It is quite telling what happens to authority once you’re stripped of your titles. Very well, I surrender to your sheer power of conviction. But –“ and he pointed the finger at the woman, whose expression suddenly flushed with satisfaction. “—I will move on before dawn, even if I have to fight you. I meant it when I said that I must not be found here.”

“And we understood you,” Forlorn confessed. “But there must be time enough to thaw you up again. Come, we will let you sit before the fire and Thea will make you some hot soup and tea while I pack a few things for you. Aye, and I am certain that your horse might appreciate a few handful of oats as well, wouldn’t you agree?”

Chapter 8 - Dawn of the New Day

MEDUSELD

In the many chambers of the Golden Hall, someone else was experiencing a night without sleep although he hadn’t expected so. Waiting for his men to return from their secret errand, Gr�ma Wormtongue had stayed outside his chambers for a long time even after the King had gone – or rather been brought – to bed. The ill old man had instantly fallen asleep, almost too quickly for his personal caretaker to administer him the tea that contained the poison. Every time he thought about it, Gr�ma felt astonished that it still worked so flawlessly. For the first months that he had used it on Th�oden, his claim had been that it was a medicine against the constant ache in the king’s joints; a rather natural condition that came from old age and exposure to the harsh climate of the Mark. By then, it had indeed been mostly medicine, the part of it that would make the patient dependant and at the same time opened his mind for manipulations minuscule. And the king had felt better quickly after he started taking it, and so had uttered no protest when Gr�ma had suggested that the potion would have to be taken each day to prevent the pain from returning. Each week, he gave a small phial of it to Th�oden’s long-time manservant with the stern warning to never give the king more of it than five drops a day. After this show of concern, nobody had ever suspected that this was the very tool that would grant the spy in their midst access to power over the realm of the Riddermark. As soon the potion had been accepted by all as a given in Th�oden’s daily routine to the point that it had been forgotten, Gr�ma had altered the mix. Month after month, he had made it stronger, and while his master’s joints still seemed in perfect condition, the old man’s health and mind suddenly started to crumble.

As before and due to his initial success, people once again came to ask him for help, much to Wormtongue’s secret amusement. No word of suspicion was ever uttered against him, not even when in response to the other draughts he mixed for Rohan’s ruler, Th�oden-King’s mental health was stripped away piece by piece to the point where he did not even recognise people anymore. When at last, all attempts of restoring the monarch’s health had failed and Gr�ma claimed with convincingly acted sorrow that the king’s illness had to be a result to old age which not even the best medicine could reverse – they believed him and never once suspected that he was in fact the cause of Th�oden’s condition. It was only the king’s family, of course, who suspected differently, but since it was well-known that �omer had hated him from the beginning, his blunt accusations made during the rare occasions when he was not roaming the Mark with his �ored were not taken seriously by the rest of the Rohan court, and Gr�ma had shrugged them off as a horse rid itself of a fly that pestered it. No, he was safe. But still, his cautious nature told him to only brew small amounts of the potion each time, so that in case that his treason would one day be detected, it would be difficult, if not impossible for the Rohirrim to dispose of him without killing their king at the same time.

Staring at the window, a far away, not at all pleasant smirk crept over the counsellor’s face. The Rohirrim’s blind loyalty to their king was an amusing but, at the same time, extremely valuable characteristic to him. On some days Gr�ma himself was still astounded what foolish orders the warriors accepted unquestioningly from an old, weak man who could not even dress himself without help anymore– and much less had an idea of what was going on in his kingdom.

Still Gr�ma knew better than to overdo it. The keen strategist in him was quite aware of the fact that his hold on Rohan stood and fell with King Th�oden’s life, and that all power would be lost if the old man died. These days, Th�oden was so thoroughly under his influence that all words whispered into his ears instantly settled in his mind as fact. At first, Gr�ma had been hesitant about forcing �omer’s banishment for fear that this extreme measure would perhaps stir up some part of the ‘real’ Th�oden, the part he held prisoner and that would be horrified to learn what he had done to his people and family. So to insure that the outcome of the hearing would meet with his expectations, Gr�ma had secretly sat all night by the king’s bed almost until dawn of the day of truth, and he had filled his liege’s mind up like an empty vessel with his words and images, pitilessly continuing even after Th�oden had started to weep in his sleep at the repeated vivid description of how cruelly his son’s had died. The effort had not been in vain.

So far, he certainly had reason to congratulate himself for a plan well executed, Gr�ma mused without real satisfaction. Finally succumbing to his restlessness, he once again came to his feet and directed his steps over to the window even though the darkness behind it hid the world from his view. Despite the chill night air, he opened the elaborately worked glass-wings and rested his elbows on the sill, impatiently listening into the night. Yet once again, he held out in vain for the sound of horses approaching the hall. Creasing his brow as he watched the cloud of his breath rise into the air, Gr�ma grimly asked himself for the hundredth time what had happened to Felrod and his men. How could it be that everything he delegated had a tendency to go wrong? He had chosen these men carefully for their strength, loyalty and ambition, and just as carefully had he instructed them about the observation of the king’s niece and everyone close to her. Still they had allowed letting themselves be fooled. Had it not been for his deliberate order to keep the smithy under close scrutiny after he had learned of �owyn’s handmaiden leaving the hall, no one would ever have thought of following that blacksmith’s son. Was he to do everything himself? Perhaps punishment would make them heed his orders in the future. He had promised them positions of great power when he had taken them into his service, but power would remain unattainable for all of them if they did not fulfil their duty, and failure would come at a great price: Gr�ma harboured no doubts that his impatient master would get very upset if he heard that things in Rohan were not entirely under control yet, and what Saruman would do if angered was something his mind tried to shut out. No, one way or the other, he would have to remind his men what was at stake.

Which brought him back to his newest reason of discomfort: why had the men he had sent after �lric not returned yet? He did not doubt that they had intercepted the blacksmith’s son as soon as they had been far enough away from Edoras to rule out that their actions would be witnessed, but what then? Had they found out what the man had been up to? Gr�ma’s suspicion was that the marshal’s sister had somehow tried to send help to her banished brother; either in the way of weapons or messages. Whatever it had been, Felrod and his men would have found out. Their victim was no warrior, and thus unacquainted with the persuasive powers of pain. Perhaps the meeting point with �omer lay further away than they had suspected, and he was simply being too impatient. Perhaps, this very moment, the Half-Dunlending and his men were preparing their trap and waiting for their prey to arrive on the scene. But why then was there this insistently whispering voice in the back of his mind which he knew so well from experience, telling him that it might be different? That the hunters had failed, and that the son of �omund – admittedly one of the Mark’s most valiant warriors – had disposed of them and taken their arms and was now coming for his blood?

Forcefully exhaling at the image of an enraged �omer storming up the hill to stick his sword into his flesh, Gr�ma suddenly slammed the window shut so hard that the glass almost shattered. It could not be. The marshal would never again set foot upon Edoras; for he himself, Gr�ma Wormtongue, had taken all precautions thinkable to prevent that the banished man would ever return. Even in the case of his men’s failure, there would be others to execute his order. Unbeknownst to them, Felrod and his companions were not the only ones hunting �omer: this past noon, following his foe’s departure, Gr�ma had made the necessary arrangements, and now in addition to his own henchmen, each and ever one of the many orcs in the Mark was searching for the king’s nephew. With their skill and by sheer number, Saruman’s creatures had already succeeded in killing the heir to the Mark’s throne, and now they would also slay the one man left in the kingdom still posing a danger to his master’s plans. With their superior hunting skills and sense of smell, it could only be a question of days until the message of �omer’s death reached him. No, Gr�ma concluded, as he settled back into his chair for the continuation of his night watch: there was no need to be nervous.

-----------------------------

EASTFOLD

When �omer stepped outside into the chill air, he could hardly believe that he had it made through part of the night only dressed in his tunic and breeches. Daylight’s first messenger already coloured the eastern sky in pale grey, but it was still every bit as cold as it had been when he had first laid eyes on the farm. Involuntarily clenching his fingers in the thick cape he wore over his shoulders now, he knew that the garment would need a few moments to absorb his body heat before it would warm him. Briefly halting in front of the barn to check for tracks and listen for the noises of approaching horses without detecting either, �omer then shrugged off the sudden tension and exhaled. There was no sign that anyone had come in the vicinity of the farm except for him and Firefoot. And really, how could there be? The �oreds did not move at night, and the thugs sent after him had in all likelihood not even found their horses yet. He’d have to trust in the logic of this and learn to use these moments of relative safety to relax and conserve his strength for the moments when he would need it.

Firefoot…the corners of �omer’s mouth curved into an amused smile at the thought of his mount’s eagerness to be out of the cold. Whereas the grey stallion usually enjoyed a well-earned reputation of being loyal to the death to his master, but feeling nothing but contempt for the rest of mankind, it had not needed �omer’s usual stern admonishment to let the Meara-Halfbreed allow their hosts’ older son to approach him for a good rub-down – especially not after he had been bribed with a manger filled with oats. Horses… �omer shook his head in amusement. This was not the first time that he thought that they were not much different from man. If he thought of all the comparisons that had been drawn between him and his steed…

"Good times you’re thinking of, my lord?" Forlorn spoke into his thoughts. "That is good, because it shows me that our efforts in lightening you up were not entirely in vain." He pushed the barn-door open, and they quickly slipped inside.

"Aye, I feel indeed better, Forlorn, even if I do still not approve of the means you used to get me into your house!" He blinked at Th�a who accompanied them to bid him farewell.

"Do I hear you right, Marshal?" the tiny woman laughed, and since �omer had hours ago given up correcting her about his title, he laughed with her. "You can feel you body again, you are wearing a wonderful cape of leather and fur and the bag in your hands contains provisions and other treasure to no ends, and you still complain?"

"You know what I mean, Th�a." He lifted the heavy bag. "I have no words to thank you enough for this, but I do not like the thought of having endangered you by staying. It is not my usual way to draw innocent people into conflicts."

"But you were not expelled and on your own before, at least not that we would know of." She turned to him, took his hand and pressed it gently, but insistently. "Be careful out there, my lord. And if you should find that there is anything else that we can do for you, please return and tell us. Remember, the people of the Mark are still on your side. Be not afraid to ask for their help, for they will be more than willing to grant it. That is something my heart is telling me, and yours should tell you the same. When in need, turn to the simple people. They know what you have done for them in the past and will be eager to repay you the favour. That may be the best advice I can give you."

"I will not forget it, Th�a, thank you. And you, Forlorn, know that you and your family restored some of my faith tonight. I promise you that I will do what I can to help the Mark, even though it is not officially my place anymore." He tried to think of more to say, of other, more solid tokens of comfort that he could give them but the promise of a man expelled from these lands, but before the words would come to him, Firefoot’s loud neighing woke the barn’s occupants for the second time in one night. Smiling at the sight he was granted, �omer turned to his stallion, who was munching on a carrot H�rlond held out to him and looked his way with unmistakable wariness in his posture. No, Firefoot was no more eager to leave this comfortable, warm place than his master, but his obvious disgruntlement was something �omer would just have to ignore. On his patrols through the Mark he had soon quickly that staying too long in one place easily got one killed. Deciding not to let the thought dispirit him when he had just enjoyed such warm-hearted hospitality, �omer forced himself to a cheerful tone. "It appears that I arrived just in time to prevent you from spoiling my hardened war-horse for all eternity, young man! Firefoot is not used to such attention, and after what you did tonight I will probably have to bribe him with food from now on every single time that I need his service."

The lad beamed at him, aware that the admonishment was not a real one.

"He is a wonderful steed, my lord. I have never seen our war-horses up close, except for those few times when the �oreds rode through our farmland. No wonder everyone envies us for our horses if they are all like him."

Laughing, �omer ruffled H�rlond’s hair.

"B�ma beware, if they were all like Firefoot, our riders would never be ready to fight because of all the bruises their horses would give them!" Ignoring his stallion’s indignant snort, �omer opened the stall and threw the saddle onto the grey back. He knew that his horse was not keen on heading out again, but it could not be helped, for he intended to be far gone from this place even before sunrise. The mountain path to Aldburg he intended to take was rarely travelled by riders in winter, but its mouth lay in the vicinity of a settlement �omer wanted to have passed once the day began. It would take him at least a day longer to reach Aldburg on it and lead him through rough terrain, but since the plains and thus the Great Road were out of the question, �omer in fact welcome the additional time the lesser travelled road would grant him before he would eventually have to come to a decision of how to contact Elfhelm. It was not like he could simply ride up to the city gates and knock. Occupied with his thoughts while the couple waited outside the stall, �omer pulled the girth tight and saw H�lrond already adjust Firefoot’s bridle. Yet where the sight of a stranger handling his horse would usually leave him uncomfortable, it was easy enough to see that the lad had worked wonders on the grey, for Firefoot not only took the bit without resistance, but even lowered his head for the boy to reach up. Filling his newly acquired treasure into the saddlebags and fastening a blanket the couple had also gifted him behind the saddle, �omer raised a brow at H�rlond in acknowledgment.

"Thank you, H�rlond, and congratulations! It seems you’ve made a friend here. I have never before seen him like this." With a feeling of satisfaction and security, he fastened the knife Forlorn had given him among other things to his belt.

"Ah, but I cannot believe that he should be so difficult with other, my lord."

"Trust me, it is not without reason that most riders of my �ored suspect that the other half of his blood belongs to a mule." �omer clapped Firefoot’s muscled shoulder and took the reins from the boy’s hand. "I believe we are ready."

H�rlond laughed as he held the stall-door open for them.

"If you don’t want him anymore, my lord, I would be glad to take him.

"I could not give him away even if my life depended on it," �omer gave back as he led Firefoot outside, the sound of hard hooves on the stony ground very distinct. He turned serious. "The big grey here saved my life more often than I can count, not only last night. I assume that gives him the right to be a little difficult." Once more he patted his horse’s neck and then turned around to the waiting family. Although they stood a few paces away, he could see their faces clearly now in the beginning dawn, and the concern in their expression moved him deeply enough to nearly choke him. Once more putting all his gratitude in his gaze, �omer gave them a small, appreciate nod. "Firefoot was not the only one to save me last night. I am deeply indebted to you, and I promise I will do whatever I can to pay that debt off. No matter what happens, do not despair. All is not lost yet."

"We trust in you to set it right, marshal, just like you always have," Th�a said, the conviction in her eyes genuine. "We have endured for five hundred years despite of our many foes, and we will not vanish now. Not if we all stand united." She inhaled. "Be careful, son of �omund, and know that our good wishes accompany you."

"I will return, Th�a, and this time, it will not be in a secret, cowardly manner in the middle of the night. Our riders will accompany me, and we will rid the Mark of all its enemies once and for all, that I promise to you. The days of uncertainty will soon come to an end. Farewell and once again: thank you for your help!" He nodded and then pressed his heels against Firefoot’s flanks, sending the great stallion in a gallop that brought them out of the sheltered vale of the farm before the tiny crystals whirled up by his hooves had settled back onto the ground.

-----------------------------

MEDUSELD

The pale light of dawn already filtered through the frost-blinded windows when Maelwyn registered movement out of the corners of her eyes. Sitting in the comfortable stuffed chair next to the merrily crackling fire and basking in its warmth, the young handmaiden had finally been overwhelmed by exhaustion as soon as the old healer had left the chambers to go and seek some rest at home. With her lady still sleeping and the tantalising scent of the tea and bread wafting through the room, Maelwyn’s stomach had finally reminded her that it had gone without sustenance for almost an entire day, and so the young woman had helped herself to an early breakfast, knowing that she could get more for �owyn any time. With her stomach satisfied and the warmth from the fire as well as the peaceful sight of the fitfully sleeping �owyn, it had not taken long for Maelwyn to fall into a half-sleep where she still registered noises from outside, but was resting nonetheless. As �owyn shifted in the bed for the first time since she had fallen asleep the evening before, Maelwyn woke from her trance with a start, and her heart beast faster when she found that her mistress had opened her eyes.

"My lady!" Quickly she rose to her feet and was at �owyn’s side, relieved to see the lucid expression in the blue eyes and the faint smile on the still pale lips. "We were so worried! How do you feel?" Now that the king’s niece seemed fully conscious again, she suddenly dared no longer to touch �owyn’s brow to feel for herself. But the fevered flush that had coloured her lady’s otherwise ghostly white face last night had gone, and neither could Maelwyn detect even the slightest trace of sweat at her hairline. Relieved beyond words, she beamed and found her joy mirrored in the exhausted face before her. With a deeply grateful smile, �owyn took her hand, and her fingers felt cool to the touch.

"I feel tired. And exhausted. But I suppose I should not complain, as that was what I was asking for." Rolling on her back and briefly closing her eyes, she added: "I had no idea the potion was so strong. I almost drank it all, because I thought not that…" Her words trailed off, and from the way her gaze swept the room to come to rest on the grey light of the new day beyond her window, Maelwyn concluded that she still felt disoriented. "How late is it? Is it the next day, or have I missed more than one day?"

"No. It was yesterday that you took the potion. The fever began to drop during the evening, and since then, you’ve been asleep. Nothing much happened, except that �lric left Edoras shortly after I told him of your plea." Maelwyn’s smile deepened as she saw the relief well up in �owyn’s eyes. "He agreed to help you at once. Your brother must already have received the weapons by now. Your plan was faultless, my Lady, even if it was more than daring. We all feared for your life. Oh, and �othain sends you his heartfelt greetings. I spoke with him earlier this morning. If there is anything he can do for you, he wants you to let him know." To her surprise, the joyful expression on the White Lady’s face quickly darkened to wariness.

"What did Gr�ma do after you returned from Bergfinn? I do not suppose that it escaped his attention that you left Meduseld. Did he send his men to the smithy to investigate after you were there, or did he question you upon your return? I can hardly believe that we should have fooled him so easily."

"Oh, the counsellor definitely seemed to have a few questions when I came back, but Y�landa insisted that she needed me urgently to assist her and pulled me away from him." Still, the piercing gaze of the pale blue eyes had followed her even into her sleep, and Maelwyn shuddered at the memory. "And then I spent the entire day here in your chambers, and the Captain of the Guard wouldn’t allow him in, so I wasn’t summoned… yet." The thought extinguished her good mood like a bucket of water dropped into a fire. "But he will summon me today, there can be no doubt. I saw it in his eyes yesterday. He suspects something" She swallowed, suddenly and suddenly felt very sick. Her eyes wide, she sought �owyn’s gaze. "I have never before lied, my lady. I do not know how to do it. What if he sees right through me? What if he asks me why �lric left so suddenly despite the harsh weather?"

"You say that he was already readying his horse when you saw him. And that you did not speak about his errand with him, so you know nothing." Despite her exhaustion, �owyn’s gaze had never been more intense.

"But what if we were seen talking?"

"Then you say the truth: that you told him of my illness and asked him to call his mother for you. Gr�ma knows that �lric cares about me, and that he would enquire to hear more about my condition. There is no reason for you to be afraid, Maelwyn. Gr�ma cannot know. He may try to frighten you with empty threats, but the truth is that he cannot prove anything. All you must do is stay calm and tell him what I just told you. I know you can do this, Maelwyn. Yesterday, you said you were frightened of doing the thing I asked of you, and yet you not only overcame your fear, you succeeded. This is now the next step: we won an advantage, and now we must secure our victory!"

Chapter 9 - Dismissal and Return

MEDUSELD

�owyn was fast asleep again when with a knock at the door and upon Maelwyn�s invitation, Hildegard, one of the older serving maids of the royal household entered the chambers. The young handmaiden was glad to see the older woman, for she had feared that her visitor would be someone else� someone far less welcome. Half of the morning had already passed by without the counsellor having summoned her, and while she felt grateful for the respite, Maelwyn knew that it was yet too early to relax. Who knew why Gr�ma had not called her yet? Perhaps the dark man had fallen ill himself and couldn�t leave his bed today? Oh, this was certainly too delightful a thought to be true.

With a deep breath, she rose to her feet, her body stiff and aching from the long sitting. As reluctant as she was about leaving, Maelwyn at the same time longed to go home. A long day and an even longer night of worry lay behind her, and she missed her husband and her boys, for once feeling in desperate need of comfort and closeness herself. Was everything all right with them? She had sent one of the errand runners down into the city with the message that she would stay in the Golden Hall over night, knowing that her husband would understand, but still� somehow, the thought of her family having to brave the tasks of the day alone, without her around, left her uncomfortable. Without her cooking, what had they eaten? Had the boys been able to sleep, knowing that their mother was not in the next room to soothe them if a nightmare stole their rest? Inwardly shaking her head at herself, Maelwyn had to smile. What a silly wench she was! Were all women like her, thinking that the world stopped turning once they were not around?

�Good morning, Hildegard. I hope you had a good night?�

�As good a night as one can have in the servants� quarters,� the older woman said grumpily, walking straight across the room to open the window for fresh air. �I hope there will be no need tonight for the healer to stay again. The old hag�s snore is louder than even my husband�s, and our house shakes already when he is asleep.� She stopped herself when she realised that the other woman had probably had even less sleep than she, and turned around looked at �owyn instead.

�How is the Lady �owyn faring? Is there anything I need to know? Some special medicine she needs, or��

Maelwyn followed her gaze.

�B�ma be praised, her condition seems to have much improved over night. She was even awake a few hours ago, and I talked to her. She didn�t want to eat yet, but at least she had some of the tea that I brought her. When you fetch her fresh tea, tell the kitchen to brew it from the herbs Y�landa left them for the lady. She will come and see her later, but I suppose until then, it will be best just to let �owyn rest.� Turning, Maelwyn picked up her woollen shawl and slung it around her shoulders. For a moment, her compassionate gaze rested on the sleeping woman�s still features. It was not right that �owyn had to bear such a burden. She was such a kind-hearted, gracious person once one had penetrated the hard shell of detachedness she had erected around herself as a protection against the evil which had haunted her life ever since her childhood days. The Gods knew how she felt inside now with her brother banished, her cousin dead and her uncle fallen into shadow; and yet still she upheld the impression of strength to all observers. Such strength to Maelwyn was awe-inspiring. She knew that under the same conditions, she would have despaired long ago.

�When will you be back, Maelwyn? Just in case �owyn asks me,� Hildegard spoke into her contemplations, stooping to feed the fire with a few more blocks of wood.

�Later this afternoon, I think. I need to see what my husband and my boys are doing. They know I spent the night here, but they will be worried regardless.� She grasped the handle and depressed it. What if the counsellor waited for her outside? �You do what your lady has told you,� she tried to calm herself. �He cannot know. Just go. With a little luck, he is not even around.� �But if �owyn wants to see me earlier, let me know and I�ll come.� She opened the door � and looked into the grim face of the guard. �Good morning, G�thlaf. I am going home for now. I will be back later. Just in case that anyone should ask.�

The man said nothing; he did not even repeat her greeting. Swallowing her mounting anger over the rudeness of the new members among the lines of the Royal Guard, Maelwyn directed her steps over to the exit, for once glad to leave Meduseld. In the summertime, the coolness and shade of the Golden Hall were pleasant, but during the long, grim wintertime, the darkness inside its vast chambers was oppressive, and in the last months, its atmosphere of illness and unspoken despair had thickened to the point where it drained her spirit of all joy. No, she longed to be out in the open now, to breathe the fresh, clear air regardless of the cold.

Nodding her thanks to the wards who opened the heavy wings of the door for her, Maelwyn stepped outside, and the assault of the cold wind on her face instantly revived her spirits. The thick layer clouds of the past days had been replaced by a mesmerising blue sky, and the sunlight�s reflection from the blanket of white that covered the world was almost too intense to look at. From the city below, the sound of children�s laughter reached her ears as they chased each other in their play; and there horses and men hurryedg through the streets in pursuit of their endless daily errands. It was the sound of normality, and Maelwyn was thankful for it after her world had been unhinged for one day. Walking over to the steps to the beginning of the winding path home, the young woman suddenly froze when the door behind her opened again and her name was called by a familiar, most dreaded voice.

�Mistress Maelwyn, will you wait for a moment, please!�

Her heart suddenly beating wildly in her throat, Maelwyn turned around. �He does not know. It is something else he wants! Stop behaving like a child caught with its hand in the honey pot! You will only make him suspicious!�

�My lord Gr�ma, what can I do for you? I am glad to report that the Lady �owyn is feeling much better today. She is still asleep though, but I left Hildegard with instructions to--�

�That is well, because Hildegard will be the one tending the White Lady from now on,� the counsellor interrupted her brusquely, and his pale blue eyes skewering her. �You will not return here. From this moment on, you are released from your service to the king and his family.�

For the longest moment, Maelwyn was rendered speechless, the connection between her mind and her tongue severed. She could not even breathe as she stared in stunned shock at the man in front of her.

�Do you understand me, maid? Your service will no longer be needed in Meduseld. Go and find an occupation someplace else.�

From somewhere, a single sentence came to her.

�But what have I-�

�You know perfectly well what you have done, wench, do you want to insult me?� Gr�ma hissed under his breath, his eyes narrowing in unmistakable threat. �If I were you, I would swallow whatever words were on my tongue and get out of my sight before I change my mind. I am aware that your mistress is the one mainly to blame for your actions of yesterday, but treason remains treason, and conspiracy remains conspiracy. Because I know that you were not its origin, and because of your family, I am yet willing to exercise mercy on you, but you do not seriously expect that I allow you to remain a member of the Royal Household after the breach of trust you committed, do you, Maelwyn? Even if you are just a lowly serving maid, you could not be so foolish!�

Maelwyn felt with all distinctiveness how the blood drained from her head. She could literally feel herself turn white under the counsellor�s hostile stare, and a strange feeling of light-headedness overcame her, so powerful that she feared to faint right here on the stairs. And wouldn�t it be just what that horrible man would wish for if she fell and broke her neck? Somewhere, she found the strength to push the sudden weakness back, and her vision cleared again, but still she could not help it that her legs felt like lifeless sticks and that her voice barely made it through her dangerously tightened throat.

�But what about my lady? She is ill and needs tending. Who--�

�It is no longer one of your concerns, maid. Be gone, and see to it that you never come under my eyes ever again, or I swear, I shall bring the full weight of the law down upon you, and you will be punished for your treason, family or not.� He lifted his chin and looked down upon her from his elevated position with contempt and finality. �Am I making myself clear, maid, or would you like to try me?�

Suddenly shivering violently, but not in result of the temperatures, Maelwyn feverishly tried to think. How much did he know? Had he only seen her talking with �lric, or � B�ma beware � was he even informed about their plan to bring the weapons to �omer? And if he was � had he intercepted �lric? What if by her failure, she had become responsible for the death of both the blacksmith and her lady�s brother? The thought of them lying lifelessly strewn in the reddened snow made her want to cry out in despair. Gods, it could not be! Why could she not wake from this nightmare?

Her mouth working although she did not consciously think of the words, the young woman breathed a low: �No, Counsellor. I understand. And I thank you for your mercy. I�� she broke off, at last at a loss for words. The sudden rush of her blood in her ears drowned out all other noises, and again she wondered whether she would faint. Perhaps breaking her neck would be preferable to learning about what grief she had accidentally caused by ever agreeing to �owyn�s plan.

Gr�ma�s expression indicated that he was finished with her.

�Go then. And remember what I just told you. I swear to the Gods, I meant it.� Leaving her standing, Wormtongue slung his cloak tighter around his body and retreated back into the sheltering warmth of the hall. Her body feeling numb and hollow, Maelwyn staggered down the remaining steps to the path without unseeing eyes. How could she ever have hoped to fool this man? His eyes and ears were everywhere; there was no escaping his attention. Had she been utterly mad to agree to be a part of this?

From further down the path, a sudden din of dismayed cries suddenly woke her from her thoughts of despair, but when she detected where the shouts were coming from, Maelwyn realised that reality was about to get even grimmer: it was the smithy from where the wailing was rising, and the voices crying out in despair belonged to Bergfinn and Y�landa. Slowly rounding the gentle curve to the first buildings below Meduseld on legs she didn�t feel anymore, Maelwyn�s stunned gaze fell on a group of riders in the work-yard. �othain was among them, just now opening his arms to hold the old healer as she collapsed sobbing against his chest, while Bergfinn, with an expression of a man who no longer understanding the cruelty of the world, slowly extended his hand to take the reins of a white, unsaddled horse with a long, red gash in its side.

The full meaning of the scene before her eyes stole Maelwyn�s breath away. So her worst fears had become reality: for his horse to return riderless, �lric had to be dead, and if he was dead, it was likely that �omer had been killed as well, or � unarmed and alone as he was - would be killed before long by the evil that haunted their land. �owyn�s plan to bring him help had failed, and two men had died because of her inability to carry out her orders with the bidden secrecy. Feeling sick to her stomach, Maelwyn suddenly met �othain�s pained gaze as he cradled the sobbing Y�landa in his arms, and it was the moment when all hope died in her heart.

--------------------------

ALDBURG

It felt good to come home, Elfhelm thought upon the sight of the mighty wooden fence that guarded his hometown of Aldburg, and yet it was a strangely empty sort of joy. �Relief�, would probably have been the better word for it, because how could he truly feel joyful after the horrors they had witnessed on the battlegrounds of the Westfold? So many men, young and old, had lost their lives at the Fords of the Isen. Of the one hundred and twenty riders he had led westward as soon as Prince Th�odred�s call for aid had reached them, battle had claimed twelve, and ten horses. And yet they had been lucky, as the �oreds of his western brothers-in-arms Erkenbrand and Grimbold had sustained much greater losses, while the Prince�s riders had been all but erased even before they had arrived. Again, the Mark had lost hundreds of their riders; men leaving behind families and friends; men who would never again roam the plains of the Folde, or the Westemnet. Once could despair just thinking about it.

And what for, Elfhelm wondered wearily as he directed his long-legged bay stallion over to the city gates where the ascending road ended. Only to throw back the enemy over the Isen for a few days at great cost, until the evil man in Isengard had replenished their ranks and even multiplied the number of his warriors. So that next time, it would be even harder to stand against his army and yet more men would die, until in the end, they would have to relinquish control over their side of the river altogether. For a long, dreadful moment just after they had joined the battle, Elfhelm had feared that this was already the day that would see them defeated in the end. After three days of hard riding, men and beast exhausted even before the battle, they had arrived too late to save the king�s son or most of his �ored�s men, and the blood from the dying or lifeless bodies on the battlefield had reddened the waters of the Isen.

Only then they had seen the enemy, a vast, dark army of orcs and Uruk-hai greater than all Elfhelm had come across so far; an evil army empowered by the will of the White Wizard, moving with the single-mindedness of one being and slaughtering their riders left and right. At that moment, Elfhelm had indeed believed this battle to be their last, but after hours of hacking, slashing and skewering, and after countless cries of men and horses wounded and dying, the combined forces of West- and Eastfold had at last thrown the remainders of the hostile army back across the other side of the river. None of them had rejoiced in the taste of their victory though, because even then it had been clear to the warriors that their victory would be short-lived. The Isen would not be a hindrance for the necromancer�s foul brood for much longer, and what the orcs would do once they roamed the plains at their wil,l was a thought that made the captain�s blood run cold.

Anxious to be out of the saddle, �lfhelm shifted his weight. At the age of forty-three summers, the resolute captain was one of the Riddermark�s most respected warriors and expected to be promoted to the rank of a marshal in the near future as far as his riders were concerned. Elfhelm himself cared not much for titles, and so had not objected when the king�s nephew had been promoted instead despite his obvious youth. In his opinion, the lad was exceptionally skilled and fiercefully dedicated to the protection of their people and had rightfully earned this honour, and after all, couldn�t he fulfil his duty just as well by remaining a captain? After all, they fought for the same side, whether it concerned his Westfold counterpart Erkenbrand or the two marshals. �One marshal�, Elfhelm corrected himself with a frown. There was only one marshal left now. The thought was still hard to bear.

As they approached, a shout could be heard from the guard-tower above the gates, and it briefly woke him from the dreadful images repeating themselves endlessly in front of his inner eyes.

�Who are you, and what business brings you to Aldburg?�

Thankful for the distraction, Elfhelm craned back his neck.

�It is I, Elfhelm, your captain! Open the gate!� His voice barely made it over the raging storm, and when at first there was no answer, his riders looked at each other quizzically and wondered whether they would be granted entry to their home after their long journey, but then the groaning and creaking of mighty, frozen hinges rewarded their patience as the gates slowly swung inward. In single file, they passed through the opening before the massive wooden wings closed again and cut off the punishing gusts for the first time since the warriors had been on the road. Wearily shaking their heads, their horses tried to free themselves of the thick crust of ice that covered their faces, and the men on their backs imitated their efforts by knocking off the accumulated snow from their garments and beards.

�It is the Captain! Captain Elfhelm is back! B�ma be blessed! Our riders have returned!�

Barely hearing the relieved shouts as well the sudden din of the bell that announced their return to the people, Elfhelm straightened for the first time in hours and grimaced. All day, the wind had assaulted them from the front, and although he had hidden underneath his hood and wrapped a woollen scarf around his head until only his eyes were left uncovered, the captain felt half-frozen despite his additional attempt to hunch over and thus find cover behind his horse�s neck. Needless to say, his effort had been vain, and in addition to feeling like a block of ice, his back had now joined the chorus of pain from the numerous bruises and scrapes he had received in battle. And still, Elfhelm thought, who was he to complain? Compared to the injuries many of his riders had sustained, his were merely an inconvenience. He was alive and relatively unharmed, that alone was reason enough to be thankful after what they had gone through.

Surfacing from his black thoughts to find the captain of the guard approaching him, Elfhelm inhaled deeply. The man smiled, probably assuming that the situation couldn�t be too grave when most riders of their �ored had returned. How much he would give for such blissful ignorance now!

�Please excuse the delay in opening the gates, Captain Elfhelm, I did not recognise you at first under all this clothing and the ice,� the guard addressed him, his gaze travelling over the weary riders who were in the process of dismounting. �I know that Orcs cannot ride, but I still wanted to be certain before��

�There is no need for an apology, Gaewolf,� Elfhelm interrupted him, not ready for an exchange of more words than absolutely necessary. He was ailing to be home now and anxious to perform the few duties that needed to be seen to before he would be allowed to retire for the day. �I�d rather wait outside for another day even in this weather than have you open the gate to enemies. Speak no more about it.� With a grimace, he looked at the streets which were only now beginning to fill with the people who had heard the bell and came running with anxious expressions on their faces to greet their loved ones. Some of them would search in vain. The thought that he would have to be the one telling them sent a sharp pain through Elfhelm�s gut. He turned away from their sight and dismounted himself. �Rohirrim! See to your horses, and then you are dismissed for today. Get some rest, and those of you in need of a healer, come to the hall and you will be tended! Rohan and I thank you for your service. B�ma knows that this errand wasn�t an easy one.� He nodded in acknowledgment to the men passing him and then shifted his attention back to the guard at his side. �How were things here, Gaewolf? Any trouble?�

�Nowhere close to the city, but one of the �oreds had a skirmish with a group of orcs who tried to steal their horses.� A satisfied expression spread over the man�s face. �None of the filth survived, and all riders returned unharmed, B�ma be blessed.� Silently walking alongside his captain toward the stables, Gaewolf�s smile suddenly dropped. �Word already reached us about how the battle at the Fords went. The messenger spoke of great losses� and of course the people are devastated to lose Prince Th�odred� especially now, with �omer banished. It seems that --�

His words stopped Elfhelm in his tracks.

��omer� banished? What are you saying?�

Gaewolf�s eyebrows went up in surprise, and for a moment, he looked at the approaching figure of Find�rras, Elfhelm�s second-in-command, who had held command over the city for the time their riders had been away and had now been called down from the Great Hall by the sound of the bell. He turned back to Elfhelm.

�You mean you were not informed about it yet, Captain? But they sent riders everywhere to spread the word! I cannot believe that they should have missed your �ored on the road.�

�No, not missed�� Elfhelm muttered angrily, his lips a bloodless line as he tried to grasp the implications of what he had just been told. �omer� banished? �I assume it is more that they deliberately avoided us, because that worm in Meduseld knew that I would have taken my �ored straight to Edoras to wring his neck once I heard of it.� Nodding his greetings to the red-haired Find�rras, he looked at the overcast sky. �I doubt it would be wise to ride out again today. We would not make it all the way to Edoras in this weather, and the men and horses are weary and in need of a rest. I will ride out tomorrow, and take only a few men with me. This is something we cannot allow anymore. Has the king been stricken blind, deaf and mute to let the worm do this, or have all in Meduseld lost their mind? � He clapped his second-in-command�s shoulder. �It is good to see you, my friend. Do you know more of what happened?�

�Word is that �omer was punished for disobedience against the king. The verdict even spoke of treason. But I must confess that I know no details. Captain Ceorl, however, arrived here yesterday, and he will probably know much more. He is waiting for you in the guest-quarters� as it would not be advisable to discuss this subject in the Hall.� The red-headed warrior cast his captain a meaningful look.

�What do you mean?�

�The king, or shall I rather say, his counsellor, sent a group of advisors down here to assist you in your decisions now that �omer is no longer Third Marshal. In the two days since they have been here, they have done nothing but asking questions and turning up at councils and wherever a larger group of people gathered to drink, or eat, or talk. I assume we can safely call them spies.�

�Of course,� Elfhelm snorted, nodding as he passed their stablehands on the way to his horse�s stall. �Now it is I the worm will concentrate on removing. I� and Erkenbrand. Once he has ridded himself of us as well, there will be nobody left to speak against him. Which makes my little visit tomorrow all the more important.�

Pensively, Find�rras scratched his beard while he waited for his brother-in-arms to free the bay of his tack. As weary as he had to feel himself, Elfhelm could easily have delegated the duty of seeing after his horse to one of the stablehands, but after the loyalty �on had once again proven to him on the battlefield, he felt it his obligation to tend the stallion himself.

�Would you deem it wise under these circumstances? What if the worm only sees it as an invitation to rid himself of you right there?�

With a groan, Elfhelm lifted the heavy saddle off the bay�s back and onto its stand.

�I need to see for myself what is going on in Edoras, Find�rras. I am tired of hearing � or not hearing � everything through messages and errand-riders. And I also need to speak to �owyn. If �omer was indeed banished, she remains the only member of the royal family with a sane mind in Meduseld. She might be in danger. � Can you get me a sack of oats here, please, and a bucket of water?�

�Aye. Of course. Anything else you need?�

�Some apples or carrots, whatever you can find for my friend here. He was of great help on the battlefield to me yet again; we burnt at least the corpses of three orcs whose skulls were smashed in by his hooves, not to mention the dozens he incapacitated so they could conveniently be killed.� Freeing his mount of his bridle, Elfhelm clapped his neck. �Perhaps I should rename you, �on. �Orc-Fiend� might be a more suitable name for you.� He took the heavy sack Find�rras dragged into the stall and began to fill the empty manger with oats. After he had accomplished that and also seen to it that the stallion would lack neither water nor food, he hand-fed him the apples Find�rras had obtained, briefly enjoying the sensation of the horse�s soft lips on his hands.

�When you are done here, I was told to accompany you to the council. They want your report.� Find�rras inhaled and raised an eyebrow. �What shall I say to them?�

Rubbing the white star between �on�s eyes for a moment of silent contemplation, Elfhelm�s weary gaze at last found back to his patiently waiting second-in-command.

�Tell them that there is nothing to report apart from what they already know. Tell them that our �ored suffered the loss of twelve riders, and tell them that as their captain, I will first speak with the men�s widows. I will not tolerate being rushed while I am occupied with this task, and it will probably be well after nightfall before I will be finished.� The Gods knew he wasn�t looking forward to this task, but it was something he owed to the families of his riders. �And as I am wearied myself, I will then go home and get rest, or Aldburg will have to find a new protector soon if they deny me that.�

Find�rra�s lips curved into a knowing smile.

�And I suppose you want me to say that you will deliver them your report tomorrow morning, and when you don�t show up because you are already on the way to Edoras, I will tell them that there were reports of an attack on a settlement up north, and that you had already left to investigate. Is that true?�

Elfhelm looked weary beyond belief, but his grin was genuine when he replied: �There is a reason for you to be my second-in-command, Find�rras. Thank you for demonstrating it to me every time I need reassurance that there are at least some of us left who know about the value of loyalty and friendship.�

The wiry warrior nodded his acknowledgement.

�Glad to be of service. What should I tell Ceorl? I assume you will see him later today� at your home?�

�Aye. After nightfall, under cover of darkness. Perhaps he can grant me a few hours to restore myself to a condition where I will be able to think again. Aye, and it would be good if you were present, too. I don�t know when the worm�s weasels will go to sleep, but in each case, we should not meet until their presence can be accounted for in their chambers. We must take all precautions that our meeting stays secret. Do you think you can do that for me, old friend?�

Find�rras gave him one of his wryest smiles.

�Would I be your second-in-command if I didn�t?�

Chapter 10 - Evil Schemes

Chapter 10: Evil Schemes

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MEDUSELD

Twilight had once again turned to darkness when the expected knock at Gr�ma’s door was finally heard. With a sharp twinge of both anticipation and anxiety, Gr�ma opened it and found himself face-to-face with Felrod and Mordred, the two Half-Dunlendings in his service. The men looked wet, weary, dishevelled and half-frozen, but in their hands they held a large grey bundle that caused the counsellor’s heart to skip a beat. Still, what in the name of the Gods had caused their delay? To his experienced eye, they did not look as if their plan had worked flawlessly. Bidding the men into his study, Gr�ma closed the door behind them and turned around.

"You are almost a day late. I already feared the worst. Even the blacksmith’s horse returned hours ago, so you can be certain that the tidings of �lric’s death have spread through Edoras by now." His eyes became narrow slits. "He is dead, isn’t he? He didn’t escape you somehow?" The cloak in Felrod’s hands told a different story, but Gr�ma knew better than to trust anyone but himself.

Although Felrod felt miserable after his long exposure to the elements, the muscular Half-Breed still managed to look satisfied.

"He is fodder for the crows now. We stopped him an hour’s ride from Edoras, and he spilled it all. He had weapons for the marshal in his saddlebags and claimed that the King’s niece had asked him to take them to a hideout only known to them. He also said that his parents knew nothing of this, but this little wench serving the White Lady… she is involved as well." He gave his master a frozen grin.

"I do not suppose that �lric shared the information willingly?" Again, Gr�ma’s gaze sank to the grey bundle in his henchman’s arms.

"Not quite." The grin widened. "It took a bit of convincing on our part, but we hid his body well away from the road. Nobody will be distressed by the sight of it, even though I doubt that it will be found before spring, and by then there will not be much left of it. Nobody will be able to say who it was or what has befallen him. That is also why we waited until nightfall to return. We wanted to make certain that the people did not see this." He unfolded the treasure in his arms to great effect and beamed in expectation of his master’s praise.

"So he was there indeed…" Gr�ma muttered thoughtfully, surveying the damage done to the garment and the broad patches of dried blood around the several large tears in the leather. There was no doubt that it was �omer’s cloak; he had seen the son of �omund wear it many times. "How disappointing. I would have taken the marshal to be smarter than this." Even in the twilight of the room, he could see that the blood had soaked the material thoroughly. Whoever had shed it could impossibly be still alive. He extended a hand to let his fingers glide over one of the tears.

Felrod nodded, and his eyes were hopeful. No doubt was he already pondering what his reward would be.

"Aye, counsellor. He turned up just like you said he would. A sitting duck would have been harder to miss."

"Is that so?" The stains concentrated mostly around three jagged tears on the back, and the sight of them was somehow … wrong. Gr�ma frowned, and the omnipresent voice in the back of his head started to whisper its words of suspicion again while his fingers probed the slashes. "These are from a knife, not from arrows." He looked up with cocked eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, but Felrod only shuffled his feet and avoided his gaze. No, something was definitely not right here. "Will you not tell me what happened, Felrod? If �omer walked right into your trap unsuspecting like you said he did – why did you not simply riddle him with arrows from a distance instead of putting yourself in danger by fighting him at close quarters? He is, after all, a valiant warrior."

"I am afraid, Counsellor, that things did not go entirely as planned. Somehow, the marshal sensed us at the last moment and evaded our shots. We had to hunt him down, but in the end we got him." He pointed at the cloak. "Isn’t that what counts?" The Half-Breed seemed nervous and still avoided Gr�ma’s glance. The Counsellor’s brow creased further. He could have told from a league away that the man was lying. He could almost smell it!

"So it was not like shooting a sitting duck at all, was it, Felrod? Did you hunt him down… or shoot him at your leisure? What is it you want me to believe? Or no, spare the answer, for I will believe neither." Gods, was he glad that he had sent the orcs after �omer! Somewhere in the deep pit of his black mind, he had known beforehand that it would turn out this way. It was slowly becoming uncanny even to Gr�ma himself how his intuition was always correct. The ruffian in front of him was now obviously at a loss, for his stumble could no longer be taken seriously.

"We hunted him down… but it wasn’t very hard. There was no way he could have broken through our circle. And after we had surrounded him, I decided that--"

"You do not want to tell me, Felrod of Westland, that you killed �omer of Rohan, admittedly one of the Mark’s most powerful warriors, yourself and armed with nothing more than a knife? In a battle of man against man?" Gr�ma felt an insane desire to laugh in the man’s face. How much of a fool did that mountain of muscle take him to be? Yet incredibly, Felrod did not understand that his lie had been uncovered.

"We were five, my lord. He stood no chance." Desperate now to prove his point, Felrod tugged at one of the tears as if it explained everything. "You see what we did to him. I wanted to make this battle personal and kill him with my own hands. I knew I could take him down."

"And still I do not believe you. Your eyes are lying. Your voice is lying… and it is not so hot in here that you should break into a sweat unless you knew you were fighting a lost battle here." Gr�ma’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "What is it that you are trying to hide from me so inadequately? �omer escaped, didn’t he?"

"We… I cannot tell how he…"

"Did he get away? Yes or no, Felrod? I have no patience for your pathetic excuses! If he is gone, I must take immediate action!"

Thrown into submission, the big man stared at the ground and clenched his jaw.

"Yes, my lord, he did. And he killed Dorl�k. Broke his neck. Gartloff is wounded too, that grey beast the Marshal rides kicked him. Broke his leg." He inhaled deeply and, with an even lower voice, admitted: "And we had to leave Thorloff behind. He was guarding the horses and… was ridden down when that filth stole them."

"You mean that not only has he escaped you, but he stole your horses, too? And killed two of your men in the process?" Gr�ma clapped his hands in morbid delight. B�ma, could he have found men any more incapable of the task than these had proven to be? And now it also made sense why the man who accompanied Felrod stood so hunched over, not daring to look at him. "And you are wounded, too, I take it? Let me see!" The man straightened with a grimace and revealed a blood-stained tear in his cloak around the left shoulder. Since he had decided not to cry over the inadequacy of the men he had chosen, Gr�ma laughed. "So out of the six men I sent to kill him, six men who had the advantage of being armed as well as that of surprise, the good marshal managed to kill two and wound another two. He stole your horses and provisions and has armed himself now, I suppose. I would call that a strong contender for the greatest failure in the history of the Mark, save perhaps the vow King Th�oden swore to serve his people. Wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?"

Felrod’s face flushed with embarrassment.

"He cannot have acquired more than a knife, counsellor. It will not give him much of an advantage."

"No. Not against what I am about to unleash now." With another pensive look at the cloak on the floor, Gr�ma turned away, the wheels of his mind already turning. There was still a possibility to turn this failure into an advantage if he played his cards right.

"I must say I am disappointed, Captain. Not only did you fail to carry out your errand successfully, but even more seriously, you tried to hide your failure by lying to me. I must admit that I do not know yet what to make of this. I cannot think of a single thing at the moment that you could do to heal this breach of trust." He turned back to the uncomfortable men. "Trust, as you know, is more important than ever these days. Tell me, how am I supposed to still trust you after this disaster?"

"You can trust us with anything, my Lord," Felrod rushed to say, his throat tight with fear. "Please, I promise that we will make up for this! We will hunt down the Marshal for you, and I swear, this time, we will not fail! We will bring you his head should you wish so."

Gr�ma shook his head.

"No. This time I have entrusted someone else with this most important of tasks, someone capable. I took the freedom to alert them before I even knew of your failure. They will have begun their hunt even as we speak, and they will rid me of this problem once and for all. I am most confident of this." His gaze fell again on the bloody heap at his feet. "Yet I may have use for this thing that you brought me. It is, in fact, the only reason I will forgive you this time, Felrod, but do not fail me again and most importantly: never ever lie to me again! Believe me, you do not want to see me angry."

--------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Once daylight had faded again, the temperatures dropped fast, and it was with relief that �omer finally detected the narrow, steep path that led up to another one of his secret hideouts. He directed Firefoot there with a slight nudge of his thighs. The stallion complied, the weariness of his steps indicating that he needed rest urgently after a day of moving through rough, dangerous terrain. Many times, �omer had dismounted and led his steed along the steep, ice-covered ridges, careful not to slip into the deep drop-offs. Progress had been slow once they had entered the path, and �omer was well aware that no rider in his right mind would ever have chosen to travel it under the current conditions. His boldness could easily cost their lives if he had misjudged the situation. So far, his daring had paid off; except for a few birds, they had not seen another living soul all day, neither man nor beast, and no tracks either. It seemed that they were all alone out here in the eastern fringes of the Ered Nimrais… the way he had hoped it would be.

Once again �omer shifted in the saddle, and his gaze swept the stark, forbidding landscape for the umpteenth time searching for signs of his enemies. Visibility had grown poor in the thickening twilight, but a dark shape moving over the snow would be easy enough to detect. Yet nothing moved. Satisfied, �omer turned around again as Firefoot abruptly rammed both forelegs into the ground and snorted in protest at the dark shadow in front of them. Sighing, the Roh�r ran a hand over the stallion’s neck. He understood his steed’s reluctance, as it was not in a horse’s nature to seek shelter within a cave where escape would be difficult in the case of an attack.

"Aye, Grey One, I know that you do not like this place, but it cannot be helped," he whispered, checking the bare rock in front of the cave-entrance for signs that his shelter was already occupied by unbidden guests. "It will be easy to heat, though, and it will only be for one night anyway, so stop complaining." Grasping the short-handled axe Forlorn had given him and enjoying the feel of it in his hand, �omer slid from Firefoot’s back to investigate. The stallion, for once content to remain where he was, followed his master’s stealthy approach with pricked ears and flared nostrils.

All senses strained, �omer edged closer to the narrow opening and his fingers involuntarily renewed their grip around the handle of his weapon. Orcs reeked of death and decay, and even with the wind not blowing into his face, he could usually smell them before he saw them. Yet he detected no trace of their vile perfume in the air before the cave, and no sounds indicated that his hideout might be occupied. Lifting the axe, he advanced further, hesitating at the sight of the pitch-black entrance that granted him access into the mountain he had travelled alongside for the last part of his journey. But deep inside, �omer already knew better. It was almost dark now, the preferred time of orcs. If any had been in here at all, it was likely that they had moved out with the beginning of twilight and were long gone by now.

Half relieved but still knowing better than to walk into the dark cave blindly, �omer looked back to Firefoot, clicking his tongue and smiling thinly as the stallion obeyed his command with an all-too-human expression of indignity. From his saddlebags, �omer carefully removed a clay pot that contained still red glowing embers and lit the oil-lamp the couple had given him behind the shelter of a rock, safe from potentially hostile eyes. Once again he proceeded into the cave, and one look in the flickering light was sufficient to establish that the place was as deserted as it had seemed. Inspecting the walls and the ground, �omer lifted the lamp… and tensed at the sight of prints left in the fine layer of sand. Some had been made by booted feet, and some featured claws and indicated that someone had dragged himself along rather than lifted his feet. Orcs. His lips a thin, bloodless line, he squatted and brushed his fingers slightly over his find. There was no way of telling how old these prints were, but the discovery that the filth had found one of his best hiding places darkened �omer’s mood as he stared at the hideous forms. They seemed to be the tracks of three or four creatures, one of them substantially bigger than the others – or perhaps it had just bigger feet; it was impossible to tell. It seemed that there was no end to the variety of the foul creatures’ forms.

Rising again, �omer proceeded deeper inside to cast a glance into the second chamber of the cave: the pile of dried wood in one corner had definitely been touched, and the amount of ash in the fireplace in the middle of the sheltered niche had likewise changed. Also, the ground was covered with the bones of small animals, neatly stripped of all meat. From their sheer number, �omer concluded that the orcs had used the caves repeatedly, not just once because they had accidentally stumbled over them. His expression darkened further as he looked back toward the entrance, considering his options. What could he do? It was definitely not wise to stay here when the enemy knew about this place. The remains of their meals, however, looked old. He furrowed his brow, uncomfortable with the realisation that he had not much of a choice left. With the terrain as treacherous as it was and temperatures dropping far below freezing since sunset, moving on in the darkness would be a shortcut to the halls of his ancestors. �omer looked forward to seeing his parents and Th�odred again, but he had not planned to do so in the near future. No, as much as he hated to admit the fact to himself, it looked as if he was trapped here for the night.

Having made up his mind however reluctantly, he gathered some of the straw from the ground and together with two blocks of wood, arranged them in the firepit. Carefully and patiently nurturing the flames until they settled in the thick wood and danced merrily in the darkness, �omer then rose to his feet again and went to fetch Firefoot.

In the outer cave he stopped and clicked his tongue, rightly suspecting that he would have to drag the big grey in like a stubborn mule. Not that he could blame Firefoot when he himself felt reluctant about staying. The only thing he could do about his unfavourable situation was stay alert and set out again with earliest dawn, just in case the orcs returned from their nightly forays to seek shelter from the sun. Even if the evidence of the creatures’ presence looked old, he would not commit the mistake of falling asleep in the wolf’s den. Although he had already gone almost without sleep the night before, �omer knew that another long, lonely watch lay ahead of him. He sat the lamp down upon a protrusion and stuck his head out of the opening, seeing Firefoot lift his head.

"I know you heard me, Meara-mule. You want to stay here and give our presence away to our foes? Is that it?" �omer reached for the reins and narrowed his eyes in beginning anger as Firefoot retreated. "Come on, you’ve been in here before. Stop making this so hard; B�ma knows I’ve got enough problems without your bullheadedness already." With a quick move, he got hold of the reins and pulled. Surrendering only very reluctantly, the stallion followed him with stiff steps into the cave.

--------------------------

MEDUSELD

"Ah, that must be Maelwyn now. And it is about time, too," Hildegard said in a tone of forced cheerfulness in response to the rap on the door. She looked at �owyn, who sat in her bed with the pillows propped against her back and sipped her soup, looking much better than the evening before. "She said that she would return in the afternoon, and it is already late. Enter!" Anxious to go home, the old serving maid came to her feet and gathered her belongings while her lady’s gaze rested fondly on her.

"I suppose she needed to spend some more time with her family," �owyn offered with a little smile. "Bidding her boys a good night, perhaps telling them a story to send them off to sleep… It is all right. I feel so much better already, I may not even need someone to sit by my side watching me sleep tonight. I--" her voice died in her throat upon the sight of her visitor. It was not her handmaiden. Alarmed by her lady’s sudden silence, Hildegard turned around.

"Counsellor Gr�ma! I believed that you had already gone to bed, therefore I did not--"

He raised his hand, smiling amiably.

"There is no need to apologise, Mistress. I just wanted to see with my own eyes for once how the King’s niece is faring. I told Th�oden-King of the recent developments, but of course such statements are made with greater conviction if I have seen that of which I speak." He turned to �owyn. "It is wonderful to see that you seem to recover very quickly, my lady. Y�landa certainly knows her craft."

Suddenly feeling frozen despite the fire in the hearth and the warm soup in her stomach, �owyn put the half-empty bowl down on her nightstand, deliberately suppressing the violent shudder that threatened to make her hands shake. Her tone was chill when she replied: "Aye, she does indeed, Counsellor, and I am most grateful for that. However, I was just about to go to sleep myself, so I would greatly appreciate being left alone now that you have seen for yourself that there is no reason to worry." Warily, she eyed the strange bundle Wormtongue held firmly tucked under his left arm. "Would you happen to know whether my handmaiden has already been seen in the hall?"

"I do indeed." Still smiling, Gr�ma inclined his head to the older serving maid. "Mistress Hildegard, I thank you for your service today. Please, do not hesitate to retire for the night. I just need a quick word with the White Lady before I go."

Clutching her shawl against her ample bosom, Hildegard lowered her gaze in obedience.

"Thank you, Counsellor. I trust it that someone has already been assigned the task of sitting with Lady �owyn tonight?"

"Your concern honours you, Mistress Hildegard, but rest assured that everything has been thought of. I bid you a good night." Gr�ma gaze followed the servant to the door and briefly his smile flashed up again as she turned around once more.

"Good night, Lady �owyn. I will be back in the morning. And good night, Counsellor." Hildegard bowed her head and then quickly slipped out of the room. The silence in the wake of her departure seemed deafening.

All too aware of the fact that the man in her room and the guard outside, who was possibly one of his own, were likely to be the only waking people within earshot if Gr�ma tried to move against her, �owyn tensed, her gaze briefly grazing the nightstand where she had hidden the dagger she usually kept under her pillow. Knowing that she might not be fully conscious once the potion took effect, she had hidden it in its heavy drawer before she swallowed the contents of the phial... out of her reach should she really need it now.

"You look tense, my lady," Gr�ma began at last, slowly stepping over to the foot of her bed. He narrowed his eyes and his gaze intensified. "Or shall I say ‘guilty’? Surely there would be no need for such agitation just because of my presence if your conscience was clear?"

"I do not know what you are insinuating, Counsellor," �owyn forced herself to say, past the great lump forming in her throat. She sounded cold… and nervous. "By now you should have grown accustomed to my dislike of your person, so I don’t see why my anxiety should surprise you. What is it you want?"

Gr�ma’s smile broadened as he looked at the thing he had brought with him, patting it with his free hand before his attention found back to her.

"Are you not curious to learn what I have here?"

Angered by his impertinence, �owyn lifted her chin. How dare the filth play games with her inside her own chambers!

"Would it be of any importance to me?"

"I would believe so," Gr�ma replied, taking the grey thing with both hands now and holding it out before him as it unrolled. Her mouth already opened for an acid rebuke, �owyn suddenly froze and all breath left her lungs while a deadly chill travelled down her spine. Unable to avert her eyes, she felt herself blanch.

"I see you recognise it."

Gr�ma’s cool voice seeped into her conscious from leagues away. It was as if all of a sudden, she had been cast into a different realm, a place without air where she was trapped all by herself. She thought she was about to faint. This cannot not be! �omer? Could her brother be dead?

"I hate to say this, My Lady, but I fear that it was actually your little trick that lured your brother into our net. If I was a cruel person, I would in fact thank you for your help. However, since I do understand your distress…"

"You are not a cruel person, you are a beast," �owyn spat, breathless with horror. It took all of her remaining willpower to tear her eyes away from the bloodied coat, and with the connection cut, her voice steadied. "You are worse than any orc could ever be. Orcs kill because it is their nature, but you thrive on causing misery. Your whole life is an endless quest to cause others grief and harm."

Gr�ma smirked.

"If you say so…"

"But I don’t believe you." Summoning what courage she had left, �owyn looked at the torn garment again, clenching her blanket so tightly that her knuckles went white, and still her hands shook. "This is only his cloak. The blood on it may not even be �omer’s. Do you want to hear what I believe? I believe that your men stole this from him. They followed him and when he put it down somewhere, they stole it because they would never have dared to fight him, and then they slaughtered an animal on the way back to smear its blood onto it to make it look as if they killed him." She uttered a mocking laugh even though she felt dead inside. Could it be true what she said? Or was it desperation trying to make her believe in something even though the opposite was already proven? "It is but another of your petty little ploys. You cannot fool me, carrion bird! Go and show this to the King, if you are so proud of it!"

Seemingly unfazed by her outburst, her adversary calmly rolled the cloak together and directed his steps over to the fireplace.

"Believe what you may, Lady �owyn, but your brother is in my hands. He is alive yet, and in the hands of a capable healer, who might help him to survive his wounds… but if you choose to remain a nuisance to me, I may just decide to tell him to withhold his help. I might even, in fact, tell him to cause your brother yet more pain. He is a master of the Dark Arts, he knows how to make your brother feel every ounce of pain he is capable of enduring for a long, long time. Trust me when I tell you this."

The trembling travelled up her hands to seize her entire body as she stared in shock at Wormtongue, gasping as her adversary carefully laid the cloak into the fire.

"No! No, you will not get away with this! I will tell the King! He said nothing about killing �omer, and nothing about torture! He will have you executed before the sun goes up tomorrow morning." Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed although she still felt weak, �owyn ripped open the drawer of her nightstand and took the dagger from it. Alarmed by the noise, Gr�ma’s head snapped around. He narrowed his eyes.

"I would not do that if I were you. If you think you can threaten me, I would advise you strongly to reconsider. What you did yesterday could easily land you in the dungeon yourself, My Lady. Or even worse, it could cost you your beautiful head. I have irrefutable proof of your treason. Several people ssaw your handmaiden talking to the blacksmith’s son, which is why she won’t return, in case you were wondering. I have no doubt that �lric himself will testify against you if he is being properly motivated… if he recovers, that is. I am keeping him somewhere close, as well, in the same place as your brother. They are both in my hands, and believe me when I say that I will not hesitate to make their lives even more miserable than they are now if you give me so much as the faintest reason!" His gaze pierced �owyn with open brutality, all pretence of friendliness or compassion long gone. "And before you go and wave that dagger in my direction, or whatever else you might come up with to dispose of me, know that the men guarding your brother and �lric are under orders to kill them both in the most painful way they can conceive should they not hear from me each and every single day. Do you understand me?"

Gr�ma allowed himself a malicious smile at the sight of the young woman’s helpless rage. Once more poking at the remains of the burning cloak in the fireplace to make certain that nothing would remain, he straightened and put back the iron into its stand. Cleaning his hands on his dark robe, he walked over to the door without haste, and a victorious smile spread over his pale features as he depressed the handle and looked back over his shoulder. "Anyway, I do not have to remind you whose words the King really listens to these days, do I, Lady �owyn? I bid you a good night."

The door closed behind him, and �owyn no longer cared whether he could hear her as she threw herself onto her bed and gave herself over to despair…

Chapter 11 - Plans in the Dark

ALDBURG

It was well after darkness before Elfhelm had spoken with all the families of his fallen riders. For each and every single one of the grieving women, the captain had taken his time, never rushing, never hurrying, and when they had broken down in despair, no longer able to speak, Elfhelm had stayed with them and held them in his strong arms, speaking words of comfort which he knew would not help while the pain was still raw and fresh, but which might be a source of comfort to them once the immediate shock had worn off.

When he finally directed his steps over to his own home, the afternoon of passing tidings of death had exhausted the Captain of Aldburg to his limits. So much grief. So much suffering. What had the good people of the Mark done to deserve such misery? Had the Gods truly deserted them? Wearied in body and spirit to the point where not even the sight of Freela waiting in the doorframe for him could lift his mood, Elfhelm approached the woman he shared part of his life with. She wasn�t his wife and would never be, as both had decided after the loss of their partners that they would never wed again, out of respect for those they would continue to love when they meet them again in the afterlife. Yet the temperamental artist and he were soul mates, kindred spirits who had found comfort in each other in the time of their pain, and he was glad that Freela had chosen to stay with him for the winter before the travelling folk she belonged to would set out again with the arrival of spring. He needed her now; her understanding, her comfort, her warmth, all she had to give.

�Freela�� Words failed him, but the compassion in her eyes was all he needed. At last allowing himself to lower his guard and unleash the emotions he always held tightly reined in in the presence of his men, Elfhelm sunk into her embrace.

�Ssshh�it is good. I am here,� she whispered, holding him tight and stroking his head. He almost crushed her in his arms, but she endured it without a word. �Find�rras told me what happened. That you lost ten of your men� Who was it?� He told her the names, and she recognised some of them, and their earnest faces passed in her mind at Elfhelm�s mention. Fighting her own despair, she kissed him, pained to see her strong warrior in such emotional distress. �You are not alone in your grief, l�ofa. Be not afraid to show it to me. Those men earned to be mourned.� Gently, she moved backward, urging him inside. �Come. You did what you could for them, now you need to rest yourself. Let me take care of you, love. Come.�

�I cannot rest. Not yet,� Elfhelm breathed against her neck, his voice hoarse with emotion. �There is still more to do. I must speak with C�orl and decide what to do about the news from Edoras, and ��

�I know,� she interrupted him gently. �But later, not now. Now, you come inside and get some rest yourself, or you will not for much longer be able to lead your men. It is more important than ever that you conserve your strength.� She closed the door and looked at him as he lifted his gaze now, and Freela knew she had found the right words. Still, it was so hard to look into those sad, pained eyes. What could a woman do against such grief?

�Aye. Aye, love, you are right.� Elfhelm wiped a dirty hand over his brow and inhaled deeply, trying to force the weariness back. Kissing Freela once more, he then stepped back and put the sack with the contents of his saddlebags onto the bench. �I should do that first. Or I will not be of much use to C�orl when he comes to speak with me later.�

Trying to give him her best encouraging smile, Freela anxiously eyed the man she loved as he began to shed his cloak with cautious movements. The delay between the arrival of his �ored until he had finally found the way home himself had been nothing short of torture for her, and yet she had not found it in herself to walk down to the square and wait for him there with the others. Ten years back, in another life, she had done that for the man she had not only loved, but been betrothed to, and he had not returned from battle. She still remembered every detail of that dreadful autumn afternoon. How she had stood in the rain, the thunder of the approaching �ored just outside the slowly opening gates� and then the shouts and cries of joy as the people around her recognised their sons, brothers and husbands. How her gaze had anxiously darted from face to face without finding the one she was looking for, her heartbeat accelerating with each failed identification. Then the joyful mood of the waiting crowd had abruptly shifted with the first shouts of people who had noticed that their friends or kin were not among the returning riders. Freela had stood among them, unable to call out herself as the feeling of foreboding strangled her, seeing everything in perfect clarity: the foam-lathered horses rolling their red-veined eyes as they passed her, many of them wounded in the battle and the gashes in their hides gaping and raw. The warriors� dispirited expressions as they looked right through her in their own search for their families, many of them bleeding as well. And then she had seen the horses behind them, tied to the back of their saddles and carrying the limp forms of their fallen riders into the city, and Nightshade, her husband�s black stallion, had been among them, the load he carried lifelessly dangling from his back�

It took a great effort to shove the images and the emotions they stirred up away. No. No matter for how much longer she had to wait for Elfhelm by remaining at home, she would never again stand in the crowd and listen to its unreal din of simultaneous joy and heart-piercing grief. She knew that she would not be able to bear a repeat of this darkest day of her life, and if she could prevent the death of man she loved now by not awaiting him behind the city gates, she would do so, no matter how foolish the thought seemed. Seeing him fight with his sleeve, she came to his aid.

�Come, let me help you with this.� He grimaced, and Freela�s heart missed a beat as she held the cloak for him to slip out. �Are you wounded? Should I call the healer for you?�

�It is not necessary,� he declined, yet unable to suppress another slight groan as he freed his arm. �These are only bruises and scratches; I will have forgotten about them in a week.�

She nodded, unsurprised. For Elfhelm to admit that he hurt, he would have to come back to her carrying his head underneath his arm.

�I see.� She took the cloak and hung it on the hook by the door. �But would you fight me if I prepared you a hot bath with some of my special ingredients, and then gave you a good massage with the scented oil I bought at a South-Gondorian market on my last voyage? The man said he got it in Harad, and that its scent is supposed to do wonders to a wearied man�� Under different circumstances, she would have lowered her voice suggestively to accompany her offer, but after the long anxiety of waiting and the dispiriting news of the �ored�s casualties, Freela felt just as emotionally exhausted as the man by her side �What would you say to that?� Once more, she slipped her arms around him, and her slender fingers caressed the long, winding scar alongside his left temple. So many wounds, and so many scars. Would the ordeal ever end? And would he return to her from the next battle? She dared not think about it.

�The bath sounds good, and the massage even better, but you will have to be gentle with me.� Elfhelm gave her a tired, but honest smile, and she felt a little better. �You must excuse me, l�ofa, I�m afraid I am not the better for wear these days.�

For him to admit that, he had to be next to collapsing.

�Are you insinuating then that I am not usually being gentle with you?� she teased playfully, in an attempt to lift his spirits. The little smile in the corners of his mouth deepened, but then he winced as her fingers found a hard lump above his right shoulder blade. She cast him an apologetic glance. �I am sorry, but this feels as if I should have a look at it.�

�There are more of this kind for you to look at later, woman, but right now, I would really appreciate the bath you spoke of� and then something to eat, if possible.�

�Aye. And you shall have that, too.� Reluctantly, she let go of him. He felt so good in her arms, the firmness of his hard, muscular body; his warmth; even his scent. He had spent over a week in these clothes, he had gone through battle in them, and he had spent the entire time in the close company of his horse. Others would have said he reeked, but it was his scent, and since B�ma had chosen to give him back to her alive, whatever sensation reassured her of his presence was most welcome to Freela. Taking a step back, she motioned Elfhelm over to a chair. �Come, sit down here and relax with a mug of hot broth while I prepare the water for you. I promise that it will not take long to make you feel warm again.�

--------------------------

EDORAS

After another long day filled with routines and the usual arrival of ill tidings, the City of Kings had finally come to rest behind the protection of the great wall of stone and wood, but none of its inhabitants felt safe from the storm they knew would be coming for them before long. Its dark clouds were already visible on the horizon, a tower of darkness and evil, a great maw that was slowly opening to devour them all, no matter how valiantly they fought. There was battle within their lands now on all their borders, and even within them. Errand riders from the west and various settlements in the Ered Nimrais had reported marauding orc-troups, and there seemed to be no one left to stop them. Their king seemed no longer to understand what was happening in his lands, the second Marshal and heir to the throne was dead, and the third Marshal banished, and the captains of the remainders of their �oreds unable to provide protection with the few men left to them. Slowly but surely, the people of Rohan began to accept that these were indeed the days that would see their end.

High above the sleeping city, �owyn sat in a restless vigil at the window overlooking the plains; her mind occupied with related matters which yet were entirely her own. Somewhere out there, her brother fought for his life� if she believed Wormtongue. The question was whether she did or not, she could not decide. She dared not to think what it meant if it were true, if �omer had indeed been captured by the snake�s henchman and grievously wounded. �omer, of course, would have told her to pay no heed him, to do what was best for Rohan without thinking twice. But how could she do that? How should she forsake all bonds of blood-kin and commit the only remaining member of her family to a horrible death at the hands of their foe? Slightly shocked to find that she did no longer include their uncle into her thoughts of �family�, �owyn shut her eyes in despair. And �lric, poor �lric! He had not understood the danger her plea had sent him into. They had grown up together, how then was she supposed to let him die, even if it was for the greater good? B�ma, what should she do? With the dismissal of Maelwyn, Gr�ma had effectively banished her inside her own halls. She stood alone now, with no one left to trust. Whatever she decided to do � kill Gr�ma despite his threat against her family and �lric and thus risking her brother�s and uncle�s lives, or try to escape from this place that was infested with corruption and evil, to Aldburg perhaps, and then take it from there without having to fear the Worm�s malice � it was on her to act, and her task to accomplish. There would be help from outside.

With a deep breath, �owyn opened her eyes again. The snow-capped mountains beyond her window looked as before, and as before, they held no answers for her�

----------------------------

ALDBURG
It was not until well after most of the city�s inhabitants had gone to bed and the lights had been extinguished before the secretive rap on the door could be heard. Blinking in disorientation until she remembered that her valiant captain had scheduled a secrete meeting for the night, Freela sat up and wiped her eyes. Next to her, Elfhelm already stirred in his sleep, likewise woken by the signal. Knowing that they would have visitors some time later at night, they had gone to bed with their clothes on, resting while they had waited, and when the hours had passed uneventful, had fallen asleep. Unwilling to leave the warm bed, Freela swung her legs over the edge and shivered involuntarily at the sensation of the cold ground underneath her naked feet. A hand went back to gently shake her resting warrior.

�Elfhelm?�

�I heard it,� he muttered into his pillow. �Give me a moment.� He groaned and rolled onto his back, moaning. Why was it that one felt even worse than before after resting? For a moment considering going back to sleep, Elfhelm opened his eyes to the darkness of the room.

Not lighting a candle for fear that the light would be seen by hostile eyes, Freela slipped into her shoes and made her way over to the door as the second knock came.

�I am coming. I am here.� She sniffled, the burden of sleep still heavy on her shoulders as she inquired lowly through the still closed door: �Who is there?�

�Find�rras. And C�orl� and I also brought Thor.�

She unhooked the chain and cast a quick, cautious glance outside before opening the door for the three waiting men a moment later and inviting them in. Running a hand through her unruly heap of dark red curls, Freela gestured fleetingly at the table in the living room.

�Elfhelm will be with you in a moment, gentlemen. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the meantime.� They nodded at her and murmured their thanks as each of them took a chair in the darkness. �Can I get you something? Tea, perhaps?� She could not help it that she still felt uneasy at the sight of the dark-haired young man among their visitors. She knew that Elfhelm trusted the Half-Dunlending who had joined his �ored a few years ago with his life, but Freela had witnessed more than one attack of his evil brethren on the other side of the River Isen. She would never feel uncomfortable around them. They had taken K�lgard away from her, something she would never forgive them. She was grateful for the darkness in the room, not wanting for the scout to sense her hostility, but perhaps he did anyway from the way she avoided looking at him, because after a long, questioning glance, he, too, averted his eyes.

�Tea would be wonderful, Freela,� the tall, red-haired Find�rras spoke into the strained silence, and she gave him a quick smile, thankful for the reason to disappear before she would seriously disgruntle the warriors with her irrational behaviour. �If it is not too inconvenient for you? I realise that it is the middle of the night, but waiting until everybody was asleep seemed the safest way of meeting.�

�Think about it no more, Find�rras. I have to apologise for letting you all sit in the darkness, but it is the way Elfhelm wanted it,� she said, her eyes briefly resting on the third visitor; a grim looking man in his middle years with a thick, grey-streaked beard that was considerably darker than the hair upon his head. It was not often that C�orl came down to Aldburg. That he had undertaken the journey despite the unfavourable conditions only pointed at the seriousness of the matter he had come to discuss with his Aldburg counterpart. Aware of her close scrutiny, the Captain�s keen eyes briefly met her gaze, and with a barely noticeable nod, the powerful warrior acknowledged her. It was the moment Elfhelm chose to make his appearance.

�C�orl! It is good to see you, old friend, especially in times like these! Thor? Good that you are here, too. Find�rras was right to bring you along.� He nodded at the younger man, rightly guessing that the scout still felt like an outsider in the presence of the commanding Rohirrim. He would have to overcome that. Only a few years had passed since Erkenbrand had made Thor his responsibility, knowing that the unlucky survivor of a routed Dunlending raiding commando who had switched sides in the middle of battle would never be given a chance to prove himself in the Westfold. Since then, the half-breed had shown extra-ordinary promise and eagerness, and Elfhelm had seen no reason why he should not build up the man as a captain. In a time where men died quicker than they could be replaced, the need for leaders was ever present, and once he overcame his insecurity, Thor had what it took to make people follow him, of that Elfhelm was sure.

Still feeling every bone in his body despite the bath and the relaxing massage, Elfhelm extended his hand to greet the experienced Captain of the Northern realm, who quickly rose to his feet to embrace his brother-in-arms.

�I apologise for the inconvenience of having to deny you your rightful sleep when you only just returned from battle, Elfhelm, but with the worm�s watchdogs on my tail, I saw no way of doing this differently.� C�orl�s deep, full voice fit his impressive frame as he clapped his comrade�s shoulder and sat down again while Elfhelm occupied the last remaining chair. �We heard about the battle from the errand riders, but I know that even their worst reports can only give a weak impression of what really happened.� He inhaled deeply, and his brow furrowed in concern and compassion. �I assume that it was the worst you have been in so far?�

�Aye.� Elfhelm�s expression darkened. �Aye, it was, by far. The bloodshed was unbelievable. The waters of the Isen ran red with the blood of �orlingas. I truly expected this to be the battle that would see us fail to repel them for the first time. I feared that we would have to retreat to save our naked lives. It was only through Erkenbrand�s and Grimbold�s determination that we could throw them back at last. But I fear that next time, what is left of our armies will not be strong enough to keep them from entering the Riddermark. While we must fill our emptying ranks with men both too young and too old, the necromancer simply breeds himself a new army in a matter of days and assaults us again.� He clenched his teeth in helpless frustration while the other men listened silently. �The Mark is bleeding out, brothers. There are hardly enough able-bodied men left to fight in the Westfold. And we cannot summon them from other parts of the kingdom, because they are needed there, too. We cannot fight a war that comes to us from all directions at the same time.�

�And not only do we have to fight our foes from outside, but also those who seek to weaken us from within, as if our problems weren�t great enough already,� C�orl muttered angrily. He shook his head in frustration. �It has been a long time since I was able to understand the orders coming from Edoras, but my patience has reached its end now. This newest act of foolishness cannot be tolerated. I never thought that I would one day speak against our king in this fashion, but it is no longer he who rules this land. It is this foul, crooked spy of Saruman�s at his side. For how much longer are we expected to lean back and accept that he weakens us by forbidding us to ride out and hunt down those who assault us, or watch him kill or expel our leaders? I, for once, refuse to walk open-eyed to my doom! If I cannot change my fate, at least let me hew off as many ugly orc-heads as I can along the way!�

Nodding in acknowledgement of his brother-in-arms� passionate statement, Elfhelm changed the topic.

�What is known about �omer�s situation? Find�rras said he was banished for disobedience against the king. What did he do?�

C�orl snorted.

�Only what each of us would have done in the same position: He rode out with his �ored against Th�oden�s orders when reports of a great horde of orcs descending into Rohan from the East Wall reached us. I would have gone with him, but he bid me stay behind to guard Edoras. The worm somehow succeeded in convincing the king that �omer left them behind without sufficient protection, and also that he were responsible for the death of Th�odred, since he was not present when the call for aid arrived from the Westfold.�

�But that is nonsense!� Elfhelm exclaimed, enraged. �I was already on the way, and even I arrived too late! Th�odred and most of his men had already been slain when we entered the fray. �omer could have done nothing to prevent it!�

�You know that, and I know that. But we both know who Theoden-King is listening to these days, Elfhelm, don�t we? Still, I wouldn�t have thought that he would act so hard against his own kin.�

Exchanging a grim glance with Find�rras as he unsuccessfully tried to grasp the full meaning of C�orl�s words; Elfhelm could only shake his head. It still sounded unbelievable.

�What about Gamling and H�ma? Did they not speak up?�

�Against the king?� C�orl raised an eyebrow. �From what I heard, it was Th�oden himself who spoke the verdict. You know Gamling and H�ma � they would never question their lord�s words, even though they have to know by now where these are coming from these days.�

Yes, Elfhelm knew the two members of the Royal Guard well enough. Both were honourable men � and both would follow Th�oden loyally until the end of days. Given recent developments, that event seemed not too distant anymore though. Fighting mightily against the bout of helpless frustration and anger welling up in him, Elfhelm asked instead: �Is it known whether �omer has already left the Mark, or where he is?�

�Apparently, the Marshal was first incarcerated for three days upon his return, because the worm needed the time to send his riders out to bring the tidings of his banishment to the people � Th�oden had not even spoken the verdict then!� C�orl�s hands balled into fist as anger overtook him anew. �It was yesterday morning when they released �omer. I left Edoras shortly afterward to bring you the news, as I doubt you would have heard them from Wormtongue.�

�They sent him into the wild in the middle of the snowstorm?� Elfhelm asked incredulous.

�Yes. I am sure the snake found this little addition to the punishment very delightful. His men chased �omer away from Edoras unarmed and without provisions; you know the law yourself. He is forbidden to seek help from the people, and they are forbidden to help him, and in addition to that, the Mark is brimming with orc spies and patrols. I would not be surprised if Gr�ma told them to search for �omer. The question is now, what do we do? The way I see it, we must either openly disobey and break the law, or load shame upon ourselves and follow the verdict.�

Heavy silence ensued, and the darkness seemed to thicken as the four warriors sat brooding over the possibilities open to them. Only briefly did they wake from their dark thoughts, when Freela placed earthen mugs with steaming contents in front of each of them, and they muttered their thanks, their minds occupied with the problem at hand.

�We must do something,� Find�rras began hesitantly, twirling his thin, red beard. �I mean, we cannot just leave the Marshal to his fate, can we? With the Prince dead, who will lead us? Our riders look to �omer, and it is still the House of �orl they trust in the most. It would be devastating to them all to see the man who fought so passionately for Rohan discarded without resistance from us, their commanding officers. They would no longer trust us. It is our duty. �

�Not to mention that we would be next, no doubt,� Elfhelm added. �We� and Erkenbrand. And Grimbold. It would be foolish to assume that Gr�ma would stop once he has ridded himself of �omer. He will not rest before he has substituted every single position of power in the kingdom with a man he controls.�

�I kept �othain from leaving Edoras together with �omer,� C�orl admitted lowly, avoiding Elfhelm�s glance by looking at the table. �All men of his �ored wanted to accompany him, but I told them that the people in the city needed their protection now more than ever. I cannot tell whether this was the right decision or not, but if Edoras falls, it will be over for all of us. I felt uncomfortable about leaving it entirely in the hands of men we cannot trust; it would make it too easy for Gr�ma to fortify the city against us, or even take its inhabitants prisoners if we came for him. �othain did not like my orders, but he promised me to stay. Yet we must come to a decision tonight, it can no longer be delayed.�

�I fear you are right.� Elfhelm furrowed his brow as he looked at his scout. �Is anything known about �omer�s whereabouts? Which way did he head, west� or east? I would expect him to head our way. He must know that the people of Eastfold are still on his side, so even if he violates the verdict, he will most likely not be reported. Perhaps he will even try to seek me out.�

�It will be difficult with the worm�s spies everywhere. I suppose that Gr�ma expects him to head our way, too, or he would not have sent so many men to the Eastfold�s major settlements. He does not expect that �omer will leave the Mark.� C�orl stared over Elfhelm�s shoulder at the window. Beyond was only the darkness of the night, and still he felt uncomfortable. They were talking lowly, but alone by meeting in this strange, secretive way they had transformed themselves into suspects should the counsellor�s spies ever find out about it. The urge to get up and check for potential eavesdroppers outside was almost irresistible.

�Of course he will not do that,� Elfhelm agreed, lost in his own grim contemplation �Not as long as long as his sister is in danger. �omer would never leave �owyn behind, at the worm�s mercy. Gr�ma must know that �omer will plot against him for as long as there is a single breath left in him, no matter where he ends up staying.� Elfhelm�s eyes narrowed as the implications of his words began to settle in his mind, and his blood turned into ice-water. �He will try to have him killed. He must see the threat �omer still poses to him even now, he cannot allow him to live.� The cold hand of fear seized his stomach as he followed his thought to the last consequence. �He knew the people would not have taken it had he ordered �omer�s execution, to have him killed right in front of their eyes. So he pretended to act merciful and instead made arrangements that his adversary be killed in secrecy. I have to give the worm that: his cunning knows no equal.�

�Then we must protect the Marshal,� Thor let himself be heard for the first time. The others looked at him, and from their silence, the younger man concluded that he had voiced their own thoughts. �We must find him before his enemies do, and help him hide somewhere until we know exactly which path to take.� He fell silent, not knowing whether he might have overstepped his boundaries. After all, he was just a simple soldier, and not even a pure-blooded Roh�r. Although he had already served for several years in Elfhelm�s �ored by now, Thor knew that apart from their group of riders, people were still looking at him distrustful, the captain�s own woman being an excellent example of the sentiments they held against him. There was nothing he could do about it but be patient and try to convince them through his deeds, he knew, but although he was used to being given hard looks, their hostility was hard to swallow at times. �omer, however, had been one of those who had given him his chance after having gone through battle together side by side. That alone meant Thor felt indebted to the man.

�That sounds reasonable, but I fear that we will have to come to a decision about our further course of action tonight,� C�orl pressed. �Gr�ma�s influence gets stronger with each passing day; we cannot afford to wait much longer. Perhaps the time has arrived where open rebellion is indeed called for. Think about it: what would the worm do if you and I, and �othain, and Erkenbrand, and Grimbold, too, and every captain in the Mark would summon our �oreds to form one great �ohere to ride to Edoras and cast him out? What could he do if all our folk united against him? He could not defy ten thousand riders.�

�It is a nice image, I agree, but you forget that he still has power over the king,� Elfhelm said darkly. �B�ma knows what it is, but I also know that there are still enough men among the Royal Guard who will enforce Th�oden�s will, no matter how strange his orders may seem to them. We have been brought up this way, C�orl. You and I� one of the first things we were taught when we were still children was never to question the king.�

�But there can be no denying that Th�oden has been led astray!� Find�rras cried out, dismayed to hear his own voice say these words.

�Elfhelm is right, though.� C�orl�s expression darkened. �One can call Gr�ma many names. We call him a liar, a worm, filth, whatever, and it is all true, but he is also no fool, and his plan is faultless. There are more people than you would think who believe his lies. They believe that �omer is responsible for Th�odred�s death. You know how much they loved the Prince. It was a horrible blow to the people to hear that he had fallen. And �omer was in his youth known to be rash on occasion, reckless even. We all that we�ve ridden with him for years know that he has lost that, that he has become a very shrewd strategist, but enough of the simple folk out there will believe that he disobeyed the king only to pick a fight.� He exhaled, giving his words time to settle. �So, what will we do?�

Elfhelm leant back. He had made his decision. The path he had to take was clearly visible to him now.

�No doubt Gr�ma expects us to become active, and I would really hate to disappoint him.� A nasty smirk forms around the corners of his mouth. �Yet I haven�t been in my position since yesteryear. We will help �omer, but we will do so in secrecy.� He looks at his scout. �Thor, come dawn, you will summon our �ored to the stables. I want them to form five independent groups and search the mountain paths. You are free to kill whatever orcs or other foul beasts you encounter along the way.� With a wolfish grin, Elfhelm�s attention returns to Ceorl. �You see, Captain, that I take the king�s orders serious. I protect our people. And that is why we will go on an extensive orc-hunt tomorrow! We will clear the way for �omer. I myself will ride to Edoras with a few chosen men to see for myself what is going on in Meduseld, and try to speak with Gamling, H�ma and perhaps even the king. And when I return, I will bring �owyn with me. I am not comfortable with the thought of her in the middle of this snake pit. �omer would want me to do that. And once I am back, we will begin to form the resistance.�

C�orl nodded and straightened on his chair, visibly relieved just like the other men around the table.

�Aye, and I will accompany you on the way, old friend. We will see whether the snake will dare to defy us entry. If he does, I might as well take the opportunity to kill him myself. It is time that the Mark is returned into the hands of men who have its welfare in mind, not its destruction��

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

�How do you plan to contact Elfhelm� if he has already returned from the Westfold, that is. You know the worm as well as I. I would be surprised if he didn�t send his spies to all major cities and settlements to wait for you to show up� especially in Aldburg. He will expect that you are headed there. Are you certain that it is not a mistake to do what he is counting on?�

�I agree that it won�t be easy.� �omer took another bite from the pitifully thin rabbit in his hands and fell silent, chewing while he stared through Th�odred in deep thought. �As a matter of fact, I have already given this some thought.� He looked up. �Of course, it still involves risk, but no matter what I do, I will not be able to avoid it entirely as long as I stay in the Mark against the verdict.� Still chewing, he turned his head to see Firefoot restlessly shifting to his right. The grey stallion had at last accepted his choice of camp for the night, but it was clear that he would not be able to rest here. Whenever his head sunk and the eyes closed, it took only the smallest crackle from the fire to wake him and make him toss his head, ears nervously flickering to and fro. �omer felt sorry for his animal companion, but it could not be helped. This was not the time to be picky; they�d have to take whatever was available.

�So what will you do?� Th�odred spoke into his thoughts, waking him from his contemplation. �I agree that I share your opinion of Elfhelm; I don�t see that he would ever turn against you� but Aldburg is a great city with three �oreds, and not all captains might share his view. You see, that Rohan has been brought to the brink of defeat lies in our inherent obedience to our king. I hate having to say that we should have rebelled sooner against father�s, or perhaps I should rather say - the worm�s - orders, but it just is not in our blood. The king�s word is the law. There is no questioning the king.� Th�odred raised one sceptical eyebrow. �You are fighting against five hundred years of Rohirric tradition. I certainly don�t envy you, cousin.� He shook his head and took another bite, cursing over getting more bones than meat in his mouth with it.

Creasing his brow in realisation that Th�odred had indeed made a very valid point by reminding him of the history of the �orlingas, �omer stared into the fire. To unite their people against Th�oden was indeed be a deed he could hardly hope to accomplish� yet what other option was there? To flee and leave his kinsmen, and � yet even more important � �owyn to their fate? He would sooner die than admit defeat by Gr�ma Wormtongue. Even if they riddled him with arrows wherever he chose to turn up, at least he would die knowing that he had tried.

�Brother?� Th�odred spoke into his thoughts, staring at him from the other side of the fire. �Tell me, what is your plan? Because if I were you, I would not force my position and ride into the city openly, however certain you may be of the citizen�s loyalty to you. Just one man of a different mind would be enough for it to go wrong.�

�omer inhaled deeply, and tried to lend his voice conviction. �I do not plan to ride into the city, because as you said, it would be madness. No, I will ride to the farm of Arnhelm�s parents in the foothills near Aldburg, and ask Elgard to deliver a message to Elfhelm for me. I know I can trust Elgard.� The man he spoke of was the younger brother of the scout he had ridden with for most of his life among the Rohirrim. Due to an injury he had sustained in a match - breaking his leg in one of their wild riding games - Elgard had , to his great disappointment, been denied joining the armed forces, but �omer remembered how the younger man had always eagerly listened to the tales of their bravery once their �ored had returned. �I will instruct him to tell Elfhelm that I will be waiting for him in the vicinity of Aldburg, to discuss what we can do.�

�I see.� The older man nodded pensively. �And since I know that you are usually a good judge of character, I will not question your choice of the people you choose to set your trust in. But you realise that, even if Elfhelm agrees to follow you, and even if all of the Eastfold�s �oreds will do so, too � what you are about to unleash will test the boundaries of our people�s beliefs and loyalty. There has never been rebellion in Rohan. This could easily end in disaster� and result in a bloodbath that would drown us all, brought about by ourselves. This is a great responsibility you are speaking of. �

�I am aware of that. But I do not see how it could be worse than witnessing the slow decline and decay of the kingdom the worm forced on us. I would rather die on my feet, in a battle against fate itself, than live on my knees, and I am certain that our people do not see it differently. Things cannot go on the way they are now, it is that simple.� He stared into the fire, unseeing. �One way or another, the fate of the Mark will soon be decided, brother. He paused as he realised that Th�odred was no longer paying attention to him. �Th�o?�

�I think you are not alone anymore��

Chapter 12 - Unbidden Visitors

WARNING: This is a big, fat, ugly, very red “M-rating” for violence! People with sensitive stomachs might want to avoid it!

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Chapter 12: Unbidden Visitors

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

Not knowing what to make of his cousin’s remark, �omer furrowed his brow as he followed Th�odred’s gaze to the outer cave without seeing anything.

“What do you mean? Of course I am not alone: you are here with me!”

“But only in your dream, �omer! That is not, however, where the danger lies!” As his cousin abruptly turned back to him, the alarm in Th�odred’s eyes sent a sharp bolt of anxiety through �omer’s gut.

“But I am not –“

“You are asleep, brother, for how else could I be here? But someone is approaching! You must wake immediately, they are almost upon you!” Th�odred twitched as another noise reached them from the entrance of the cave, and he jumped to his feet, eyes wide with panic. “Wake up, �omer! Hurry!”

He sat up with a start, gasping and his heart pounding in a frantic rhythm against his ribcage as his fingers clenched the handle of his axe. Staring wide-eyed into the semi-darkness, �omer’s gaze came to rest on the red-glowing remains of the fire, and he realised with shock that he had indeed been asleep for a long time. Somewhere during his lonely watch, his body had betrayed him, and daylight was already underway. There was already enough of it for him see the outline of the cave and the large grey shadow nearby which just as he looked tossed its head and stared in the direction of the entrance with flared nostrils, trembling with tension.

In a heartbeat, �omer was on his feet and at the stallion’s side.

“Sssh…” he made silently, laying a hand onto Firefoot’s neck and instantly feeling the tremors of anxiety as he listened with baited breath. So it was indeed true: even asleep, he had been alerted by a noise, and his inner voice - in the shape of Th�odred - had instantly woken him … unfortunately far later than he had planned to leave, leaving him to deal now with the consequences of his failure. Who were his unbidden visitors: orcs? Or the worm’s henchmen? He doubted that it could be Rohirrim. They would have had to ride through the night to get here so early. No, it had to be foes. Involuntarily, his grasp around the axe tightened.

“Giet, Firefoot…” Laying a finger onto his lips, �omer silently moved over to the wall separating the two caves and from where his foes would enter. His back pressed against the rock, he breathed noiselessly while he reached out with his senses… and heard them: low mumbling, at least two different voices, guttural and throaty. The words were too low to understand, and yet the very sound of their language told �omer that he was not listening to men. It was neither the sound of Westron, nor Rohirric, nor that of the Dunlendings that was spoken, so much he understood. No, he was listening to the Black Speech. Orcs, then. Feeling the short hair on the back of his neck rising, he mentally readied himself for the fight. How many? Only those two? It would be unusual for orcs, who usually preferred to travel through hostile territory in greater number to improve their chances in case they were detected. The stealthy steps hesitantly approached his hiding place, and �omer flexed his fingers around the handle of his weapon once more, waiting for what would happen when suddenly, the whispering on the other side ceased with a hiss and was replaced by leaden silence… which was interrupted by an exasperated, heaving breath as the tension became unbearable for Firefoot, and the stallion burst into flight.

Cursing, �omer whirled around, aware that he would have to make the brief moment of surprise count if he wanted to stand half a chance. Storming out of hiding in the wake of his charging horse, �omer lashed out with the axe and buried it deep in the chest of an orc Firefoot’s assault had thrown against the wall. Yellow eyes glared at him in stunned shock, but he did not linger to watch them glaze over with death. There were more of these foul things, and they were coming for him now.

Freeing the blade from the carcass with one hard tug, �omer raised it in defence at the shadow attacking him. Sparks flew as the orc’s long-blade crashed against it, the impact travelling up his arms and almost knocking the hilt from his grasp. It was the moment when the warrior in �omer took charge and instinct replaced reason. �omer threw himself against his adversary shoulder first, and it sank into the creature’s stomach while their weapons were still caught between them. He rammed the orc against the wall, the impact stunning the creature through the tough armour of leather and bones that protected it. Pointed fangs snapped at him with a furious hiss, and spittle showered �omer’s face. The long-blade twitched, but he kept it caught with the axe and freed one hand to punch the aberration in the face, almost breaking his knuckles against the hard skull. The spittle became blood, but suddenly, the vile thing grinned at him and went down.

No time to hold on to it, no time to think. Instinctively, �omer followed the orc’s example and rolled, as with a rush of air, a spiked club hit the wall with bone-shattering force, missing him by the breadth of a hair. Completing the defence-motion by rolling over his shoulder, �omer landed on his feet with cat-like agility, lashing out again even as he rose. A pained grunt rewarded his effort, and the club clattered to the ground. A second strike to the orc’s head ended its misery, and �omer whirled back in time to see a blurred shape hurl itself at him. It was too late to avoid the impact, and his bones groaned as he was forcefully thrown against the rock. Somehow, he managed to hold on to his axe, but could not lift it. Though smaller than he, the orc was incredibly strong, it’s muscles hardened by a life of hardship and violence. Never having fought one of these creatures in hand-combat, �omer realised quickly that he was in trouble when long claws sunk into his arms and a curse was spat at him, followed by a malicious chuckle; the yellow eyes in front of his face burning with lust for his blood. Slowly, �omer’s hand with the axe was forced down.

“Now you die, Strawhead!”

Pointed fangs went for his throat with the speed of a striking snake – and sunk into his left hand he brought up in defence against the orc’s grip. Amusement over his desperate struggle gleamed in the yellow eyes and it clenched its jaw, observing him in obvious delight while red blood welled up around its lips. And still it pressed toward him while it mauled his hand, getting within strike distance no matter what �omer did. The muscles of his arms trembled with the strain of trying to keep the creature away and bring up his weapon. Suddenly, the orc spit out his hand and with one mighty jerk, forced his arm aside to go for his throat again.

His reaction was pure instinct. With a violent thrust, �omer knocked his brow against the beast’s opened jaws, causing it to howl in pain as its teeth first ripped through his skin and then shattered when they met with the harder bone of his skull. For a moment, its strength waned, and without hesitation, �omer freed his arm and swung the axe in a deadly half-circle upwards, cleaving the orc’s head clear from its neck and sending it flying through the cave. Luminicent eyes widened in shock even as the deformed thing rolled into a corner, and then glazed over. Placing a heavy boot against the still standing body, �omer pushed it back, and the carcass collapsed in a heap on the floor as an ear-splitting roar filled the cave. He swivelled, axe ready to hew down whatever came within his reach, when something punched against his right leg with a sharp sound, and the weapon fell from his hands.

“Here, Strawhead!”

There was no one behind him, not in his immediate surroundings, but as �omer looked down, a thick, black shaft suddenly protruded from the middle of his thigh. Uncomprehending, he reached down touch it while his gaze darted through the twilit chamber. It could not be real. Where was the pain? Yet all thoughts about his leg vanished when a massive shape stepped away from the wall next to entrance where it had hidden; a bow in its claws. The sight of it left �omer stunned in realization that his worst nightmare had come true. It had not been a deformed orc with big feet who had left the tracks. It had been a Uruk-hai, and the prints on the floor had indeed been an indication of its true, massive build. Towering at least a head taller than he, its intimidating shape blocked out the light from the exit. Night or not, he should have moved on, �omer realised with sudden bitterness, but now it was too late.

The huge creature chuckled maliciously at the sight of his dismay, revealing stained, pointed fangs in a bellowing roar while its amber eyes sparkled with infernal bloodlust. It seemed to be in no particular hurry to finish him of, �omer noticed as he stooped to retrieve his weapon from the ground. A first violent wave of pain from his thigh caused him to clench his teeth. Keenly observing him, the Half-Orc lifted its hand with the bow – and opened its fingers. The message was clear: it had no intentions of killing him from a distance. Provokingly slowly, the clawed hand wandered down its impressive frame, over the thick armour of leather and bone it wore down to its hip, where it unsheated a long, crudely worked blade with a double spike at the tip and lifted it up for its wounded opponent to see. It was the most intimidating weapon �omer had ever laid eyes upon, and he harboured no doubts that the first strike he would not be able to parry would fell him like an axed tree.

His mind raced. So, the foul thing planned to dismember him. What could he do against it? With Guthwine in his hands, he would have taken on the challenge confidently even with the arrow in his leg, but the little axe with its wooden handle felt like a joke in his hands now; a tool for cutting branches rather than killing mutant orcs. While the tremors of pain from his leg intensified, �omer took a stumbling step back toward the second cave. Perhaps he would stand a better chance in more confined quarters, where the orc’s bulk would sooner be a hindrance than an advantage. But how he was supposed to defeat his adversary without armour and adequate weaponry was beyond him.

Before him, the Uruk crouched into battle-position and slowly lifted its blade back over its shoulder. Its maw, wide enough to swallow a man’s head whole, opened to emit a blood-curdling roar – and then it charged! With the unstoppable force of an avalanche it came at him, ready to hack him to pieces. Retreating the one step that separated him from the wall, �omer expected his opponent, and with a first, fierce thrust, blade and axe met in a rain of sparks. The impact knocked �omer backwards and his weapon almost from his hands before he could use the force of the attack to spin around and at the same time disentangle the axe. The blade grazed the Uruk’s side and it roared in fury as it whirled around, but the wound was barely more than a scratch.

“A little over-confident, are we, filth?” �omer laughed, now clear about the strategy he would use: he had to keep the orc raging. Although this bastard-breed had been domesticated by the Dark Lord and the traitor in the west to the point where it was intelligent enough to follow a given strategy, �omer knew that once provoked, most orcs tended to regress to a beastly state and abandon common sense in exchange for raw power. While an enraged Uruk-hai was a fearsome sight to behold, warriors using their wits usually found them easier to overcome than in their calm state, one reason why the Uruk-hai were usually defeated despite their superior strength. “Come on, aberration! Or is one man more than you can take alone?”

The blade raced toward his neck, and he intercepted it at the last moment. Yet the razor-sharp steel bit deeply into the handle of his axe, half separating the iron head, and a vile stench assaulted �omer’s nostrils as the orc bellowed its rage at him, the gaping maw directly in front of his face. Their weapons caught between them once again, both adversaries fought to free theirs first, yet �omer quickly found that he was no match for the Uruk’s brute strength: with a brutal jerk, it pulled its sword free, and �omer had to let go of his axe if he didn’t want to end up crashing face-first into his assailant’s chest. Thrown off-balance, he was too slow to duck the creature’s clawed hand, and it caught him behind the temple and jerked his head around, slicing through the skin of his skull and sending him reeling backwards and falling over a dead orc with its owner instantly charging after him.

Stunned from the impact, �omer watched as the blade descended upon him once more, curiously slowly slicing through the air which had become thick and liquid and hindered his moves while the hot wetness of his blood ran down his face and neck.

‘Move!’

Th�odred’s voice sounded to him from far away, waking him from his stupor, and he reacted, abruptly thrown back into reality as if surfacing from a deep pool. He rolled, and the strike that would have hacked him in two left a deep scratch on the ground he had occupied only a heartbeat earlier. The shaft in his leg clattered over the ground and twisted the arrow-tip his flesh and �omer cried out, just as his fingers touched something smooth and hard. Not pausing to examine it, he grasped it and lashed out at the big hand seizing his tunic, cutting deeply into his foe’s forearm.

A bellow of rage followed him as �omer stumbled to his feet and backwards to distance himself from the now seriously enraged creature. Holding the gaping gash that was gushing black blood, the Uruk had dropped its sword and stared at him with eyes blazing in an unspoken promise to rip him apart. Satisfied over having shaking his enemies self-confidence, �omer blinked away the blood in his eyes and grinned.

“See now why you always lose despite your greater number? You are a mountain of meat without a brain. Even our children are more adept at battle than you!”

The thing bared its fangs at him, yet did not charge. Yellow eyes flickered infernally as the Uruk-hai lifted its wounded arm and extended a thick, black tongue to lick off its own blood, seemingly to demonstrate that it cared not for the injury. Fascinated and repulsed at the same time, �omer stared at it, and when the orc grasped its sword and dropped into a battle-crouch once again without breaking eye-contact, he understood: the game was over, his adversary cured of his overly great self-confidence: the Uruk considered him a serious threat now, a fact that made it immeasurably more dangerous as it approached with the black blade drawn back for the deadly strike.

“You speak much, Strawhead,” it growled, and its sparkling eyes followed �omer’s moves as they began to circle each other. “It tells me you afraid. I smell all over you. You scared… and you right fearing me, for now you die!” It struck, the impact hard enough to almost shatter �omer’s arm as he lifted his orc-blade in defence, and the top-half of the long-blade was hacked clean off. The Uruk’s expression brightened in expectation of its near triumph at it looked upon the short piece of iron left in his hands. “Next strike – will be you.” In an uncanny display of intuition, it stepped into �omer’s way and blocked him from the carcasses of its brethren to retrieve another weapon, grinning at his dismay. “You think me dumb, Strawhead? I know what you want. You not get it.” It spat, and then, suddenly threw its own blade away. “I kill you with own hands. Will take longer… and be more hurtful!”

Feverishly thinking as he backed away from the beast which approached him now with extended arms, demonstrating its intimidating span and reach, �omer lifted the pitifully short remainders of his weapon. Somehow, he had to get past the Uruk. If he got a hold of the sword, or at least made it back to where the carcasses of the other were strewn on the ground to retrieve the club – a claw swung toward his face and he ducked and slashed at it with the iron shard in a desperate dash to dive behind his enemy. Before him, the black sword reflected weakly in the intensifying daylight, and he threw himself at it, ignoring his wounded leg – when with a horrible crunching sensation, something exploded in his right side and he was flung against the wall, unable to catch his breath.

‘Bastard kicked me!’ �omer thought through a haze of crippling pain, blindly groping to find something he could use for a weapon while the most immediate fight was the one for air. His lungs burning while bright explosions danced before his eyes, �omer tried to move as a shadow fell on him. An instant later, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted into the air as if he were a puppet. Air! He needed air! His feet dangling, he furiously clawed at the fingers crunching his neck, and when that proved unsuccessful, reached for his adversary’s eyes, but the Uruk merely extended his arm to its full length with a malicious snarl, keeping him out of reach while it observed his desperate struggle with obvious delight.

“What now, manling? You not on horseback no more, and no shining armour. Without it, you weak. I could crush you if I want.” The fingers dug even deeper into �omer’s throat, and he gasped, his conscious fading despite his efforts to hold on. Again he clawed at the hand holding him, sunk his fingernails into the thick skin and drew blood, but its grasp was no less unbreakable than the teeth of a bear-trap. A fleshy black lip curled upward in a menacing sneer. “But I want not. I kill you slow.” It flung him against the cave-wall like a bundle of rags, then stooped to pick him up again and ran a finger over the side of his face, tasting his blood. “You tasty, manling. Better than stinking orcs. I will eat you raw. But first, make you tender!”

Again �omer crashed into the wall, and as his broken body sunk back, he knew at lat that he had lost. ‘Forgive me, �owyn,’ he thought dimly, his conscious fleeing him. ‘I meant to keep my word, I really did.‘

Once more, he was hurled up, and the big, ugly head of the Uruk-hai swam into his blurred vision, yellow eyes sparkling with triumph. No longer able to keep his arms up to tear however uselessly at the fingers choking him, �omer hung in their iron grip like a marionette with its strings severed. Soon, it would be over. His fingertips brushed over the arrow-shaft in his thigh… the splintered shaft.

“Now, prepare to die, Strawhead,” his adversary growled, holding him up directly in front of his face as if it was about to bite his head off. “I think I will eat your left eye first.” As the claws dug into the skin near his nose, �omer’s fingers tore the splintered remainders of the wooden shaft from his leg and, with his last remaining strength, sunk them in one continuous move into the left eye of the Uruk-hai. The great body shuddered, and the fingers around his throat clenched. Half-conscious, �omer gave the shaft a last, violent thrust before his hand fell down and everything turned to grey. When the pressure around his neck suddenly ceased and he fell to the ground once more, he hardly felt it. The last thing he heard was the muffled creaking of leather, and then a great weight landed on top of him and made it impossible to breathe…

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ALDBURG

There was already a faint stripe of daylight visible on the eastern sky, lighting the vast plains near the great city of the Eastfold as the long line of riders descended the slope. Although many of them had only just returned from the long journey and the battle at the Fords of Isen, none of the men had complained over being chased out into the harsh conditions so soon again. Only their captains and scout knew about the further reaching implications of their errands, but orc-hunting was a duty all of them took seriously and saw to most eagerly. Their captains had told them of increased orc-activity in the White Mountains, where many of their kin dwelt and relied on their protection. None of the riders needed further motivation.

As the gate opened and the �ored split into five groups, many men glanced back at the small group that would not accompany them. That Captain C�orl would return to Edoras had been widely assumed, but that Aldburg’s chief protector, Elfhelm, would leave with him although he had hardly even spent for more than a few hours at his home, came surprisingly. Rumours of what their captain’s errand in the City of Kings might be made their course, and after the tidings of the last days, many of the men quietly asked themselves whether they would see their commander again. It was only a small group that would travel to Edoras; the five men C�orl had brought with him, and four men Elfhelm had chosen to accompany him. Their number would be great enough to defend themselves against potential orc-attacks, but not sufficient to arrive in the city as anything more than a beggar. Whatever Elfhelm wanted to force by visiting the king, ten riders would not give him a good position to bargain. The glances grew increasingly doubtful until the mighty fence blocked the riders’ view of the small group, and they shifted back in their saddles and concentrated on the task at hand.

While the city around them woke, Freela hid her face against Elfhelm’s broad chest, revelling in his warmth and scent in his embrace before he would be gone again too soon. She feared for him, but knew that his self-appointed task was honourable and necessary. As much as she hated to be left alone again, at the same time it was this man’s incredible sense of duty which had first attracted her to him. He was a man always in service of his people; a man who would never rest until he could be sure that those in need of his protection had been cared for. So how could she even think of objecting?

Behind them, the men from his �ored who would accompany him were also bidding their friends and kin farewell while C�orl and his men waited patiently just outside the open gate. Tightening her hold on him as she felt him prepare to let go, Freela lifted her head, fighting the tears. It was not fair. She needed him, too! She saw understanding in his grey eyes which could look so fierce, but now they were full of compassion… and at the same time, determination.

“You do understand why I am riding, don’t you?” he asked softly, kissing her brow, and she nodded, her voice caught in her throat. “I will not be gone long. I loathe leaving you so soon again, too, but this is too important. I must see with my own eyes what is going on in Edoras. All that will follow depends on it.” He inclined his head, saw the brimming of the tears in her eyes and then kissed her once more. Her lips were dry and trembled underneath his, as if she was about to cry, but they opened to him, allowing him a taste of her he would carry with him until he returned.

“I will be here for you when you return,” she whispered breathlessly between kisses, fighting the urgency and the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her hands roaming through his hair, she deeply inhaled his scent and took comfort in it before she forced herself to step away. It would not do for her to make saying his farewell so hard for him. If the other women could be brave, so could she. “My prayers will accompany you every step on the way. May the Gods protect you and your men and give you back to me safely, my proud Captain of the Rohirrim. Go and protect your people.”

Gratitude and pride over her bravery lit up Elfhelm’s eyes, and she was glad that she had held her emotions under control even if she felt like breaking down and cry. His rough hand cupped her cheek.

“I will be back before you can miss me, I swear. “ And with that and a little nod, he turned around and mounted his horse, his eyes briefly coming to rest on Find�rras, who would take over command over the city in his absence once again. “And when we return, we will chase the worm’s spies out Aldburg, old friend!”

The red-haired warrior grinned.

“I am looking forward to that, Captain. Make haste, for I can barely wait to begin!”

“But you will wait for me, for I would not miss that opportunity for anything in the world! Hiya! Ride, Sons of Eorl! To Edoras!” He spurred his horse, and in a cloud of snow, the group of riders vanished from sight even before the gates had closed behind them.

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“Giet” – Rohirric for “quiet, still”

Chapter 13 - The Will to Live

WHITE MOUNTAINS

��omer? �omer, wake up! You must wake!�

The voice was persistent; not loud, but once it had found a way into his conscious, it refused to go away, no matter how fiercely �omer struggled to ignore it. Unwilling to rise from the bottom of the deep black pool he had found shelter from the pain in, he refused to follow the sound of it or even acknowledge its existence, not wanting to concern himself with the realisation that the injuries he had sustained in the fight likely meant his end even if he had defeated his assailants.. Where was the point in struggling and torturing himself only to fail in the end and die on the mountain path, miserable and freezing, when he could remain here in the warm, dark arms of oblivion, peacefully dreaming his way over into the Halls of his fathers.

And yet �omer found to his dismay that those arms had already released him from their embrace, because he was slowly ascending to that bright place, the place of suffering he had so desperately longed to avoid. Briefly he struggled against the pull, but had to realise quickly that he was no match against the unseen force.

�I know you hear me, �omer,� the voice penetrated his thoughts again, and he sighed at its familiarity. �You know what must be done. There is hardly enough time left to take care of it now� and your fire is going out. Soon, it will be freezing cold in this cave.�

�Just go away, Th�o,� �omer groaned, still refusing to open his eyes. Perhaps, there was a way back if he just tried hard enough. �You are dead already, so what valuable advice could you possibly give me? Why don�t you go and leave me alone?�

�Because you will die if I do,� his cousin said matter-of-factly. �I may be dead, but I still care for you. We are of one blood. I do look forward to seeing you again, but not so soon. Our land and our people need you, �omer, and there are many duties waiting to be seen to before I will welcome you up here with a glad heart. You are too young to die, and your existence in this realm serves a purpose.�

�If that is meant to comfort me, cousin, I must tell you that it fails.� B�ma, he was dying, and still there were only words of duty and purpose. He would have thought better of Th�odred.

�Stop scowling, �omer,� Th�odred suddenly berated him, impatience colouring his tone.. �You know how I mean it.. Obviously I do not want you to die because I love you, but that will not get you to do what must be done: you must tend your wounds, or they will get infected. You know what orcs do with their arrows; it has to come out of your leg as quickly as possible. You cannot afford to let more time pass. Come!�

�And what difference will it make?� �omer pressed through his bruised throat, every breath he took a conscious decision, a fight. It did not help that - in addition to the swelling - there seemed to lay a heavy weight on his chest hindering the flow of air into his lungs, and even the little amounts he managed to get down did unbelievable things to his right side when they extended against his damaged ribs. �Helpless like this, what could I possibly do? I can barely move, much less ride like this, and even if I somehow managed to get on Firefoot�s back, the first person I met could kill me at its leisure, be it Roh�r or orc. No, thank you, I�ll stay here.�

�I understand.� Th�odred said, and his at first compassionate tone froze. �Instead of fighting your way back, you want to take the easy road and leave �owyn and our people to their fate.�

�Are you mad?� Enraged, �omer sat up and glared his cousin, fists balled in barely controlled anger. Had he heard that right? �Tis not a question of what I wish for, Th�odred! Did you wish to die at the Fords? Did you finally have enough of the useless fighting and just decided to end it there?�

�Of course not!� The older man was kneeling by his side, and the expression in his eyes mirrored the coldness of his voice... and they were ignited by a spark of anger. �You know that, I was assaulted. I stood no chance against my enemies, they were many, and they killed me quickly...but you defeated yours! You are not dead yet, and whether you survive will be as much a matter of your will as of incidents you cannot influence. Things may go your way or not, help may arrive or not, I cannot tell, but if you give up now, you throw away whatever chances you may still have.�

�omer snorted, angered that he should have to lead this argument with his cousin when Th�odred was supposed to be the one to understand him best. �Tell me what chances are you speaking of, Th�o: the chance to meet more orcs? A pack of wargs or wolves? Or a group of Rohirrim? All will kill me on sight. I am alone. No one is looking for me to bring me help.� His embittered words caused the older man to lower his voice, and Th�odred�s expression softened at his cousin�s obvious despair. Perhaps he had been to harsh.

�How can you be so convinced of that, �omer? Do you honestly think Find�rras would draw his sword against you if he found you here? Or Elfhelm? You are in their territory, there is a chance that they will find you, and if they do, they will not kill you, I would bet my life on it were I not already dead. They would be insulted to hear that you would think that of them.� He received no reply, not even the smallest reaction to his sarcastic remark. At length, �omer laid back again as his strength deserted him, and his gaze went unseeing up to the ceiling.

�They will not look for me here. The path is precarious, and there is nothing around that would make the journey worth their while, nothing to protect. No, Th�o, I appreciate your efforts, but that is not the way things will turn out, and I cannot defeat circumstances on my own. You expect too much of me.� He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, and his cousin with it. He felt so tired... For the longest moment, Theodred�s gaze continued to rest on him, and his expression turned from compassion to disappointment. The notion also crept into his voice, making it even harder for �omer to listen to his stinging words.

�Too much, you say. I always expected much of you, and you never failed me before. Where is the man now I came to know as �omer of Eastfold, the young marshal whose name alone would rout the enemy in the midst of battle? The name that brought our people hope? The �omer I knew, the warrior I grew up with and regarded with pride as my brother, he was a man who would defy destiny itself. No matter what the odds were, or how badly he was outnumbered, he refused to be defeated, and many a victory he achieved only by the sheer power of his will. I wonder where that man has gone. Perhaps he was just a dream.�

Heat crept into �omer�s face.

�But what can I do? Firefoot is gone; it might even be that the Uruk killed him while I fought with the orcs. Without him, I am doomed. And even if he was here, what could I possibly do?� He could only whisper the words, choking on his own despair. Why did Th�odred have to torment him?

�At least, you can try, �omer. Instead of giving up, you could fight, the way you always fought.� Th�odred�s had never sounded more insistent. This was a conversation between brothers, from the experienced older man to the younger one looking up to him and in need of his wisdom. �Gods, I wish I could give you better advice, but I don�t know the answers myself; except for one thing: if you want to survive, you must take it step by step. First, you must take care of your fire, or you will freeze to death. Then you will have to tend your wounds. These are the two immediate things you will have to concern yourself with to ensure your survival. After you are done with that, we will see what else needs to be done, and what else you have the strength for. Step by step. I know you have the necessary strength and the will. Think of �owyn. Without you, there will be no one who will stop the worm from claiming her as his prize. She depends on you, �omer!�

�omer flinched. Just why did Th�odred have to bring up �owyn? Why did he have to be so cruel? The thought of his sister in Gr�ma Wormtongue�s hands was more than he could bear. �Do you not think I know that?� It was a mere whisper, followed by a long, ragged breath.. �All right. I will try, Th�o; I will do what I can� but I cannot promise you anything. In fact, I would even be surprised if I made it back to the fireplace.� His words, however dispirited, brought a relieved, encouraging smile to his cousin�s face.

�This sounds like the �omer I know. I am sorry for having to be so hard on you, and the Gods know how much I wish I could help you with more than just words!� Th�odred shook his head in helpless frustration and then extended his right to �omer while determination returned to his expression. �Come, brother! Show the worm what it means to mess with the blood of Eorl. He may think he has won, but he hasn�t. Move!�

-----------------------

From one heartbeat to the next, �omer found himself spat out into reality and the full ugliness of his situation assaulted him without warning. His body was a throbbing, pulsing, agonised mess, a bag of misery, and the intensity of his pain robbed him of the little air he had been able to draw into his lungs. Gasping and putting all his will behind the effort, he lifted his head � and stared at the dark mass on top of him.

The Uruk was dead. Although �omer�s vision was blurred and his left eye swollen half-shut from the gash next to it, it took him only one glance to understand: only a short end of the splinter protruded from the creature�s eye while the rest of it was lodged in its brain; there was no way for the aberration to still be alive. A thin trail of blood had trickled down the side of its nose like black tears and stained �omer�s tunic, the stench of it spoiling the air, but �omer hardly noticed as he concentrated on his dead adversary: there was no rising and falling of the massive chest against his body; no beating of a black heart inside this powerful beast on top of him; a single stab had reduced it to dead meat. A crushing mass of dead meat.

His strength failing him, �omer sank back and tilted his head toward the cave entrance. The light had not changed from what he could last remember, and disorientation washed over him. For how long had he been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? Half a day �For too long. It is time to act!�

A first, cautious test revealed that while his body felt as if every single bone in it had been crushed, yet there was none of the stiffness that accompanied heavy bruising once the injury had been given the time to fully develop. All the more reason to move while he still could. Running a hand over the left side of his head and feeling the gashes and spikes of his hair hardened by dried blood, �omer fought to collect what was left of his strength. Crawling out from beneath the carcass and dragging himself all the way back to the fireplace and his saddlebags seemed like a task of epic proportions. �Just do it. Don�t think about it.�

�I believe in you.� It was �owyn�s face he saw smiling encouragingly before him now, a vision from past days when he had readied his horse to ride into a great battle, and he followed that vision willingly.

�Show the worm what it means to mess with the blood of Eorl!�

He lifted his head. Took another deep breath against the searing pain in his side, and then propped his arms against the rock and pushed himself backward with the leg he could still move � and found himself drenched in sweat before he had moved a single inch. �I can do this!� He gritted his teeth. So, even in death, the Uruk intended to make this hard for him? He would show the filth the meaning of willpower. He. Would. Not. Die. Underneath. This. Carcass!

Squeezing his eyes shut, he doubled his efforts, and a loud groan escaped him as he pushed and dragged himself over the ground, soon swearing as he found it easier to deal with the pain by venting his anger at Wormtongue and his master and basically every person who had ever crossed him in his life. It was an astonishing tirade of groans, and moans, interspersed with the foulest Rohirric curses ever heard in the Riddermark, and if anyone who knew him had heard him then, they would have been thoroughly shocked, but soon enough the Uruk�s head, which had weighed heavily on his stomach, had moved down to his hip. Exhausted, but not dissatisfied with his progress, �omer allowed himself a short moment of rest to collect new breath and strength. The swearing had made it easier to bear, but Gods, he hurt all over! How was he supposed to leave this cave even if he made it over to his saddlebags?

�One step at a time, brother. Do not get ahead of yourself. First, get clear of that Uruk. You are almost there.�

For another couple of heartbeats, �omer stared at the ceiling, unseeing. Bracing. Just a few more breaths to channel what was left of his strength. He looked up. Th�odred was right; he had almost cleared the corpse. He clenched his jaw. Then sat up and pulled, and the monster�s head slid down onto his injured thigh, forcing an agonised grunt from him, in addition to the worst curse he had ever uttered. If B�ma would punish him later for it so be it, but right now, it felt good. Bright lights began to dance in front of his eyes while the rest of his vision dimmed and a chilling cold flooded his body. �omer knew what this meant. Yet denying himself the pleasure of passing out, he doubled his efforts, throwing all he had left into a last push - and then collapsed heaving on the ground as his legs cleared the body and he was at last free of the weight. For a precarious moment, his conscious threatened to flee him after all, but he dug in his fingernails with the ferocity of a warg and held on, no longer susceptible to distractions of whatever kind, a one-track mind on the way to the fulfilment of his task. He was at one end of a long narrow tunnel and had to get to the other side of it, where the fireplace was waiting for him. Nothing else existed, and once he had started this, he would continue to the end, the only acceptable image of which was him sitting by the rekindled fire with the half-empty flask of Forlorn�s spirit in his hand while the other half cleansed his wounds. Once he had achieved that, he would allow himself fall unconscious, not sooner.

Steeling himself for the effort ahead of him, �omer craned his neck to look in the direction of the red hue of the glowing ashes. It was not very far, perhaps twenty-five steps. Th�odred had been right: He could do this.

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EDORAS

It had been another long night for Maelwyn; a night with little rest and greater feelings of guilt haunting her while she had stared at the ceiling, hearing Y�landa�s agonised cry over and over and seeing the pain in �othain�s gaze when their eyes had met. And the icy chill in the counsellor�s almost colourless eyes when he had uttered his threat against her, and the deadly promise behind his calm tone. Each time the vision returned to her, it sent a cold chill down her spine and choked her again, never losing any of its potency.

At last, it had become too much to bear, and Maelwyn had left the bed although the sun would not be up for another couple of hours, as she did not want to disturb her hard-working husband with her restlessness. Lovingly, she had smoothed away a lock that had fallen into Torben�s face, and breathed a kiss onto his cheek before she had sat up, beat after a night of worrying. Mechanically slipping into a simple woollen dress, she had then sat for hours at the table of their living room and listened to the noises of the slowly waking city with the worst possible images passing in front of her inner eye. What was �owyn doing now that she was all alone? Had she fully recovered from the fever? What would the horrible man do to her after he had found out about her attempt to help her brother? Would he dare to throw the White Lady into the dungeon for treason? Horrified by the thought, Maelwyn buried her face in her hands.

More dreadful thoughts came: what horrible misfortune had befallen poor �lric? She had not dared yet walking up the hill on the first day after her dismissal for fear that the counsellor�s men would take her away, and instead tried to get tidings from �othain. Yet the son of Captain C�orl had not been able to tell her anything more except that �lric�s horse had returned riderless and wounded, and then he had given her the incredible news that he, too, was no longer allowed access to the Golden Hall. It seemed that slowly but surely, the Golden Hall was becoming a fastness against its own people, a thoroughly frightening experience. All saw it and worried, and yet none dared to speak about it even to their friends in public for fear that their words would reach the wrong ears... and there were many ears to be avoided these days. Maelwyn had no idea where all these strangers who had seeped into the city lately had come from, but their number seemed to increase with each passing day. Before she had been included in the secret proceedings by �owyn, Maelwyn had certainly noticed a few faces among the citizens foreign to her, but only yesterday, on her daily walk across the market, had she realised with shock how many strangers had been roaming the streets. Were indeed all of them evil men, secretly spying on the people, and whoever dared to say a wrong word would be taken away? It was as if they had only waited for �omer to leave the city to rear their heads, certain that it was safe for them now to walk the city streets in broad daylight. It could no longer be denied that the counsellor�s men had not only seized complete control over the King�s household, but all of Edoras, too.

Taking a sip from the honey-sweetened tea she had fixed herself to calm her down, Maelwyn leaned back and stared over to the window where dawn had at last arrived. Tired, she ran a hand through her tangled hair and wondered whether the king still knew what was going on inside the confines of his own hall and his city. She had always known Th�oden as a just and benign ruler, even though the first signs of his illness had already been visible when she had become a member of the Royal Household. Yet when she remembered back, his constitution had quickly deteriorated after the first six month of her service for his niece, and there was in fact no incident Maelwyn could think of within the last two years where the king had seemed lucid to her. Surely spies could not his idea of keeping his people under control in the time of his illness, could it? But who was left to take action against it with �omer gone?

Staring at the world behind the window, Maelwyn decided that she would try to speak with �othain again, preferably somewhere where they would neither be seen nor overheard. And her conscience was screaming at her to go and comfort Bergfinn and Y�landa, if that was possible at all. That something happened to their son was partly her fault, and she felt miserable about it. While she would not be able to tell them the truth, at least she could demonstrate her compassion. It was something she needed to do. And after all, the smithy was not Meduseld; she would not be at fault to go there. She had known Bergfinn�s family ever since she had come to Edoras, so surely offering her comfort to them would be something expected and not a dubious deed. She could not be arrested for doing so� or at least she hoped it

Feeling better now that she had finally decided to act, Maelwyn rose to her feet and went into the kitchen. Her husband and the children would be up soon, and the routine of fixing them breakfast would do her nerves good before she would leave the house herself.

----------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

He had barely reached the fire in time to safe it. When he had finally made it back to his lair in the second cave, drenched in cold sweat and shivering from pain and exhaustion, the embers had darkened to a dull red, and for a moment, he had feared for the worst. Throwing a fistful of tinder onto the ashes, �omer had spent some of his hard fought-for breath to carefully blow into the glow, and the effort alone had almost made him pass out. Finally, the first little flame had hungrily licked into the air, and was soon joined by a second and a third one. Carefully, �omer had fed them another block of wood from the pile and watched with baited breath whether the branch would kill them or be accepted. For a frightening moment, the fire had seemed to expire despite his efforts, but then suddenly jumped at the new food with the savageness of a predator. Expelling a relieved shallow breath, �omer laid three more thick branches into the flames before he settled back against the wall he had chosen to support his weight, too feeble to sit by his own strength alone.

He hoped that the four blocks would suffice, because seen realistically; it was likely that he would pass out for a longer time once he was done with the task he had to see to now. His injured hand cautiously probing the gashes in the left side of his head, �omer looked down upon his leg, and his stomach turned in anticipation of what he was about to do. The remainders of the arrow had to come out, Th�odred had been right in this, but he was still hesitant. He knew the design of orc-arrows well enough; they were mean instruments of torture with a deliberately frail, spiked iron tip made to break off in the wound and cause infection even if the victim had not been killed outright by the hit. There was enough left of the splintered shaft protruding from his thigh to grasp, but drawing it was not an option. He�d have to drive it through and hope that the tip would remain intact. It went without saying that he did not look forward to that task. Experienced in helping his brothers-in-arms that way, �omer had never been in the position to perform the deed on himself, and he doubted whether he would be up to it.

Cautiously, he moved the shaft in an attempt to determine how deeply it had penetrated into the muscle and gritted his teeth when the white-hot bolt of pain exploded in his conscious and his stomach threatened to spill his sparse evening meal in a retching fit. Gasping, he closed his eyes and sank back against the wall. It felt as if the arrow had already gone more than half through; all it would take to make it come out would probably be one or two hard hits�if he could bring up the courage to hit hard enough. Numbly staring at his leg, �omer realised the pickle he was in. The wound had not bled much so far, as the arrow still blocked it, but this would inevitably change once it came out. As �omer was fairly certain that the procedure would make him pass out, the danger of bleeding to death if he so much as nicked the artery was very real. He grimaced. Nothing he could do about that. But he definitely had to leave the treatment of this wound for last. While he did not look forward to burning out the other gashes and abrasions with Forlorn�s strong liquor, it would probably be the best course of action to see it done first.

With considerable effort, �omer gathered the things he needed around him: the flask, his water-skin and provisions from his saddle-bags, the woollen blanket and the small, very sharp knife the couple had given him, and last, but not least, the stone with the flat surface he had gathered on his way back. It seemed as if he was all set, even for the case that he wouldn�t be able to leave his lair for the next days. There was no excuse for further delay.

Clearing his mind of the uncomfortable thought of what he could do if his efforts proved vain and he caught infection nonetheless, �omer cut the hem of his tunic into small stripes and laid them by his side as he reached for the flask. Shaking it, his sweat-beaded face darkened further: it seemed precious little fluid to tend all his injuries. Perhaps he could� creasing his bow, he looked at the water-skin. What if he stretched the spirit, only a bit? Would it lessen its effectiveness too greatly? Grimacing, he bent over and pulled it closer. He had to do it. What good was it if the wounds he treated with the spirit did not gather infection, while the ones he could not tend because he had run out of the liquid killed him?

Making up his mind, �omer unscrewed the lid and filled up the flask to the rim, then carefully closed both vessels again and shook the one with the mix until he was sure that the content had thoroughly mingled. Letting the flask sink, his gaze involuntarily grazed his injured hand, and with a frown, he lifted it to inspect the damage done. Though throbbing as badly as the rest of his body, the injury did not look serious: two small, deep holes were on the inside and the back of his hand, connected through a line of smaller holes which apparently had not penetrated quite as far. The worst about the wound seemed to be the bruising. Vaguely relieved, �omer picked up the first piece of cloth and drenched it in the liquid, grimacing at the biting odour. This wouldn�t be a pleasure� but it had to be done.

Steeling himself for the pain, he applied the cloth to his hand. The feeling was not dissimilar to holding it into the fire, and despite his determination to stay composed, �omer could not suppress a hiss as he forced himself to wipe once again over the wound, really working the liquid in. Lifting his hand, he then looked at it curiously, feeling a bit ashamed. Compared to the injuries his riders sustained every day in their various battles across the Mark, this was hardly worth mentioning; less than a scratch. It had to be the fault of his overall deteriorating condition that he seemed unable to compose himself as usual.

Determined to finish his grizzly task as fast as he could, �omer soaked the cloth anew, hesitating only for a brief moment before he pressed it against his face. The pain there was exquisite, and while he carefully dabbed at the scratches next to his eye, �omer couldn�t help wonder whether Forlorn truly drank that stuff. It certainly felt as if it could set a man�s stomach on fire. His jaws clenched, but otherwise slowly getting accustomed to the burning of the spirit, �omer methodically worked his way over his face to the gashes on the side of his head, and then further to the abrasions on his hands and arms.

At last, the moment arrived when he could no longer delay the inevitable. Glancing darkly at the protruding shaft as though he had hoped for it to have miraculously disappeared in the meantime, �omer threw another two thick branches into the fire and shifted his weight. His fingers brushed over the stone he had chosen earlier for the task, but as if they had a will of their own, they hesitated to pick it up. He allowed himself a few more moments to compose himself, consciously feeling his lungs expand against his hurting ribs with each of his shallow breaths. Dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he forced himself to pick up the remaining cloths and - forming them into a ball � put them into his mouth. Carefully testing the feel, �omer bit down on them. It was not much, but like everything else these days, it would have to suffice.

�It is a matter of will!�

�Aye, cousin. Let�s see you do this!�

He would prove to Th�odred how strong he could be. He would not falter. After all, had he not been known once as the fearsome Third Marshal of Riddermark, the man who killed orcs alone by his glare? Surely he could rid himself of a ridiculous arrow then and laugh over it, couldn�t he?

He picked up the stone, fitted his fingers around it while his other hand closed around the remainders of the shaft. The rock had the right size for his hand, the perfect tool for what he was about to do. Once again, he shifted his weight, so that if he fell over unconscious, it would be to the left and not on his wounded right side. �If I survive this, I will do the same to you, worm! I will let them riddle you with arrows, none of them mortal, and then have them driven through your flesh beat for beat! I swear it!� He lifted the stone, tensing while he admonished himself inwardly to hit as hard as he could to not uselessly prolong the dreaded procedure � and struck.

The cry erupted from his throat despite the cloth and gritted teeth, his jaw-muscles creaking with the strain as he bit down hard on the fabric in his mouth. A sickening wave of nausea welled up from his stomach in reaction to the pain as his vision caved in, and he felt himself hit the ground hard. �Not yet. Not yet!� He could no longer see clearly, but he felt the sharp angle of the tip pressing against his probing fingers from the inside of his thigh. Almost done. All that was left to do now was just a little push, and a splash of the disinfectant into the wound, and then he could sleep all he wanted. �What are you: a warrior� or a wench?� He rolled on his back, fingers closing around the stump of the shaft that had almost disappeared inside his leg now, the thumb on its end. He pressed, and felt how the tip broke through with a splash of blood; that last pain only a pin-prick compared to the first hit, but it added to the overall inferno ravaging his body. A loud buzz began to build between his ears, and suddenly, it became very, very cold. Spitting out the cloth for fear he would choke on it if he fell unconscious and retched, �omer fumbled blindly to pull the arrow from his leg, and then poured the remaining contents of the flask into the tear in his flesh. Strangely, there was no more pain, no burning. No throbbing, as well. Only this bone-chilling cold. The bottle fell from his fingers. �No, no, I must dress-� The thought died as he plunged into darkness�

Chapter 14 - Confrontation

EDORAS

The sky was as grey as her thoughts when Maelwyn moved over the marketplace, barely able to concentrate on the stands and the displayed goods, as she found herself more and more distracted by the faces of the people around her. There were many among them familiar to her and belonging to people she had known for years, and yet their expressions were strangely guarded, and there was hardly any words exchanged between them at all. It was an eerily silent caravan of people too afraid to look each other in the eye lest they would be drawn into a conversation.

The sight of it sickened Maelwyn, and so she hurried to fetch the few things she needed and be gone. Yet when she put the loaf of bread into her basket to the eggs, apples, cheese and a package of meal she had already bought, the moment came at last when her decision could no longer be delayed, and she stopped and looked up to where the Golden Hall was towering high above the city in stark contrast to the grey sky; the image unusually sinister and forbidding to her mind. For as long as she could think, Meduseld had always been the centre of their peoples’ pride, and the sight of it and its shining golden roof had always rekindled the spark of hope in their hearts even at the most difficult times. But the thick layer of clouds shielded the sun from their eyes and its beams of light from the golden roof. So often the gleam had been like a beacon, a sign of their unrelenting will to live, but now it looked dull and tarnished, and the sight of it cast another shadow on the faces of the desperate citizens of Edoras whose gazes went up in search for comfort but found none.

Maelwyn hesitated. Would it be too high a risk to go and look for the old couple? The winding path leading up the slope to the smithy looked forbidding to her despite the crowd moving up or down on it in their various errands. There were so be so many people on it, but somehow, the scene of apparent normality seemed staged to her, and unbeknownst, her hands balled into fists. ‘But I only want to speak with Y�landa. I am not doing anything unlawful! Surely he will understand if he even sees me.’

A first cautious step finally broke the spell that had rooted her to the ground, and with her heart hammering a frantic beat against her ribs, Maelwyn slowly ascended the hill, her widened eyes darting over the people around her. Their faces were guarded faces wherever she looked; and so many strangers among them whose eyes told her nothing. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around the handle of her basket as she felt herself being scrutinised by a man to her left. Was he a spy, only waiting for her to commit a mistake? Did she look guilty? She noticed how her pace slowed even more as insecurity threatened to overwhelm her. But wouldn’t she appear even more suspicious to them this way?

Angry with herself, Maelwyn forced herself to speed up. Another four switchbacks ahead, she could already see the thatched roof of her destination, and she accelerated, eager to reach its relative safety. If only she could be off the street soon! Once she was there – a sudden jerk yanked her around, and the contents of her basket flew into the street as strong fingers dug painfully into her upper arm.

"Where do you think you’re going, little witch? On your way to weaving your nets again? You will not fool me twice!" She recognised the ruffian as one of the men who had been on duty when she had left Meduseld to fetch Y�landa. The man had a square-jawed face with bushy dark eyebrows and a wild thicket of an even darker, unkempt beard... and he looked very angry. The shock of the assault rendered her temporarily unable to speak, and the muscular guard shook her and shouted into her face. "You think I want more problems because of you when I am not yet even with you for the last time? Come! I will teach you a lesson you won’t forget so soon!" He pulled her along like a naughty child in the direction of an empty back street, and her heart accelerated even more.

"Where are you taking me? I have done nothing wrong!" From the corner of her eye, Maelwyn realised that people had stopped to watch, and she looked at them pleadingly, silently begging for help. Yet to her dismay, she found compassion and anger over the abuse of one of their own in their faces, but much stronger was the deep insecurity and fear written all over them. They wanted to help her, but they were afraid. "Please, don’t you see what they are doing? Don’t let them hurt me!" She dug her heels into the ground, but found herself no match for the brute’s strength. His comrades laughed at her desperate attempts to free herself.

Suddenly, a hand landed in her face with a sharp slapping sound and threw her head around. Stunned by the sudden pain and the realisation that the man had just hit her, Maelwyn could only stare at her assailant as her free hand reached up in reflex to feel her burning cheek.

"Enough of it, little witch! You either--"

"A feisty little thing, isn’t she, Guthlaf? Perhaps too feisty for you? Should I handle her?"

"That wench is more mule-headed than a real mule! Just throw her over your shoulder!"

One of them turned around to glare at the dismayed bystanders.

"Yes, look closely! This is how we deal with traitors, see? If you don’t follow your ruler’s orders, you will be next! Now go and be on your way, there is nothing to see for you here!"

And still, the people stood there with their fists balled in helpless frustration, battling with themselves as they weighed their chances and the dangers of an attack on the four armed guards against each other. Their inherent sense of justice commanded them to interfere, but what should they do without weapons against trained members of the Royal Guard? The Royal Guard... it was their first duty to protect the king, but were they not also meant to keep the people under their care from harm? In the second row, Maelwyn suddenly saw a woman bend over to whisper something into a young lad’s ear, and the boy took off like a horse in full flight, but she could not follow his path as there was suddenly development in front of her:

"Yes, there is!" a deep voice growled, and heads turned around. It was one of the carpenters, Maelwyn realised, even though she didn’t know him by name, and as he stepped through the ever-growing crowd, she saw that he held a hammer in his hand. A chill travelled down her spine. They wouldn’t kill each other over her, would they? Planting his feet firmly on the ground and squaring his shoulders in open challenge, the man stared at the guards menacingly. "I don’t care what she has or hasn’t done, but you will not hit a woman in my presence."

Guthlaf granted him a dry laugh.

"And you will stop me, I suppose?" Upon a short nod to his companions, the other guards unsheathed their swords to dismayed murmurs and gasps from the crowd. Maelwyn dared not breathe. "You and what army? Or do you think you can take me alone with that..." he snorted "- intimidating weapon in your hand? Go back and build your chairs and table, simpleton, and keep clear of affairs you have no understanding of." His words did not have the intended effect: instead of scaring the people into scattering, their expressions suddenly darkened in growing anger, and two more men stepped over to the carpenter to stand by his side.

"I don’t need an army to teach you and those scarecrows behind you a lesson. We may not have swords, but you will find yourself hard-pressed to repel the charge of thirty people armed with hammers, hayforks, sticks and chains." A grim promise flickered in the man’s eyes, and as he advanced another step, Guthlaf suddenly drew a knife and pressed it against Maelwyn’s throat. Too scared to breathe, she closed her eyes.

"Try it, peasant, and she will pay for it. I am saying it for the last time now: all of you will leave now and take—"

"Leave her be!" It was a voice Maelwyn hadn’t heard before; but it was also a voice she recognised and which cut through her fear like a ray of sun through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm. She opened her eyes and saw �othain and his men stride through the crowd. Behind him, the lad she had seen leaving earlier slipped back to his mother with a satisfied expression on his young face. Suddenly, her heart beat even more furiously.

"�othain, please help me! I haven’t done anything wrong!"

"Only two days ago, you deceived the king and now you were on your way to doing it again. Am I supposed to wait until you spun your conspiracy against him further?" The knife disappeared from her neck, but now Guthlaf pulled her even closer by pressing his forearm painfully against her chest while he stared threateningly at the warrior. "Stay out of this, Captain. This is none of your business."

"He was hitting her!"

"And he threatened her with a knife! And he insulted—"

Raising a hand to silence the angered people behind him, �othain focused on the group of suddenly very uncomfortable looking guards.

"The protection of our people is my business, Guthlaf, and if you think that I will stand back and tolerate your abuse of a woman under my care, you are mistaken." �othain’s hand was on the hilt of his sword, the gesture not to be misunderstood. He meant it. Yet despite the spark of hope his appearance had woken in Maelwyn, she feared for him. �othain was accompanied by three of his men, but the guard’s comrades counted one more, all of them with the constitution of tree trunks. A deadly promise seemed to sparkle in the eyes of C�orl’s son as he advanced another step in a clear and potent threat. "Let her go, Guthlaf. Your master pardoned her, and I will not allow you to exact your personal revenge on her. Leave her be and see what other things may require your attention; I am certain you have more important things to do than hitting women who can’t defend themselves."

The ruffian spat, but did not loosen his grip.

"I find it strange that you do not seem to care that this wench sought to betray our king, �othain. Aren’t you bothered by that thought at all? Or no, I understand why you are not: after all, perhaps you approve of her plans or are you even part of them, because they expelled your friend? Perhaps I should report you as a potential co-conspirator, what do you think? Perhaps it would be smart to banish you just like the Marshal, eh? After all, it seems that there are still too many crooked liars in this city."

"I agree with you on that last part, Guthlaf," �othain rebuked, slowly unsheathing his sword, and his men followed his example without hesitation. Behind them, the crowd murmured angrily. Suddenly, the atmosphere was full of tension, just waiting to be ignited. His eyes found Maelwyn.

"Maelwyn, why don’t you tell us what you were doing here? You did not seek to go to the Golden Hall, did you?"

"No. No, of course not. I know that I am not allowed to go there. I wanted to speak with Y�landa and Bergfinn, as I heard that something terrible may have happened to their son." And perhaps that brute behind her had killed him. Oh Gods, what a horrible thought! "I have known them ever since I moved to Edoras and only wanted to express my compassion."

"And I see nothing wrong with that," �othain said, his gaze directed over her shoulder at the guard in a less than subtle challenge. "And since it is I who has command over the city in Captain C�orl’s absence, and you are a member of the Royal Guard, responsible for Meduseld alone and not even its chief, you either bring me H�ma or Gamling to discuss this further, or taste my steel, because I will not let you assault the people under my care. What do you choose, Guthlaf?"

For a moment, the guard’s grip tightened even more, and Maelwyn feared for the worst, but suddenly, the hold was released and she was pushed forward with vigour, stumbling toward �othain and falling over her own feet. Quickly, she was helped back up by two women and pulled into the safety of the crowd.

"Very well, if that is how you want it… Here, take her." Guthlaf sneered, his eyes gliding over his adversary and the angry Rohirrim mob that looked about ready to kill him as if he wanted to remember each face for a time when they would not expect him to strike. "But be assured that I will bring this before Counsellor Gr�ma. He will not be happy with your interference."

�othain snorted. For a moment, his hard stare softened as he looked over his shoulder at the handmaiden, relieved to find her safe and unharmed, then he shifted his attention back at his opponent and raised his chin as he forcefully sheathed his sword.

"Do that if you think you must, but I will not believe that your orders were to abduct women from the streets and brutalise them. If one day the Counsellor will utter such a command, he should bring his men with him, because then we will have a problem with each other." He took a deep breath and lowered his voice to an insistent, warning tone while his gaze wandered over the darkly glaring guards. "Now go back to Meduseld, because the inhabitants of this the city do not value your presence, and if I catch you just one more time at terrorising one of them, I will bring it before the king. You have my word." His hand still on the hilt and broad shoulders squared, he stood and watched until Guthlaf and his men disappeared grumbling behind the next corner. Only then did the tension drop from him with a heavy sigh, and he shook his head as he turned around.

"Maelwyn, what in Eorl’s name were you thinking to come up here? You know that Gr�ma is watching you closely. You ought to take his threat more serious!"

Now that the danger was over, Maelwyn suddenly found herself shaking like autumn leaves in a strong breeze. Evading �othain’s gaze for fear he would see the tears brimming in her eyes, she squatted to pick up the goods from the ground she had purchased on the market seemingly an age ago, and found that eager hands were already picking them up for her. Good wishes and soothing words were directed at her from all sides simultaneously, and more than one clapped her comforting on the shoulder before they left to finally be on their way.

"I- I did take him seriously, �othain. Really, I did. I only wanted to speak to Y�landa and Bergfinn, I swear it. I have known them for so long and they were always kind to me, I felt I had to express my compassion. How can this be wrong?"

"It is not wrong, Maelwyn, there is nothing to discuss. But you know how things are these days in Edoras. You must be more careful; you must stay out of their sight, at least for a while. Come to me if you have any business in the upper levels of the city, and I will see it done for you, but do not cross the guards’ way again. Will you promise me this, Maelwyn?"

She nodded, not knowing what to say when the carpenter, who had first come to her aid and thus turned the tide approached them, feeling the strong urge to fall on his neck.

"Thank you! Thank you so much. I cannot tell you how scared I was. If it hadn’t been for you... and I don’t even know your name! Isn’t that a shame?"

The man’s mouth curled into a smile.

"That can be helped. I am B�or. I work at the carpentry across the street, and when I heard the disturbance, I had to see what it was." He looked at the dispersing crowd. "They are still good people, they are only afraid. They need a leader to remind them of their honour in these hard times, but then they will follow him with fierce determination."

"Aye, B�or," �othain agreed, laying a hand on the man’s arm as he realised the deeper meaning of the carpenter’s words. "You are certainly right with this. But in lack of one, we must stick together for now. They cannot overcome us as long as we stay true to each other. The people of the Mark were always known for their sense of justice and loyalty to each other; as long as we can keep those two traits alive, there is still hope. As we have seen today. I thank you, too. Your courage may very well have been the proof people needed to see that their fate lies still in their own hands: Just be careful after today. I do not know what those crooks might do to avenge themselves for the defeat."

B�or laughed.

"I doubt that the filth will be back. He knows he will be in trouble once his ugly face is seen here." He looked back over his shoulder, and then gave Maelwyn an acknowledging nod. "Yet I must excuse myself for now, I’m afraid. There is still a piece waiting for me to finish it on the workbench which I must deliver today."

"Of course. Thank you, B�or. Without you, I don’t know what would have happened." She followed the carpenter’s path with her eyes until he disappeared inside the building, and then drew a deep, shaking breath. With the immediate shock waning, the tears were suddenly on the verge of bursting out of Maelwyn, and the knuckled of her fingers turned white so firm was her grip around the handle of her basket. Suddenly she felt �othain’s hand underneath her chin, gently lifting her head and turning it to the side to inspect the damage done.

"That brute," he muttered angrily at the sight of the red print on her cheek. "I wouldn’t mind going after him and stick my sword into him very slowly. I will mention this in my next report. The king should know about this."

"No," she objected lowly, desperate to go home before she would fall apart before the captain and his men. "Please don’t. You would only stick your head out for the counsellor to cut it off, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, too. Please, �othain, I am fine. I am most grateful for your help, but there is no need for anything else."

Unconvinced by her statement, �othain let his gaze travel over her thin, trembling frame before he extended his hand to take the basket from her.

"At least let me walk you home then, Maelwyn. You are shaking so badly, you can barely stand. Come, let me carry your basket."

She could not deny that he was right, and also could no longer speak as the words would have left her throat in the form of a sob. So she just silently nodded her agreement and gratefully accepted his steadying arm when the tears finally spilled over. Resting the handle of the basket in the pit of his elbow, �othain gently laid his arms around her and lead her down the path, only briefly pausing once to look at his men.

"I will bring her home. Meet me in the market square in half an hour. We must talk."

------------------------------

It had taken them a while to reach the alley in the centre of the city, and by then, Maelwyn’s trembling had subsided to a level that allowed her to walk mostly by herself, and she felt no longer as if she would burst into tears in front of him. What would happen to her composure once she had reached the relative safety of her home and would be by herself until she felt ready to pick up her children from their neighbours, she dared not to think of.

"All right, here we are," her saviour murmured lowly, as he came a halt and turned toward her. "I will go and tell Torben to come home. I do not want to leave you like this."

She shook her head as she cautiously felt her throbbing cheek. It felt hot to her touch.

"No. No, �othain, thank you." She looked up to him, deep thankfulness in her eyes. "Please don’t. You did so much for me already, and I do not want Torben to worry. He already has much on his mind these days as it is. He needs not to know about this."

His gaze told her that he was not convinced.

"But he will see that print on your cheek. What will you tell him? Will you lie to him?"

"I don’t know yet, but I will not make things better by causing him yet more worries, �othain. If I need to speak about it, I have you to confide in. Really, I will be all right." She tried to smile as she rubbed her cheek. "It was just a slap."

"As you wish. But at least let me leave you with one of my men for protection for the next few days. I do not think that Guthlaf and his thugs will come down here to take revenge, but I want you to be safe. I will send you Breghelm." The young warrior seemed unhappy not to be able to do more. "In the meantime, will you promise me to remain in the lower levels of the city for as long as the situation hasn’t been solved? I try to keep an eye on you, but I will not always be able to be around. That I was today was a lucky coincidence."

She nodded, touched by his concern. "I promise. And I am sorry that you were drawn into this. But can you please tell Y�landa and Bergfinn—"

"I will tell them that they are in your thoughts and prayers, but believe me, they already know that." For a moment, �othain looked at her strangely, as if he had a question he was not certain he should ask. Then he added hesitantly: "That �lric has disappeared… has it anything to do with… I mean, I noticed your look when you saw me with Y�landa and…"

The lump in Maelwyn’s throat was back.

"I cannot tell you, �othain, please, understand." She laid a hand on his arm, begging him to let it be. He did her the favour, nodding his head with a gloomy expression as he turned his head to look down the street.

"I must be on my way, but I will send you Breghelm right away. Do not send him away. He may be young, but he is an able warrior, and I would be relieved to know that someone is looking after you. Maelwyn?"

"Thank you, �othain." She accepted his embrace gratefully and closed her eyes. "For everything." She could not say more, and when at last he let go of her and turned away with a nod of acknowledgment, she followed his way with her eyes until he passed out of sight.

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

The feeling grew stronger. Strong enough to alert him through his dark dreams and reach his subconscious. He was no longer alone. At first, �omer took it to be part of his dream, an echo of the attack he was reliving in grizzly detail again and again, unable to shut the images out; a vivid recollection of the first burst of anxiety in reaction to Th�odred’s warning. But the feeling did not wane, and the steady change from cold to warm air against his face seemed too real to be only a product of his imagination. It was the breath of a living being, and it was close.

With a gasp, �omer sat up – and fell straight back when his strength gave out even before he had reached an upright position, hitting his head hard on the bare ground. Not seeing clearly in the diffuse twilight, he blindly groped for the knife even though he knew that he was in no condition to fight. Easy prey, that was what he was, and yet �omer found to his surprise that his abrupt movement had apparently scared his unknown visitor away at least for a second, the large shape retreating from him with a startled noise.

His heart pounding against his hurting ribs like a hammer against the anvil, he stared into the semi-darkness with the knife in his hand, ready to lash out… but suddenly, all tension fell away from him, and his lips curled upward in a weak and at the same time honestly glad smile. He laid the weapon back and instead wearily raised his hand in greeting.

"Firefoot! B�ma be praised…"

The stallion’s long face looked almost comical as it hovered above him with an all-too-human expression of concern written all over it; widened nostrils quivering as Firefoot took in his master’s comforting scent. Yet at the same time, the stench of blood made the horse skittish, and his ears flickered nervously to and fro as he cautiously lowered his head again to sniff at �omer’s hand, only to recoil again from him.

"It is only I, Grey One. No reason to fear me. I couldn’t hurt a foal… not that I ever would." At last, �omer was allowed to touch his steed’s nose, and his smile deepened as he found himself thoroughly moved by the display of the horse’s loyalty. Despite the horror of the nightly attack, and despite the stench of the fallen orcs around them, Firefoot had returned to this place he hated and wouldn’t enter on his own earlier… to look for him. The thought brought a warm glow to �omer otherwise freezing body as he gently caressed the soft skin beneath his fingers and lowly hummed a soothing meldody as his throat hurt too much to speak. A raspy, but heartfelt "Thank you" was all he managed before lack of strength finally forced him to lower his arm.

What now? As �omer stared up, it seemed to him that Firefoot was at a loss of how to proceed as well. Clearly indicating by the way he restlessly shifted and nodded his head as he retreated for a few steps now to paw the ground, his horse was eager to leave these caves that reeked of danger and death. His entire behaviour was a single, desperate plea his master to stand up and mount and be gone from this evil place… and yet �omer could not comply. His head sank back as the last of his strength deserted him, and the smile vanished from his face as if it had never been there. As much as he hated the realisation, it could not be helped that they would have to spend another night in their compromised hideout. If more orcs came, it would be destiny. There was nothing he could do about it.

"I’m sorry, Firefoot…" His gaze found the fire…. the pitiful remainders of his fire. Of the four thick blocks of wood he had fed it earlier, most had crumbled into glowing ashes, and only small flames still licked at the little remaining food. The sight of it brought a great wave of disorientation. For how long had he been unconscious? Was it already night again? Trying to lift his head high enough to look in the direction of the exit, �omer found that he could still faintly see the outline of the cave, if not too clearly. So either it was a very overcast day, or nightfall could not be far off. Furrowing his brow with discomfort over his finding, he lay back… when something else came to his mind.

Reluctantly his gaze went down to his leg, and �omer braced to finally see the full damage done. The merciful twilight of the cave could not hide the glistening dark stain around the middle of his thigh where the blood had soaked his breaches around the small cut. Carefully turning the muscle to inspect the exit wound, �omer gritted his teeth as he peeled aside the leather to look. He seemed to have been lucky: as to be expected, the tear had bled a while, but the flow seemed to have ended a good while ago, and only the movement now caused it to weep anew, but not exceedingly. No, the wound looked about as good as he could have hoped for. Rolling on his back with an effort, �omer fumbled in the diffuse light to find the stripes of cloth he had cut from his tunic earlier and with what little of his strength had returned, dressed the wound. At last, he rekindled the fire with four more thick branches and lay back, utterly spent and ready to pass out again.

As his hand fell down, his fingers brushed over a thing that clattered away underneath his touch, a bright noise that caught his attention through the leaden exhaustion, and he picked it up to look at it. It was the arrow. Thoughtfully, �omer ran a thumb over the delicate tip and was relived to find it intact; there were no dents or sharp angles on it where they didn’t belong. Disgusted, he let it fall, and instead unscrewed his nearby water-skin to take a sip. Its light weight did nothing to improve his mood; the way it felt it could not be more than half-full. Perhaps enough to last until the next morning, or noon, if he drank sparsely. But what then? ‘You will have to crawl to the entrance and fill it with snow.’ A dry, humourless laugh. Yes, certainly. He already felt as stiff as one of the Pukel-men at Dunharrow, and by tomorrow, his mobility would probably be reduced to the point of non-existence. ‘You did not tell me about this, Th�o! Step by step you said, but you did not say how many steps there were to take altogether. You cheated!’

There was no answer, and exhausted from the brief time awake, �omer closed his eyes, intending to go back to sleep and forget about his hopeless situation at least for another few hours, when from the side, a deep, impatient whicker reached his ear. Unwilling, he craned his neck to look at his restlessly shifting stallion.

"No, Firefoot. We stay." He felt sorry for his animal companion. This was no place for a horse. The caves were too narrow for a creature of his frame; they stank of death and there was no food for a horse. The stallion had to be hungry and yearning for company of his kind. As was he, �omer thought in a sudden fit of loneliness, and he listened into the darkness. Where was Th�odred when he needed him? With another sceptical glance at the slowly reviving fire, �omer carefully reached out to clutch the woollen blanket he had not had the time to wrap himself into before unconsciousness had claimed him, and spread it over himself.

Better. As miserable as he felt, at least he was no longer cold. Staring into the flames with unfocussed eyes and enjoying the warmth on his face, it did not take long for him to sink back into darkness…

Chapter 15 - A Desperate Attempt

EDORAS

The tarnished face of the sun disappeared behind the mountains of the Ered Nimrais and plunged the land into fast advancing twilight as another frustrating day drew to an end; a day of helplessly watching how everything around her fell to pieces. It was the third day �owyn had been forced to remain in her chambers, and while she appreciated their luxury over the other possibility Gr�ma had threateningly mentioned, the very thought of the audacity to keep her imprisoned within their own halls was enough to let the blood churn through her veins.

Standing by the window with her gaze on the plains like she had done for long periods within these past days, �owyn felt that she was fast approaching the point where she would either have to storm out of her chambers and kill all who dared to block her way, or explode. Fully recovered and the fever but a distant memory, the inactivity she had been condemned to was quickly becoming torture. How could she sit around doing nothing while �omer suffered somewhere perhaps close by at the hands of their arch enemy�s minions? How was she supposed to bear this burden with no one to confide in, no one to share the load or to encourage her? Although she kept telling herself that the worm�s proud statement about having captured her brother was only another one of his devious mind games, there was no way to know for sure, and the uncertainty was driving her mad.

And what about their uncle, how was he faring? Since Gr�ma�s power over their people was closely related to his hold of the king, it was �owyn�s conviction that the evil counsellor would do everything in his power to keep Th�oden alive for as long as possible. And yet while she suspected that the effort would be vain and the result depressing, she desperately needed to see her surrogate father with her own eyes and attempt to talk with him. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she caught him in one of his rare lucid moments and succeeded in alerting him of the horrible things going on in the Mark in his name these days.

As she turned toward the door, �owyn�s expression darkened. There were so many unknowns, so many things she had no influence over, but she had to keep on trying. To do nothing would mean to give up, and she was not ready yet to admit defeat. All day long, she had repeatedly opened the door to keep the changing guards in front of her chambers busy with errands, only waiting for the moment when that man would be someone of the old ranks of the Royal Guard and not one of Wormtongue�s thinly disguised henchmen. So she tensed as she depressed the handle yet again, and this time her heart jumped into her throat as she recognised the man.

�D�or! B�ma be blessed, I was hoping to find you here!� A quick glance established that they were alone, but she lowered her voice nonetheless. These days, one could never be too cautious. The elderly guard looked at her warily, obviously unhappy about being pulled into affairs which could cause him trouble.

�Lady �owyn, what can I do for you? �

�Could you send for Lord Gamling for me, please? I would very much like to talk to him.�

Relieved that her request seemed to be harmless and did not ask for him to engage into any forbidden activities, D�or nodded.

�I will have someone look for him, my lady.� He granted her a curt nod. �In the meantime, I would like to say that all are glad to see you recovered. Your illness cast a great shadow upon this house, and seeing your health restored is at least one great worry off people�s minds.�

A surprised and touched smile spread over �owyn�s face.

�I thank you for your concern, D�or. It is a comforting thought that people still seem to care for each other in this house, even if most of them seem too afraid to show it these days. Now, if you can please get Gamling for me, I�d be most grateful.� She paused and gazed intently into the darkness on the other side of the hall. �You would not happen to know where the Counsellor is?�

�I understand that he left Meduseld a while ago to go into the city. To my knowledge, he has not returned yet.� The discomfort was back in the older man�s eyes as if he suspected that the king�s niece would ask for something he was not allowed, but to his relief, the White Lady only nodded and then closed the door behind her again.

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CENTRAL MARK

With long powerful swipes Elfhelm pulled the straw over �on�s steaming hide, his body warming with the movement after another long day of exposure to the elements. As much as he usually enjoyed riding and the freedom of the wide open plains in contrast to the city�s haunting feeling of despair, the Captain of Aldburg felt that the long leagues he and his horse had travelled in the past weeks were finally beginning to take their toll on the both of them. The problem was that he would not be done with it once they reached Edoras tomorrow; he�d still have to get back to Aldburg, and who knew what would await him upon his return. If �omer had showed up there in the meantime and their call to rebellion would spread through the Riddermark, there would be no rest for him in the foreseeable future. And yet he could live with these prospects, because rest meant inactivity, and each hour of inactivity meant orcs roaming the Mark unchallenged, burning their land and killing their people, a thought he found altogether intolerable.

He pushed it away, not wanting to occupy himself with it any longer while there was still much to be done, more immediate problems to be seen to before he could concern himself with the questions it posed; the most urgent one being the decision of how they would proceed once they reached Edoras. Behind him, rusty hinges creaked as the stable door was opened from outside, and when heavy steps approached him, Elfhelm turned his head to acknowledge C�orl�s presence .

�You look tired,� his brother-in-arms said after a scrutinising glance. �I really wish there had been a different way to deal with this than dragging you over the plains again when you had only just returned from battle.�

�But as we both know, there isn�t one, and as long as it concerns crossing the worm�s plans, I will go wherever I�m needed, whenever I�m needed, even if I have to crawl on hands and knees to get there.�

With a dry laugh, C�orl stepped up to him, resting his hands on the stall door.

�I came to tell you that the farmer�s wife fixed us an evening meal in the main house. But perhaps we should first discuss what to do tomorrow, and I would prefer to do that here. It is not that I don�t trust them, but one can never be too careful these days.� He extended a hand and clapped �on�s neck, the gesture resulting in an exasperated huff from the neighbouring stall. C�orl looked at his steed with raised eyebrows. �I do not believe my ears, Lancer! Do you honestly feel that I didn�t give you enough attention today? After rubbing you dry, checking your legs and hooves and feeding you, you will still not allow me to touch another horse? You are one envious beast, I�ll give you that!� Demonstrating that he cared little for his steed�s protest, the warrior patted the bay stallion again, and again, his grey mount huffed indignantly before turning away to punish his master with ignorance. The subject of their little quarrel appeared untouched by the tension and calmly continued to chew on his oats, enjoying the attention of the two men very much. Shrugging as he exchanged an eloquent look with the other warrior, Elfhelm finally dropped the fistful of straw and rubbed his hands against his breeches as he left the stall with a last pat on �on�s powerful hindquarters.

�Knowing you, I suppose that you already have a plan?�

C�orl nodded.

�I don�t think we should enter Edoras together. They expect me back, but if you and your riders accompany me, it will only alert the snake that something is brewing. If we want to reach something, we need to catch him unawares.�

�And what do you suggest?� Elfhelm realised that he reeked heavily of horse and sweat, and he would have liked to wash himself before the meal, but if it was already waiting for them, it would take too long. After the long day on horseback, freezing in the stiff breeze, he very much longed for a hot meal� and he was ravenous. Oh well. It was not like the farmers would be shocked by the odour. He sighed. C�orl�s gaze rested knowingly on him as he explained his plan.

�My men and I will ride ahead, and I will speak with �othain as soon as I see him and make the necessary arrangements. You will follow us three hours after moonrise, once the lights of the city have been extinguished. Then either �othain or I will personally open the gates to let you in; we will give you a signal once the air is clear. If we want to find out what is really going on in the city, I believe we have the best chances at night, before word of our arrival reaches the worm and he can send out his spies. I will see to it that we can speak undisturbed. Once we have been filled it, we can then decide upon the necessary steps.�

With a deep intake of breath, Elfhelm stared through him for a long moment of silence. When he woke from his reverie, his brow was furrowed.

�I suppose that it is indeed the smartest approach, but I do not like it. It makes me look like a thief.�

C�orl shrugged.

�Yes. But these days, it would seem that righteous men have to move this way, because the crooks have seized control. It cannot be helped. It is in stealth where our greatest chances lie.�

�True.� Elfhelm still despised the image in front of his inner eye, but he saw the sense in the other man�s words. �And what a shame that is. But I will regard it as only another insult we will make the snake pay for. I agree with your plan. My men and I will approach the city after nightfall and wait at the rocks next to the Snowbourne until you give us the signal.� His hand landed heavily on C�orl�s shoulder before he turned to go. �And now I am hungry. Come, let us go and see what these people cooked for us. I feel like I could eat an entire pig all by myself.�

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EDORAS

Rationally, �owyn knew that not much time had passed before she heard the awaited rap on her door, and yet the time span had seemed like an eternity to her. Each moment Gr�ma could return from whatever twisted things he had arranged for in the city and spoil her perfect opportunity to see her uncle after the long days of isolation. Oh, if she could only make him see and understand what the false snake by his side was doing to his kingdom under the guise of his most loyal servant!

�Come in!� She almost jumped to her feet when the door opened and the older, red-haired warrior looked in. �Gamling! Oh, dear Gamling, I am so glad to see you! Please, do come in!�

�I must apologise, my lady,� the Chief of the Royal Guard said, and when he came closer, the deepened lines on his already weathered face told of the strain that had lasted on him for the past dark weeks. Carefully, he closed the door behind him before he turned back. �I meant to see you sooner, but with all the strange and disquietening things going on in Meduseld and Edoras, I was kept more than busy� and I preferred to visit you when the Counsellor would not know about it and we would not have to fear that he would have his ear literally on the door. That man is not easily tricked, and he seldom leaves the Hall.�

�There is no need to apologise, Gamling,� �owyn said, a thick lump in her throat about finally being able to talk to a friend. �Believe me, I do understand. And while all of us have to bear their burden, I realise that it must be especially hard for you.�

Thoughtfully, the older man nodded, and the expression in his eyes became sad.

�It is not easy to do the Counsellor�s bidding when all I want to do is stick my sword into him. But there are so many of his men now, spies wherever you go, so that you can�t have an open word with anyone, and I do not know what he has planned for your uncle. For now, he still needs him, but what he will do once his control of the court is complete, I do not dare to think about. All I know is that I must remain close to the king at all times, as I am his only protection.�

The loyalty of the old warrior moved �owyn greatly, and she laid a hand upon his arm.

�You are the greatest friend a man could wish for, Lord Gamling, and I only wish that my uncle were in a condition to fully appreciate your loyalty. But since he can�t thank you, please accept my sincere thanks.�

�There is no need to thank me, my lady.� Gamling looked uncomfortable. �I swore an oath to your uncle once, and it means everything to me. Together we braved hard times, and I am still convinced of it that we will weather this storm, too� even if it would seem as if we have entered into the heart of darkness these days. Yet surely, we will soon see the light at the end of the tunnel, it cannot go on like this for long. In the end, we shall prevail, the way we have always done. Once the people realise that the very existence of the kingdom is at stake, they will stand up and fight.� �owyn nodded, thankful for his uplifting words and wishing that she would find the strength in herself to believe in them. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, and at length, Gamling asked: �Yet this is not why you asked me to come, is it, Lady �owyn? What can I do for you?�

She tried to collect herself as she looked him straight in the eye.

�Gamling� I realise that this might not be a simple decision for you, but I would very much like to see my uncle. I miss him dearly, and with my brother gone, he is the only family I have left. I worry for him, and it would comfort me greatly to be allowed a few moments with him.�

�Of course. It is only too understandable.�

�He was so frail when I last saw him. What if he dies before I can speak with him again? Wouldn�t he think that all his family has truly deserted him?� �owyn shook her head, and her gaze became a desperate plea. �I do not want to give him this feeling, Gamling. He was kind to us when we came here after our parents� death; full of understanding and care. He greatly lessened the pain we felt and helped us to overcome our grief. It is my wish and my duty to be with him in this hard time as much as I can.� She expected having to say more and already wrecked her brain for more arguments, but the old warrior surprised her.

�You do not have to convince me, my lady, I know how dear you are to each other. Come, let us not lose another minute. The King is already in his chambers, but I doubt that he is sleeping yet.� He turned to open the door for her, and she stared at him in wonder.

�Oh, Gamling��

�Come,� he gestured urgently. �My orders did not say that you were forbidden to see your uncle. And I am still the Chief of the Royal Guard. This title must be good for something!� He turned to D�or, who was following their exchange with an expression of insecurity. �D�or, you stay here. If the Counsellor returns, you say nothing unless he asks you. If he does, which I don�t think, you tell him the truth, which is that the Lady �owyn asked me to take her to the king to see how he was faring, and that I personally took her there. I don�t see how he could object to this. But you will only tell him if he asks. If he doesn�t, we will not volunteer it. Understood?�

�Yes, my lord.� D�or nodded, visibly relieved that his superior was taking full responsibility. �Certainly.�

�Good.� Gamling motioned for �owyn to follow her, and she slipped out into the hall, strangely excited to leave her chambers after the days of virtual imprisonment.

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The King was already lying in his bed, but not yet asleep, as Gamling had rightly suspected. It had taken little effort to convince his manservant of the great favour he would be doing the king and the White Lady if he allowed their reunion even at this late hour, and so Baldor had quietly stepped aside and closed the door to grant Th�oden-King and his niece a moment of privacy. Looking at Gamling, who had likewise chosen to remain outside, he found his own contentment mirrored in the guard�s face. This was the right thing to do. Perhaps, the brief moments of closeness with a beloved family member would improve the King�s condition.

Suddenly feeling young and small again, �owyn hesitantly crossed the room that was only lit by the flickering flames in the fireplace, and her insides twisted into a tight knot. The place reeked of illness and despair, and so the first thing she did was open the window to allow fresh air in before she turned to kneel on the bear-pelt before her uncle�s bed. Her heartbeat accelerated when she realised that he was looking at her rather than through her as usual, appearing more lucid than he had when she had last seen him. But oh, he was so deadly pale, and the lines on his face deep like the furrows on a new-set field. Yet what was that expression on his face, for it was not blank as she had seen it for these past weeks and months. Taking his hand into hers, �owyn summoned her courage and began.

�Uncle? Uncle, can you hear me? It is I, �owyn. Do you not remember me?�

He looked at her, and behind the veil covering the faded blue eyes, there seemed to be just the smallest spark of recognition. Not sure whether it was just an illusion, �owyn nearly jumped when the pressure of her grip was suddenly returned.

�Uncle?�

His mouth worked, as if he had trouble remembering how to form words.

��owyn?� It was the softest, frailest voice she had ever heard coming from this man, so delicate that the merest movement of the air would suffice to carry the sound away, but the effect it had on her was overwhelming. From out of nowhere, �owyn�s eyes suddenly filled with tears of joy, and she squeezed his hand in enthusiastic affirmation.

�Yes! Yes, uncle, it is I. B�ma be blessed!� The tears spilled over, and she wiped them away in an unconscious gesture, a surge of happiness racing through her she had not felt in a long time. �How do you feel?� He looked at her as if contemplating her question, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

�Is Th�odred here, too? I have not seen him lately.�

The words were a bucket of cold water into her face, and the smile vanished from �owyn�s lips as if it had never been there. �Your son died, and you do not even know about it?� she thought with sudden bitterness, yet knew better than to voice her emotions. But the question nonetheless troubled her greatly. How much of the past incidents were known to Th�oden? He seemed like a man who had just woken from a deep sleep, completely unaware of what had happened in the meantime. How on earth was she supposed to tell him that his son was dead when he was only beginning to wake?

�He is not here,� she evaded, lowering her gaze to look at their intertwined hands. Gods, how to begin? If she told him of Th�odred�s death and �omer�s banishment and his role in it, the damage it could do to the old, sick man could not be estimated. And yet somehow, she had to bring it to his attention that all was not well in his kingdom. If only she had more time. �What is the last thing you remember?� she finally asked, deciding to approach the difficult subject from a different side. Th�oden looked through her, and for a moment, she feared that she had lost his attention.

�Darkness,� the ill man finally said in a pensive, gloomy voice, and still he deemed �owyn more lucid than she had seen him in a long time. �As if I was caught in a dream I could not wake from. You were there and �omer, and Gr�ma, too� and I also remember seeing Gamling and H�ma�� His attention found back to her. �I called, but you would not hear me. You were looking at me, but--� the furrows on his brow deepened ��you almost seemed angry with me. I know not why. Was it only a dream, �owyn, or did I do something horribly wrong?� An unnamed dread coloured his voice as if he feared to hear what he had done. �owyn felt terrible, but she knew that she had no other choice. If she wanted to wake him from the stupor induced by Wormtongue, her uncle had to know the whole ugly truth. Perhaps, if she found the right words, he would be so dismayed that he would send the snake away upon his return to the hall. Perhaps, everything could find a good end even tonight!

After an additional moment of collecting herself, she finally dared to look up � and saw him flinch in reaction to her gaze. Did he already know what she was about to say? Had he witnessed the scene of the banishment, but taken it for a dream?

�It was not you,� she began hesitantly. �I know that. You are ill, and have been ill for a long time, but you must know that someone very close to you has been misusing your trust to bring great damage to the Mark for a long time. He is, in fact, the one responsible for your sickness. You must send him away, Uncle, for he is an evil man.� Her heart pounding against her ribs, she waited anxiously for his reaction, yet before Th�oden could respond, a sudden rap on the door interrupted their moment of privacy. �No! No, it can not be!�

The door opened, and it was not Gamling or Baldor who looked inside; but the very subject of her words, and in his pale blue eyes �owyn saw the understanding of what he had caught her at. How had that snake succeeded in sneaking up on them so quickly that there had not even been time for a warning?

�My lord, my lady� it is wonderful to see the two of you recovered. What a happy moment for the us all this is.� His gaze found �owyn, and she lifted her chin in defiance, daring him to throw her out. �Yet it has only been three days ago that you were in the throes of a great fever, Lady �owyn, and while I have to admit that you look much better, I would prefer to wait with a longer reunion until we can be assured that the sickness has indeed passed. As you know, your uncle�s health is a frail thing.�

Oh, the mud-blood infuriated her! Was Gr�ma truly suggesting now that she was the reason for the king�s sickness?

�I have felt well again since yesterday, thank you, Counsellor,� she replied coolly, wanting to say more, but Th�oden interrupted her. The joy with which he greeted the false snake made her bodily sick.

�Gr�ma! I am feeling a lot better today. Did you give me a different potion?�

�As a matter of fact, yes,� the dark man said as he slowly entered the room, but while he spoke with the king, his gaze remained on �owyn as he took a small phial with a clear liquid out of his pocket. She understood the unspoken threat. �One word, and your brother will suffer for it.� �I grew impatient, because your health had declined so greatly over the past weeks despite my efforts, and I thought I�d attempt something different this morning. I am most relieved to see that it worked so well.� He opened the stop and poured a few drops of the liquid into the carafe onto the king�s nightstand.

�owyn clenched her jaw, biting down heavily on her tongue. No, no, it could not be! By drinking this, her uncle would no doubt be reduced again to the will-less puppet he had been for too long, the unsuspecting pawn of the most cunning enemy the Mark had ever seen. Holding Th�oden�s hand tightly, she watched how Gr�ma poured some of the steaming contents of the carafe into a cup for his uncle to drink. She had to intervene! She opened her mouth � and shut it again upon another knowing glance the counsellor gave her as he passed the cup to the sick man.

�Here, my lord, take this as a good-night draught. It will help you sleep.�

�What would I do if I didn�t have you, Gr�ma,� Th�oden said with a thankful smile on his face. He emptied the cup, and �owyn had to force herself to look away. She could not bear to see her uncle�s unsuspecting gratitude, or the expression of victory on the worm�s face. Shivering with suppressed rage, she pressed the old man�s hand in a gesture of farewell, and � after planting a gentle kiss on his cheek � rose to her feet again, harbouring no doubts that by next morning, the man she loved as her surrogate father would be gone again, replaced by the hollow shell that did Rohan so much damage.

�I fear that it is time for me to leave, uncle. You need to rest, and so do I. I will be back tomorrow, but for now, I bid you a good night.� She did not look back as she left the room with hasty steps, wishing to reach the safety of her chambers before she would allow herself to become undone. She had been so close� Behind the door, Gamling and Baldor waited for her, and though she clearly saw the dismay on the men�s faces, she felt not ready to address them. Quietly, Gamling accompanied her over to her rooms, where at last he attempted to explain.

�He was suddenly there, as if he had hidden in the shadows. I swear, if I had seen him, I would of course��

She raised her hand, not wanting to hear it.

�I do not blame you, Gamling. It is this man.� Without warning, her gaze turned to steel. �We will have to do something about him. It cannot go on like this.� And with these words, she disappeared into her chambers for the night.

Chapter 16 - Last Chance

WHITE MOUNTAINS

��owyn! �owyn, no!� The pyre erupted into flames as Gr�ma put his torch to it, the yellow tongues hungrily climbing up the wood toward his sister�s flesh. �owyn screamed, all evidence of her usual calm and collected demeanour gone in the face of a horrible death, but nobody moved to help her; all citizens of Edoras who had gathered at the market square to witness her execution stood entranced and stared at the quickly building fire with blank expressions. In the front row, an inanimate Th�oden-King sat on his throne which had been carried down for him to watch the burning of his niece, and his voice was the only sound audible over the increasing roar of the fire and �owyn�s screams.

�You sought to betray me. You must burn.�

�Well-spoken, Master,� Wormtongue complimented him silkenly as he slipped behind him and placed his hands on the King�s shoulders in a disgusting display of false closeness. �She would not listen. We warned her by sending her brother away, and yet she did the same thing. If she cannot listen, she must burn.�

Jumping from Firefoot�s back into the crowd �omer dashed madly toward the pyre where the first flames reached �owyn�s feet, and her cries of pain froze his blood.

�I am coming, �owyn! Hold on!� The guards stormed toward him, but he rammed them aside and jumped into the fire without considerations for his own safety. Already the flames tasted the flavour of his garments as he stormed up the pile of wood.

��omer! �omer, no, don�t!�

Still climbing, he drew his knife to cut her loose, but then saw to his dismay that his sister was shackled to the post with iron-chains.

�No! No!� Dropping the knife, he tore at the chains with bare hands while the heat engulfed him, each breath searing his lungs. The roar of the fire was deafening, yet not loud enough to drown out Gr�ma�s words as he said: �Brother and sister burning side by side for their sins against Rohan. Isn�t that most fitting indeed, my lord?�

��omer!� �owyn�s eyes widened in horror. �You cannot help me. Go and save yourself, for Rohan needs you!� The fire reached her legs, and she issued a bloodcurdling scream. Helplessly, he tore at the chains, but it was already too late. There was but one thing left that he could do for his sister now, and so �omer gave up his efforts and instead closed his arms around her as the heat and the brightness and the roar of the flames engulfed them. He could not save her, could not shield her from the fire but at least they could die side by side. As the air grew too hot to breathe, �omer turned his head and saw the faint outline of their uncle through the flames, and Gr�ma standing beside him, holding his hand. It was the image he took with him�

... when he awoke with a gasp to darkness; a thick, solid blackness that was all the more confusing in contrast to the firestorm he had just escaped. Strangely though, the heat seemed to have followed him from his nightmare: his garments and the blanket stuck to his skin, drenched with sweat. For a moment, �omer could not tell where he was.

��owyn?� Was this the afterlife? But why could he not see then? Wasn�t he supposed to go to the Halls of his Fathers? What was this dark place? Sweat stung in his eyes, and slowly, it seeped into �omer�s conscious that the horrible scene he had witnessed had only been a dream. His heart still pounding in a frenzied rhythm against his ribs, he sank back and wiped his sweat-beaded forehead in an unconscious gesture� and paused when his cold fingers touched his hot face. �Bema, no�it cannot be!� But there was no denying: the more �omer became aware of his surroundings, distancing himself from the last echoes of the nightmare, the more he felt the dull throbbing of his racing pulse behind his brow, and as he looked at the fire although he already knew that the sensation could not originate from there, the brightness of the flames assaulted his eyes like needles. Alas, he knew those signs well, and a sinking feeling spread in his stomach.

He had been too slow in tending his wounds, or not thorough enough, or there had not been enough of the spirit to clean all the gashes and tears. Perhaps he should not have weakened the brew by stretching it with water, but what good were regrets now? While he had been asleep, infection had developed in his wounds, and now fever burnt him alive. First tremors already ran through his muscles, telling him that the poison had already spread far through his body. What now?

�Firefoot?� Blindly reaching for his water skin to soothe his dry throat, �omer turned his head� and found the cave deserted. There was no sign of the stallion. From the entrance, only the ominous roar of the wind penetrated into the sanctity of his retreat and he shivered underneath his wet blanket as a bone-chilling cold seized his body, making his teeth clatter and his hands tremble. He spilled half of the water before he could hold the opening of the water skin still enough to drink. The liquid soothed his raw throat on the way down, yet it was only like a drop in the bucket and a moment later, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth once more. Fighting the urge to drink the rest of it, �omer fought with the stop, and suddenly, the vessel slipped from his grasp, emptying its precious contents into the straw. �No��

His hands in the puddle as if he could shove the water back into the pouch somehow, �omer stared in dismay at the disaster� when he suddenly felt with all distinctiveness the tiny hairs at the back of his neck rise. It was another shiver, but not caused by the fever, and after the many years of riding with the Armed Forces, �omer immediately understood the meaning of the telltale prickle of his scalp: death was in the neighbourhood, looking for him. Its shape was yet unknown, and although he was painfully aware of the fact that he stood no chance of defending himself against anything greater than an orc babe, �omer clenched the hilt of his knife. The deadly threat resulted in a burst of fresh energy surging through his body and enabling him to push himself up into a sitting position against the wal.l Frantically, his gaze darted through the impenetrable darkness beyond the fire.

Something was moving where the light ended; several invisible shapes he could sense but not see. For a heartbeat �omer hoped that it was Firefoot who had returned from his foray, but with the next beat, he wiped it away. This was not the sound of iron-shod hooves on stone he knew so well; no, these were stealthy, fast steps on padded paws and although the clicking of the claws on the rock was almost too low to be audible, his battle-experienced subconscious registered it nonetheless. This was the sound of predators. He had not even ended the thought when there was suddenly the reflection of the fire in three pairs of luminous eyes before they turned away, and �omer breathed in sharply. Wolves.

The knife was of no use. Dropping it, �omer picked up one of the burning branches instead, quickly throwing another piece of wood into the fire to strengthen it, followed by two more. Perhaps it would discourage them, even if he did not dare to hope. The thick stench of death must have led the predators to the cave, and while they usually preferred fresh meat, �omer knew that in the hard wintertime, no wolf would let an easy meal get away, even if it was carrion. They had initially come for the orcs... but now they had found something far better. Once again their eyes gleamed maliciously in the darkness as they halted to stare at him, trying to estimate the strength of their prey. Menacingly, �omer waved the branch toward them, his energy already waning, and he gritted his teeth in effort, knowing that once he went down, not even the fire would protect him. Again the wolves shifted and turned, still undecided whether to attack or not, but finally, a nasty snarl rose from the other side of the fire, lowly at first, but quickly increasing in volume as it was picked up by the others. They were hungry� and ready to charge.

�You will not get me! Go away!� �omer shouted at them without much hope, struggling to keep upright although the interior of the cave was already spinning around him. Wolves were smart hunters and possessed of great senses. Of course they smelled his illness and knew that they would be rewarded if only they remained patient. The thought was still unfinished when the three predators suddenly advanced by spreading in a half-circle. The first one moved at him in a feint, snapping, and as �omer lashed out at it, the one on the other side jumped, almost making it around the fire before �omer could turn. Sinking its jaws deeply into the blanket, it jumped back just in time to avoid the burning branch and retreated into a corner to secure its prey. Yet one bite was enough for the beast to understand that the thing it had claimed was worthless, and it quickly rejoined the others in the attack.

Rivers of sweat ran down his face, burning in his eyes and blurring his sight as �omer waved the branch to ward off another attack, his strength fading fast but yet kept upright by his growing anger. How could it be B�ma�s will to let him be killed by a pack of wolves after all he had done for the his people? How did he deserve this fate? His fury lent him the energy for another thrust, and the branch hit the wolf�s head and seared its sensitive nose and eyes. With an anguished yelp, the beast retreated � and knocked the weapon from his hands and out of his reach!

For a second, wolves and man stared at each other in perfect understanding: they were the hunters and he the prey, and they had given him his chance. He had committed a mistake, and now he would die. They jumped at him in unison, but suddenly their angry snarls were drowned out by a piercing shriek and the deafening sound of thunder in the narrow hollow. Like a demon of wrath, Firefoot charged into the cave, too fast for the stunned predators to evade. A vicious kick catapulted the first wolf to the side with a broken shoulder, and it screamed in pain and only barely evaded the stallion�s teeth as it turned on the spot to follow its fleeing brothers on three legs, not prepared to fight prey of this size and furious temper.

Chasing after them, Firefoot snorted furiously and stomped the ground in display of his terrible weapons as he stopped at the entrance, half-rearing in expectation of the beasts� return. Yet their scent weakened quickly and finally vanished in the night breeze, so he sent a triumphant scream after the pack and pranced, tossing his head while the thick mane frothed around his muscular neck before he returned to his master, the proud victor.

�omer smiled weakly at the advancing grey shadow, both amused over the stallion�s pride and deeply grateful, but then slumped into a heap under the assault of yet another wave of heat. His hand seemed to weigh a ton as he lifted it in greeting at his animal ally�and something else was wrong with it, too. Blinking, he stared at the swollen thing at the end of his arm, briefly wondering whether the fever distorted his vision or if his fingers were really so deformed. They had swollen to the point where he could hardly bend them, and the colour of the skin around the holes had darkened to an angry red. Realisation of the meaning of his finding slowly seeping in his conscious, �omer sat transfixed for a moment longer. Those stinking orcs. Now he�d have to leave the caves, or he would die here, adding his bones to those of all the rabbits and mice that had ended their lives here in the stomach of the filthy brood. Of course chances were also good that the first living thing he encountered outside would kill him, but if he remained here, his fate was certain.

An irritated whicker rose from the depths of Firefoot�s throat, and �omer looked up. The stallion was impatiently pawing the ground, anxious to leave this horrible place that assaulted his instincts with the stench of sickness and death and foes. �omer understood the horse�s nervousness, for though he had no plan or knew not where to turn to for help yet, one thing was for sure: he�d have to make haste, or all would be too late. Another look at his hand revealed the dark pattern of thickened veins through which the poisoned blood flowed, and the sight chased another shiver down his spine. He had seen riders with such infections; he had seen them lose limbs or even die once the bad blood had spread too far through their body. And at the same time he knew for certain that he would not be able to mount his horse the usual way, he didn�t even have to make the attempt to know. There was only one option.

Supporting his head against the wall because it felt too heavy to keep upright on his own, �omer muttered tiredly: �I know, Firefoot. You want to leave. I assume it does not matter; we might as well try it. But I fear that I cannot stand. You must come down for me.� He patted the ground and looked up. Firefoot towered above him like a statue, and his large eyes stared at �omer as if he contemplated whether his master had truly lost his mind now. �omer would have laughed over the incredulous look on his horse�s face if it had not been for another cramp seizing him, stronger this time, and he gritted his teeth and groaned as he waited for the pain to subside. If he were a raw piece of steel, this had to be the way it felt while it was bent and hammered into shape above the fire.

The next moment he snorted, bewildered by the strange shape his thoughts were taking and blaming it on the fever. Even his eyes hurt when he looked up at the restlessly shifting stallion, rising what was left of his voice: �Down, lad. Here!� Again he patted the ground, and the horse tossed his head in indignant refusal. There was no misunderstanding the meaning of �omer�s gesture, as it was taught to all Rohirric horses, no matter whether they belonged to the Armed Forces or the farmers. In a land as dangerous as the Mark, it was vital that one was able to mount one�s horse at all times, even if one could barely move. Their horses� unusual intelligence and fierce loyalty along with their strength and endurance were the reasons for their renown in the rest of the world; they were no common beasts. If only this big, bull-headed example in front of him would remember his heritage and stop fussing!

And yet �omer knew well that he was being hard on the stallion: the reasons for Firefoot�s reluctance were perfectly understandable. The training had always taken place on soft ground, and if the horse lowered his bulk onto the hard surface, Firefoot could hurt himself considerably, even more so since freedom of movement was limited within the caves. Also, while they could fight, even their magnificent horses were beasts that preferred flight over battle. If the wolves returned while Firefoot lay on the ground, he would be able to do neither. He�d be easy prey. Horses never lay down in a place they felt not completely safe at, and the stallion had hated the caves from the start. Now they reeked of death, and his master was asking him to expose itself to perhaps lethal danger. Of course it was not easy. But it was not something �omer could take into consideration now.

Torn between his instincts and loyalty to his master, Firefoot circled the narrow confines of the cave once more, and for a moment, it looked to �omer as if he wanted to leave, but with an angered and at the same time resignating huff the Half-Meara turned at last on his hind legs and returned, and from the awkwardness of his movements �omer could tell that he was looking for a favourable spot to lie down.

�That is my boy,� he breathed, silently wondering whether he would succeed in mounting even if Firefoot lowered himself for him. �Thank you, lad.� He looked at the things strewn around him. The waterskin was empty, no use in taking it along. The knife� yes, perhaps he would still need it. �At least I could give the first orc that attacked me a scratch before he bites my head off.� He secured the blade underneath his belt. What else? Provisions? He had no strength left to saddle Firefoot, so where should he leave them? No, this being his last attempt of survival, there was no use in taking anything else.

Reaching for his cape and cautiously slipping into it, �omer observed the grey�s efforts to lie down from the corner of his eye. Each of the grey�s movements expressing his reluctance and discomfort, Firefoot shifted and turned endlessly before at last seemed to have found a suitable spot. Awkwardly bending his front legs, he dropped at last with a heavy thud, and �omer grimaced compassionately upon hearing the deep groan the grey issued in response to the impact. Very well, his horse had done for him what he could; now it was on �omer to make the last effort. Only a few steps separated him from the stallion, who had almost lowered himself onto the fireplace. One last time collecting the pitiful remains of his strength, �omer bent to the side with a hiss, simultaneously dragging and pushing himself over the ground. The roar of his rushing blood in his ears drowned out all other noises before his hand finally touched the grey hide, and his vision threatened to leave him with small white explosions dancing in front of his eyes.

�It is good, my friend. I am here.� Affectionately, �omer patted the mighty shoulder and grasped a handful of the thick mane to literally drag himself onto Firefoot�s back. Shivering with exhaustion, he finally slipped his injured leg over the side with a pained hiss and clicked his tongue, hoping that he would not fall when the stallion rose to his feet. Gods, how he would make Wormtongue suffer for this! �Up. Up, Firefoot.� The great muscles worked underneath him as Firefoot spread his front legs. A strained groan emitted from the depth of the stallion�s broad chest in effort as he struggled to rise with the additional weight on his back. Swaying like a foal that tried to gain its footing for the first time in his life, a precarious moment passed when �omer thought they would both fall back and he would be crushed by the grey�s weight, but with a last mighty effort, Firefoot thrust forth his bulk, and at last he stood. Thin rivulets of blood ran down his strong legs from the abrasions he had suffered by letting himself fall, but in his relieve of finally being able to leave the deadly trap of the caves, he felt nothing.

His fingers clenching the dark mane to tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms, �omer squeezed his eyes shut against the searing pain in his leg and side upon his steed�s first steps, and an awful surge of nausea rose from his stomach. He was not certain for how long he would be able to remain on Firefoot�s back, had no inkling of where to go. Putting all his faith into the senses of his horse because he knew that the grey would search the wind for signs of his kin, �omer tightened the cape around his shivering frame and committed himself to chance. Together, horse and rider left the darkness of the caves to enter the narrow mountain path in the first faint light of the new day.

Chapter 17 - The End of the Path

EDORAS

The dark silhouette of Meduseld loomed forbiddingly against the pale grey sky, and for the first time ever, the sight evoked a feeling of dread in C�orl as he approached the mighty wooden fence that surrounded the city. From the guard tower voices called out and knowing that he had been recognised, he reined in his horse as he waited for the gates to open. Finally, they were home again� only that it did not feel like home. Instead of a place one should feel safe in, it felt to the experienced warrior as if he was treading onto a frozen lake, the ice underneath his feet creaking and treacherously thin. Looking to see whether his fellow riders shared his impression, the Captain turned his head and found his own discomfort mirrored in their grim faces and the rigidity of their bearing. While all riders were looking forward to be reunited with their families, none of them found solace in the thought of entering a city that reeked of mistrust and fear. What would they find once they proceeded inside? What had happened in the streets of Edoras since their departure, and when would they be called to answer to the Counsellor�s questions?

Setting his jaw at the thought of speaking with the Worm and having to suppress his disdain while he did so if he did not want to be banished, too, C�orl urged his steed through the opening gap, and at once the leaden atmosphere of the city weighed him down, threatening to suffocate him as he beheld the guarded and fearsome expressions of his kinsmen. Quickly they hurried by in their various errands, just barely pausing long enough to look at him and his men long enough to let him see a vague sense of relief before they averted their eyes again.

�Captain C�orl!� One of the guards descended the ladder from the watchtower, and at least his face showed honest joy over his commander�s return. �It is good to have you back. With all the fell things going on out there, one can never know whether one will see again those who leave the city. How are things in Aldburg?�

�Not much different from here, it would seem,� C�orl grumbled meaningfully, angered by the sight of his fearful kinsmen, and his urge to throttle the man who had turned their proud, courageous people into these sad shadows of themselves resurfaced with sudden vehemence. With a deep intake of breath, he looked down upon the older guard, struggling to rein in his bucking temperament. Poor Aldor most certainly did not deserve to be snapped at by him. �Tell me, Aldor, has anything of import happened in Edoras in my absence? Anything that I should know about?�

�Alas, the blacksmith�s son has gone missing, and his horse returned with a wound in its side, so apparently, they were attacked. No one knows yet what fate has befallen him, and no body was found.�

C�orl�s expression darkened at the insight that apparently, he could not even be gone for four days from the city without evil assaulting the people under his care.

�Have they looked for him? And why did he leave the city? Where did he want to go in this weather?�

�Your son led the riders out in search for �lric, aye, but they returned empty-handed. I fear that there is not much hope left for the poor man. Bergfinn said that his son intended to bring a few instruments to his brother in the Folde which he had finished that day.�

�For how long has he been missing?�

�This is the fourth day, Captain. He left the same day as you.� There was no need to say more. C�orl understood, and with a silent curse, shook his head and exhaled.

�Do you know where �othain is? Is he well?�

�Your son was well when I saw him this morning, my lord, but I fear that he is not in the city. He and part of his �ored left this morning to investigate a report of orcs north of here.�

An instinctive fear befell C�orl as his eyes went over the guard�s shoulder in the direction the man had indicated, aware of the fact that he never used to worry overmuch about his son�s fate before. �othain was a capable warrior, skilled both with bow and sword and not lightly overcome. Battling orcs had for years been hardly more than a chore for their riders, but lately, the numbers of the foul brood had increased to the point where their hordes posed a serious threat even to a full �ored, and since the discovery of the Uruk-Hai, a more fell and powerful breed of these accursed creatures, farmers and soldiers alike had indeed begun to fear them.

�Well, if �othain returns from his errand soon, tell him to meet me at the stables, Aldor. Otherwise I will meet him at home later on. I need to talk with him.� Directing Lancer toward the ascending path, the warrior�s glance went up the slope to the stark silhouette of the Golden Hall. He did not look forward to delivering his report to a man with whom he much sooner wanted to exchange sword strikes than words. �It will not be for much longer,� he thought, urging his steed on with a grim expression. �His time is running out. Tonight, we will plan his end.�

---------------------------------

MEDUSELD
High above the city, �owyn sat once again by the window, her eyes unfocussed, staring into the thickly falling snow while she contemplated her options. No matter how her visit the night before had ended, it had filled her heart with hope to see that inside the apathetic shell of her uncle, the man Th�oden had once been was still alive. She had feared that man was lost, but now that she had found out that he still existed, she was determined to find a way of bringing him back; with Gamling�s and H�ma�s help or on her own if necessary. Looking at the closed door of her chambers in thought, �owyn remembered her discussion with the Chief of the Royal Guard, and warmth spread through her at the comforting thought that she still had an ally within these halls. If it came to the worst, perhaps they could still force fate to bend their way.

Good old Gamling� She hoped that she had not caused her uncle�s most trusted friend additional trouble because of her request, but then again, it had never been said that she was not allowed to visit the King. It was infuriating that the Worm apparently held enough control over the court to confine her to her rooms, but to keep her isolated from her only remaining family member when it was well-known that the King�s condition always improved with her visits, however briefly, would be an uncalled-for punishment. Surely the ranks of the Royal Guard still held enough loyal followers of Th�oden to keep her adversary and his henchmen in check.

�Really?� a voice in the back of her head suddenly made itself heard. �How can you believe this after what happened to �omer? Do you think Gr�ma would spare you if he caught you plotting against him? Do you think that he would hesitate to throw you into the dungeon if he knew that you plan to rid the Mark of him only because he wants you for himself?� Oh yes, that thought. Long had she succeeded in ignoring it, but now it reared its ugly head again. Did the snake honestly believe that after all that had happened, she would still eventually surrender to him, that he would have her sooner or later, whether by force or by her own free will? No matter how much she despised the dark man, he could not truly think that she would ever consent to sharing her bed and her life with him; she would rather fall on her sword.

An inquisitive rap on the door woke her from her contemplations, and she raised her brows, tensing in sudden anxiety.

�Enter!�

It was the snake, of course. She had expected him to see her about the happenings of the night before, and still his talent of showing up whenever her thoughts were occupied with him was most uncanny. As if he were somehow able to look inside her head and heard her thoughts to make his entry when he would most unsettle her. His face an unmoved mask, the subject of her pondering shuffled into the room with his usual slight limp and closed the door behind himself. The look of the pale eyes resembled the thin crust of ice on a very deep lake. Just one wrong step, and she would plunge into the water and drown in its dark depths.

�Alas, it would appear to me that you do not take my threat seriously, my lady,� he said, and a dangerous gleam danced in his pale eyes. �Do you not care for your brother, or how am I to interpret your little unexpected visit to the King last night?�

�owyn lifted her chin, but remained seated with no intentions to rise.

�Would you mind telling me in what way you believe me to have offended your commands, Counsellor? It was never said that I could not see my uncle, and I did not make a secret out of seeing him. On the contrary, I specifically asked the Chief of the Royal Guard to accompany me to his chambers, so that the visit would not be regarded as an act of disobedience. If you did not want for me to do so, you should have been clearer in your wording.�

�You were ordered to remain in your rooms for five days. Today is only the fourth day, and your uncle�s chambers are not your chambers. I do not believe that we must discuss this fact.�

�By your own words, you admitted that the arrest was only out of fear of me trying to help my brother in some way that would force you to incarcerate me. Now, thanks to your intervention �� at this she glared at him � ��omer was unable to leave Rohan in the time you officially granted him. It was you who did not play by the rules, and I don�t believe that we must discuss this fact, either. It was also against the rules to let your henchmen stalk and injure him, so why should you be the one telling me anything about rules, Counsellor?�

Gr�ma lifted his chin.

�The rules are made by the stronger one, Lady �owyn. The weaker one either obeys, or he feels the punishment for his disobedience. The choice is his.�

Infuriated, �owyn came to her feet, too angry now to remain seated.

�All I wished for yesterday was to see my Uncle! I do not know whether you have noticed, but he is ill and very frail, and he is family, and although you turned him into a hollow shell, I still care for him. He needs me in these hard times. You cannot forbid me to see my kin.�

�Do not try my patience,� Gr�ma sneered. �I would be much more generous with my approval if it were not for the distinct feeling that you were in the process of disparaging me to the King when I entered, Lady �owyn, and don�t even try to deny it. It was written all over your face!� Gr�ma held her gaze, and again it was as if he looked right into her head. �Do not take me for a fool, I know exactly the purpose of your little visit, and it was not solely to establish that your uncle was still alive. You wanted to find out whether he was clear enough to understand your accusations against me, is it not so?�

�Does it even matter what I say?� �owyn rebuked. �Or are you so convinced of your version of the tale that you will not listen to me anyway?�

�You planned to tell the King of your brother�s fate. You planned to urge your Uncle into sending me away, and that leaves me with only one possible conclusion: you do not believe that my threat is a real one. Tell me, what shall I do to convince you of my sincerity? Shall I bring you your brother�s hand to make you understand that he is indeed at my mercy... or will you continue to not believe me until I bring you his head?� Wormtongue advanced another step, and his gaze burned her. It took all of �owyn�s restraint not to jump at the evil man and bury the dagger she now carried with her in his chest. �I will do it, my lady. If you insist, I can have your brother�s head here for you to see by tomorrow. You will believe me then, but you will have to live with the knowledge that your rebellion killed your own brother. Tell me, is this indeed what you want me to do? Your wish shall be my command.�

She could not answer. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, �owyn stood shivering with rage. Gr�ma, however, showed no mercy.

�I asked you a question, my lady. Should I send for your brother�s head?� He stared her down, and at last, she closed her eyes, no longer able to look at her tormentor.

�No.� It was but a breath, and although Gr�ma had well heard it, the sound of it did not satisfy him.

�Say it loud and clearly, or I must assume that you still do not mean what you say!�

�owyn�s eyes opened, and if looks could have killed, the Counsellor would have dropped dead right then.

�No, I do not want you to kill �omer. Will that mean that you�re condemning me to stay here in my rooms while my uncle is dying a slow death at your hands?�

�He is not dying from my hands; it is his body failing him. In fact, I am prolonging his life, you should be grateful! But to answer your question: no, I will not forbid you to see your uncle in the future, but the decision whether you can see him or not lies solely with me from now on, and you will only visit him in my presence, because once again, you have proven yourself untrustworthy. And I will not hear any protest, because you know very well that I speak the truth. If you force me to intervene only one more time, the restriction you have spoken of yourself will become reality, and you will both hurt your uncle and yourself by it� not to mention your brother.� Turning around, Gr�ma laid a hand onto the door handle, but then looked back at �owyn once more, almost as if in afterthought. �I honestly hope that you understood me this time, Lady �owyn. I keep my promises, and I mean what I say, always. If you still think that you can play your little games with me, then I must inform you that the times when I tolerated them for amusement�s sake are over. If I catch you just one more time scheming, you will bring suffering to those you love, mark my words.� He let the words trail off into the heavy silence between them for dramatic effect, and when no answer came, left the chambers without another glance back.

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

Cold. So cold. The wind a howling, raging beast; tearing at him and sucking warmth and strength from his body no matter how deeply he hunched over Firefoot�s neck or pulled the hood of his cape into his face. A thick crust of ice already covered his beard and brows and eyelashes, thickening with each of his laboured breaths, and he shivered violently from the cold and exhaustion. Yet despite the cramps, �omer caught himself falling asleep and slipping to the side with increasing frequency during the last part of the ride. Several times he only barely avoided the fall that would settle his fate, because instinctively he knew that once down, he would never be able to climb onto the stallion�s back again. Still he had to face the fact that slowly but surely, his reserves were nearing their end.

When they had first set out, the throbbing pain in his leg and side had been a constant companion, so strong he had not even felt the blistering cold. It had kept him wide awake for a while, but inevitably with the duration of his exposure to the temperatures, the cold had begun to affect him: frost slowly crept up from his feet, inside his legs and further up his body underneath the swaying cape to settle in his sweat-drenched garments, adding shivers to his fever cramps. Now the cramps slowly ceased as the temperature in his body dropped... and numbness replaced them. It was no improvement of his condition, �omer knew, and still he welcomed the change. Numbness and fatigue he could endure for a while longer, but not the cramps. They had left him hollow in their wake, barely able to hold himself on his horse.

Where were they? Was it a scent Firefoot was following, did he sense others of his kin close by, which � in Rohan � inevitably also meant the presence of men? Or did he merely proceed deeper and deeper into the mountains because halting would not solve their problem? More hanging than sitting on the grey�s back, his mind in a daze, �omer stared at the swirling white maelstrom the world had become, and which threatened to pull him into its cold and deadly embrace. He had lost all sense of direction and time, could not even tell for how long they had been riding. It seemed like forever. North, south, west, east, hours, minutes, all was one in the raging elements, bereft of meaning, and he knew not for how much longer he would be able to endure.

Suddenly, the great body beneath him gave a deep grunt and tensed as if Firefoot had picked up a scent he disliked. His fingers involuntarily clenching in the thick dark mane he desperately held on to, �omer fought to penetrate the twilight as the stallion turned in an anxious circle, and for a moment, he thought he saw indistinct shapes moving on the path they had just cleared. The next moment they were gone, but �omer was almost unseated when the stallion suddenly jumped into a gallop without transition. For the duration of ten thundering heartbeats, he hung precariously on the horse�s side, fighting with the last of his strength to regain his seat.

�Hoh! Hoh, Firefoot!�

Ignoring his master�s feeble attempts to slow him down, the grey accelerated, and now �omer saw for the first time the shapes behind them clearly. The pack had grown from the three wolves which had assaulted him earlier to more than half a dozen beasts, and they moved closer with each of their long leaps, determination on their feral faces. They were hungry, and this time, they would not back down. His attention focused on their pursuers as he felt for his knife, �omer was caught by surprise as Firefoot abruptly leapt to the left, and the next moment, frost bit the naked skin of his face as he landed on his stomach in the snow.

Stunned by the impact on his injured ribs and the shock of the fall, �omer�s left hand still clenched the hilt of his knife, and he fought breathlessly to draw up his knees. Putting all the energy left in him into his arms, he pushed himself up into a kneeling position just as the first wolves emerged out of the swirling mist behind him.

�Stand up, or you die! �omer!�

He lashed out with the knife, missing as the wolf evaded him with ease, and the force of the thrust unbalanced him. Again he landed face-first in the snow, and the whiteness on the ground greeted him with cold fingers.

�Stay here�, it lured him. �Lay down and sleep in my embrace, and you won�t even feel it when they rip you apart.�

�No! �omer, get up!�

Th�odred�s voice called out to him from the other end of a very long tunnel, muffled and almost too low to make out, but where before it had succeeded in lending him the necessary energy to escape the gaping maw of oblivion, �omer now felt himself falling into it as the ground shifted beneath him and the tunnel turned into a bottomless pit. The last he felt was the solid hilt of his knife in his fingers and then the repercussion of heavy steps approaching him, and then he knew no more�

Chapter 18 - The Three Hunters

CENTRAL PLAINS

Darkness was fast approaching as Elfhelm and his men readied their horses for their ride to Edoras. Tension was thick among the riders, and none of them spoke as they concerned themselves with saddles and bridles, absorbed in their own grim thoughts of what they might find once they entered their capital tonight.

Leaning against �on as he pulled the girth tight with his full weight, Elfhelm could not help wondering whether C�orl had succeeded in preparing their secretive arrival… or if the snake’s henchmen would await them behind the city gates because the filthy crook already knew of their plan. And what should they do then? Fight… or let themselves be captured without resistance and hope for the best? What crime could Wormtongue accuse them of, even if of course the manner of their arrival in the city would look more than suspicious? Would the citizens of Edoras and �othain’s �ored tolerate it if they were captured and accused of conspiracy against the King even if there was no solid evidence?

His lips a thin line, Elfhelm fastened the buckle and took a step back to look at his work. Chewing on a mouthful of hay, his bay stallion turned his head to cast his master a long, inquisitive glance, and with a half-smile, the warrior extended a hand to run his fingers affectionately over the white star on the horse’s brow. �on sensed his tension, but while the sensation made other animals skittish, the long-legged, experienced war-horse remained calm. Even in the heat of battle the tall bay usually kept his cool head, and the number of orcs killed by his hooves was awe-inspiring. �omer had once jokingly remarked that Elfhelm had chosen the otherwise docile animal because of his lacking riding skills, but Elfhelm had seen the respectful look in the younger man’s eyes even then and known what to think of these words. In certain aspects, �on and he were very much alike: they both were experienced warriors, extraordinarily skilled in the use of their weapons and possessed of well-founded self-confidence. Like �omer and his moody and temperamental Firefoot, they were a perfect match.

With a deep intake of breath, Elfhelm patted his steed’s muscled shoulder and shifted his attention back to his men to find them ready and looking at him in expectation of his orders. He cleared his throat and began.

“I realise that it might not be easy to ride in the darkness all the way to Edoras, all the more as the ground has been treacherous for the last day. That is why we are leaving so early; we will ride slowly and should reach the Snowbourn about an hour after moonrise. There we will wait in the cover of the rocks near the pool until the sign is given.”

“And what kind of sign will it be?” Arnhelm, his experienced scout asked. “The waving of a torch? Or will someone leave the city to guide us in?”

“I do not know, but I would assume that it will be a torch signal; probably from outside the gates and not from the watchtower, lest anyone sees it from the Golden Hall. Make no mistake about this, brothers: once we are on the way, we will be seen as conspirators against the crown, and our path will be a dangerous one. If there are any among you who doubt our purpose, this is the time to step back from it.” He waited, and found only determination in the faces before him. The sight filled him with pride. “I did not think so, but I thank you nonetheless. The Mark needs us, and we waited already for too long t take action. Let us ride!” He swung into the saddle, anda sudden surge of energy flooded his body. The Worm had better watch out that he did not cross their way tonight, or he would lose his head before he realised who had come to avenge their people for the long years of misery…

---------------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

They had waited patiently, not daring to attack. The horse was strong-boned and tall even for his kind, and willing to fight, answering their taxing stares with a challenge of his own each time the attempted to intimidate him. For a long time now, the pack had circled the stallion, afraid of his hard and quick hooves which came terribly close whenever one of them jumped forth in a feint to snap at the air to convince the great beast that it would be wiser to flee and leave the creature it guarded to them. After days without food, the pack desperately needed to make prey, but still they hesitated to attack an adversary so powerful and well-prepared to fight. Of course the horse would have made a much worthier target and provide those surviving the attack with a feast for several days, but none of the wolves wanted to be the one starving to death with broken bones somewhere in a den afterwards. So instead they had silently agreed among themselves to settle for the smaller prey; it would suffice to fill their stomach at least for a few hours and seemed less risky to obtain. Sooner or later, the great beast had to understand that it stood no chance against their combined attack and abandon the man. It was patience they needed to exercise now, not boldness.

But time had passed and twilight thickened around them, and still the horse blocked their way and seemed in no way impressed by their increasingly desperate false attacks. Quite the contrary, the last few times when a member of the pack had jumped forth, the grey’s whirling hooves had only narrowly missed, and the beast seemed even emboldened now by its success at keeping them at bay. Apparently, there was no other way: they needed to heighten their risk or abandon the attack entirely and retrace their steps to the orc carcasses. Coming to a silent understanding, the two leaders of the pack decided to take action, and upon their unspoken signal, the others assembled in a circle around the horse and its fallen rider.

Sensing the sudden change in his attackers’ demeanour, Firefoot hammered his hooves onto the ground in a powerful threat and snorted. The wolves recoiled once more, but not as far as before, and with each of their now increasingly fast feints they moved closer, intending to separate him from his lifeless master. Two of them had already met with his fury, and they held themselves in the back now, limping, but the pack was determined: they would not give up this prey under any circumstances. Working together now in an elaborate plan, two wolves on either side jumped at their adversary while simultaneously, two more attacked the prone shape on the ground, and their fangs sank into the thick cape and began to drag it from the stallion’s reach.

With an enraged shriek, Firefoot turned on his first attacker and sank his teeth into the fur, but could not evade the jaws of the other wolf as they closed around his left foreleg. Encouraged by the sight of the great beast’s distress, the rest of the pack then entered into the fray while two more of them helped their brethren with the heavy target of their attack. Their full weight behind their thrusts, they had already succeeded in moving the prone figure away from the madly fighting horse and the smell of his sweet blood did incredible things to their empty stomachs when - without warning - their leader collapsed with a pained gasp, struck down by an arrow through his neck. Baffled and shocked, the pack turned to face the new threat still hidden by the mist.

Firefoot used the moment to whirl around, and the wolf he held still between his teeth yelped and then was forcefully thrown into a bush. A well-aimed kick found another attacker, and when the leading female fell under another arrow, the rest of the pack turned on their tails and fled into the snowstorm. Firefoot pursued them for a few leaps, then halted and turned on his rear as he sent a triumphant scream after them. His bleeding head proudly lifted to encounter the new threat, Firefoot drank the cold air with quivering nostrils, and his powerful frame trembled with tension. Friend or foe, who had chased off his assailants? Would he have to defend himself and his master against something even worse now? Once again he probed the scent on the howling wind, and suddenly a loud neigh escaped his throat in joyful welcome of the two shapes emerging from the swirling snow. With twitching ears, he eagerly listened for an answer as he turned in an anxious half-circle, too nervous to stand still.

He did not have to wait for long and by now, their scents were strong enough for him to recognise. Again he called out to them, overjoyed to finally have found company of his kind. They were two stallions, a bay and a white one, and both of them familar. But the scents of their riders Firefoot had only encountered once before, and he tensed again as he observed their approach with pricked ears.. Friend or foe? Torn between the options of attacking or waiting, he remained still, a statue of vigilance that would burst into action upon the slightest provocation.

“So this is the end of the trail: that stallion is guarding someone; there, in the snow!”

“Are you sure it is a person? All I see is a heap of clothes.”

“That is because you have too much hair in your face, and all of it has frozen over. You ought to shave it off, or you will always have to rely on my eyesight.”

A distinct snort could be heard even through the storm.

“As if we dwarves ever had to rely on the elves for anything!”

“Give it a rest, you two. That is a war-horse of Rohan. He would not guard a worthless bundle of clothes against a pack of wolves.” The leader of the little group demounted with a fluent movement and then stood still, aware that the anxious stallion before them was still mistrustful and nervous in the wake of the fight. A quick glance found the man on the ground, but the stranger understood that he had to be patient. Rashness could easily result in an attack, and none of them wanted to kill a horse that merely defended its rider. Blood already marred the stallion’s grey hide running down in several thin rivulets from his proud face and strong legs, bespeaking the fierceness with which the animal had protected himself and its master. And now, it dared him to approach…

“Sssssh, my friend…” the stranger made, and he lowered his voice to a soothing mumble while he held out his hand in a calming gesture, switching into Rohirric. With a faint smile, he noticed how the horse reacted at his change of languages, his ears flickering toward him while he kept his wary glance upon the others. “We will do you no harm. We are here to help your master, if you will allow for it.”

“I know why I don’t like horses,” the shortest and stoutest of the riders huffed. “Be careful, Aragorn, he looks like a grumpy fellow to me!”

“He just saved his master from the wolves,” the tall figure in front of him explained. “Of course he is not certain yet of our intentions. But see, he is listening to Aragorn. He looks calmer already.”

Deciding to take his own horse along to further calm the stallion down, the ranger slowly approached, and a distinct feeling of dread settled in his stomach as the feeling of familiarity grew stronger. Surely the majority of the famous Rohirric horses were of that colour, but he could not shake the awful suspicion that they had already encountered this particular stallion and exchanged words with his master only a few days ago. Was this the price the Marshal had paid for lending them the spare horses? It was a horrible thought.

Eying him closely, the grey pawed the ground with an explosive snort and Aragorn halted, granting the animal guardian more time to decide that he was no enemy while he once again regarded the lifeless figure in the snow. He had seen no movement yet, but then again, there was no blood on the snow around him, either. Perhaps they had arrived yet in time to safe the warrior’ life.

“I will advance now, with your permission,” he said at length, again in Rohirric. “Your master needs our aid, and I am sure that you want us to help him.” Carefully, Aragorn took another step, and the stallion tensed. With a clap on Hasufel’s shoulder, he sent the bay ahead, and then advanced further. The way the two horses greeted each other indicated their familiarity, and he noticed how all tension finally fell away from the stallion and knew that he would be allowed now to approach the fallen rider.

“Is he alive?” Gimli asked from behind and then protested as the elf dismounted from their horse, leaving him alone on the unsaddled back of a beast he held no control over. At last, the son of Gloin also jumped into the snow, deciding to seize the brief opportunity to stand on his own two feet where he would not be at the mercy of the unreliable beast. Aragorn slipped his hand under the unconscious man’s hood, gently easing it from his head, and his expression darkened further as he found his fears confirmed. “It is the Marshal we met on the plains with his �ored. The man who gave us the horses.”

Standing behind him, Legolas creased his brow as he looked down. “So he killed those orcs in the caves, but he paid a high price for his victory. I wonder what he is doing out here all by himself. Where are his men?”

“A good question. I hope they did not meet with an unfavourable fate.” Aragorn sighed and slowly shook his head as he continued his examination of the fallen rider. “But then again, we followed the trail for quite some time, and there was no sign of them before, not even on the plains. No, I doubt they accompanied him. Yet who in his right mind would roam this land alone if he had a choice?” Carefully, Aragorn ran a hand through the Rohir’s matted and blood-encrusted hair, finding the gashes on the side of his head and his brow and paused. Then he removed his gloves and at last he laid his fingers onto �omer’s slightly parted lips to feel for his breath.

“You think that he was punished for lending us the horses?” the elf spoke into his thoughts, voicing his fears. “But didn’t he say that he was related to the King himself?”

“He also said that Th�oden was longer the man he used to be. That his mind had been overthrown by the enemy. If his generosity was enough to get him banished by his own kin, it is no wonder that they were tense when we met them on the plains.” Aragorn felt nothing, and his heart sank from fear that they had arrived too late to safe the warrior. Only when he concentrated he became aware of the faintest stream of warmth against his skin, and with a quick glance at the stallion who had apparently decided that they could not be enemies if his brethren allowed them on their backs, Aragorn carefully rolled the Roh�r on his back, to probe for other injuries in addition to the ones he saw. “His breathing is shallow and unsteady, and he feels cold to the touch. We must find shelter quickly.” He looked over his shoulder, contemplating their further course of action.

“You mean back to the caves?” Behind the thick crust of ice that covered his face, the dwarf looked as if he could easily acquaint himself with the thought, but Aragorn shook his head. Rising to his feet, he clicked his tongue for his steed to come closer and began to untie the thick blanket from behind the saddle.

“No, the caves are too far away. We would not reach them before nightfall and he will not last much longer out here. He needs aid soon, and I could not provide it for him there. We must see that we find a house, or a settlement. In the meantime, we will wrap him in our blankets.”

“We will have to put our faith in the horses then,” Legolas said, his keen gaze already scanning the continuation of the mountain path. Quickly he untied his own blanket and together with the dwarf, helped his friend to wrap the unconscious man in it. “They were eager to proceed since we left the cave, so perhaps they sense something that is hidden from our eyes yet.”

“Then we must find it quickly.” Looking down with obvious worry, Aragorn led his obediently waiting steed alongside the Roh�r. “Help me to get him into the saddle; I will ride with him. Perhaps the warmth of my body will keep him alive until we find shelter.”

Under Firefoot’s watchful eyes, the three companions wrestled �omer onto the bay’s back, and at last, the little group was on their way again…

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

“F�larof he named the mighty stallion when at last he cornered the animal. And as if by some miracle, the horse understood that he was indebted to �orl for taking his father away from him. �orl did not know it then, but F�larof understood the language of man, and the stallion agreed to be his steed from that day on, under one condition: that he’d be ridden without tack, because even if he gave up his freedom, the father of the M�aras would not be tamed in that way. He submitted to the man on his own free will, and �orl accepted, and since he was the most skilled rider the Mark has seen to this very day he needed no tack, not even in battle. And he rode the stallion in that fashion ever since.”

“And F�larof truly understood all that �orl said to him?”

“Every word of it. He could not speak the language himself, because horse’s throats are different from ours, but he knew what the man demanded of him, and he understood that it was �orl’s right to ask this service of him in payment of his debt. It is a trait that lives on in our horses even today, and it is what makes the bond between them and their rider so strong. But enough for today, it is already late, and you need to sleep.” Smiling, Freya bent over to give her eight-year old son a good-night kiss.

The lad’s brow creased, and he exchanged a sceptical look with his younger sister at his side before he turned back to his mother. “But then why is F�llea being so difficult? I fell twice from her back today, and yesterday, she even tried to kick me. If she understands what I want, then why…”

Laughed, Freya lovingly ruffled her son’s hair.

“Ah, but do your friends do all that you ask of them, even if they understand you quite well? Or does your sister, for that matter?” She winked at the little girl who had silently listened to her tale with shining eyes, one finger ceaselessly twirling a flaxen curl that stubbornly hung into her face, and found the child’s fascinated look quickly replaced by an impressive scowl. “Oh, Edilda, you know how I mean it. Come here, Little Lamb!” She invited her daughter in her arms and laughed when Lo�gar, jealous of the attention his sister received, quickly pried his way into her embrace as well. Luckily, both children were still small enough to fit into her arms nicely, and Freya squeezed them affectionately, enjoying the moment of closeness. “You both know how much I love you, so you don’t need to show me your lower lip, Edilda, even if it is very pretty indeed.”

“Edilda never does what I tell her!” Lo�gar shot a dark glance at his sister, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Because you always send me for things you forgot, and you are too lazy to get them yourself,” Edilda snapped at him, her little hands clenching in her mother’s garments. “Like you have no feet of your own!”

“Stop, stop, stop, both of you!” Freya intervened, releasing the children from her embrace and regarding them with the stern expression of a very annoyed parent. “This past afternoon, the two of you promised me not to fight anymore, at least not today, and I will not believe that you have already forgotten my words. What was it that I said about your quarrelling, Lo�gar?”

The boy scowled and averted his gaze.

“That I should not take advantage of Edilda just because I was the older one.”

“Very well, I see that you do indeed remember,” Freya said, shifting her attention to her youngest. “And Edilda, what did I tell you?”

“That there are times to listen to my brother, too. But—“

“No “but”, little Lady!” Freya wagged her finger. “If the two of you don’t learn to get along, I fear that the further adventures of �orl and his mighty steed F�larof will have to wait.”

“No!”

“Mother, please--”

“Then you must keep your promise. Your mother has a lot on her mind each day, and many tasks to accomplish. If the two of you get into each others hair over every little word, you make things even harder for me, and I will not have the time to think of further stories for you, nor would I want to tell them when I am exhausted from your quarreling in the evening. Do you understand me?” The children nodded reluctantly. “Very well. We will see about that tomorrow. And now I will hear no complaints when you go to sleep. You have had you story for today and…” The young mother’s lecture was interrupted by the sudden eruption of furious barking from outside, an unwelcome sound that sent a shiver of fear down her spine as it usually indicated danger.

“Mother?”

“What is it, Mother? Who is coming?” In the six years of her life, Edilda had already witnessed too many alarms to remember, and just as well as the adults she knew that it usually meant that their farm was about to be attacked by horrible things with sharp teeth. Quickly, Freya made her way over to the window. Please, B�ma, not again! Barely one week had passed since the last pack of wolves had sought out their farm in a desperate attempt to find food. The winter was hard on everyone, and the wolves had looked lanky and malnourished and given up quickly once Freya and her family had stormed outside to chase them away, but still they had lost one of their valuable guard dogs in the attack. Pulling the curtain aside to peer outside, she noticed that it was still snowing, but so far, there was nothing else to see. And yet Freya knew the dogs were usually right.

“Freya? Are you coming?” a deep voice resounded from the corridor, and the next moment, Osred looked into the room, a heavy club in his hand that lent his appearance a decidedly aggressive air.

“Aye. Just one moment!” She turned back to her anxious children and gave them a quick kiss. “You two stay in here. I will be right back and tuck you in.”

“Is it the wolves again?” Lo�gar whispered with large frightened eyes, and for once, he did not dare to mock his sister as she clutched her doll to her chest in fear.

“I don’t know; I did not see any. Perhaps it was just a distant scent that set them off. Hush, to bed with the both of you now, and this is where you’ll stay until I come back.” Freya turned to go and closed the door behind her, calmed by the though of having another wall between her children and their possible attackers. ‘But what if they are orcs?’ an ugly thought shot through her head as she retrieved her trusted hayfork from the little chamber by the kitchen. Briefly she considered taking the sword she had been gifted with by the Marshal four summers ago for her birthday, but despite the special training he had given her, she still felt more secure with the weight of the massive fork in her hand.

Osred already awaited her at the front door, where he peered outside through the narrow opening. Fighting hard to control her anxious breathing and remain calm, Freya stopped behind him.

“Do you see them yet?”

“There are no wolves, but I see three horses, one of them riderless.” He squinted into the diffuse darkness, his tone mistrustful. Who in his right mind travelled the mountain paths in such weather and after nightfall? Slowly he opened the door wider and lowered the club although he did not yet permit himself to relax. Looking over his shoulder, Freya felt slightly relieved that it did not seem to be another attack. In the opened door of the next building, she saw her brother Halad and his wife Fl�adwyn imitate their stance, mistrustfully awaiting their unexpected visitors while their dogs barked furiously in the compound.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Squaring his shoulders, Osred stepped out of the house and shouted over the din when the riders had advanced enough for him to see that was something peculiar about them. Why were the four men sharing only two horses while the third one, a strong-boned, dappled grey stallion ran free? And what had happened to the man sitting slumped on the first horse, his head lolling with each of the horse’s steps and only held in the saddle by the strength of the rider behind him, whose features were hidden beneath a deep hood? Who were they? No Orcs, apparently, but still Osred did not like it. He jumped when Freya’s fingers suddenly dug painfully into his arm.

“Isn’t that Firefoot? Osred, that is Firefoot! Look!”

“No, it isn’t,” he objected, but by now, the riders were close enough to establish that it was indeed the Marshal’s mighty stallion. So that meant that the man in front…

“Forgive us troubling you at this late hour,” the rider behind the unconscious man said, and his voice sounded both gentle and urgent. “We did not mean to frighten you, but this is an emergency.” He smoothed back the hood to reveal his face, and his dark hair and beard immediately gave him away as a stranger. At the same time, there was something in his appearance that made Osred feel awkward in his presence although the expression in his intense eyes was one of kindness. “My name is Aragorn, and these are my companions Legolas and Gimli. We are friends of Rohan and were just passing through, but then we found one of your warriors grievously injured on the mountain path and decided to bring him here. I fear that he is not in a good state.”

Shoving her hesitant husband aside, Freya stormed toward the riders with a cry of dismay.

“It is �omer! Gods, what happened to him? And where is his �ored?”

“I wish I could give you the answer to that question, my lady,” Aragorn admitted, briefly gesturing for Legolas and Gimli to dismount and help him with the wounded man. “He was alone when we found him. It seems that he was attacked by a group of orcs, and while he defeated them, he was wounded and failed to to make it to your farm on his own. We need to get him warm at once, or I fear that he will not hold out much longer.” Cautiously, he let the unconscious Roh�r slide from his horse’s back into the arms of his waiting companions.

“Bring him inside, quickly!” Freya gestured toward the door, dismayed by how lifeless �omer hung in the men’s arms. “Osred, stock the fire! And please, bring Edilda and Lo�gar over to Halad, they do not need to see this.”

Her husband did not appear to hear her as he regarded their unexpected visitors with narrowed eyes.

“You already gave us your names, but who are you? It is obvious that you are not men of the Mark.”

“Osred!”

“We are friends of Rohan,” Aragorn said in looking up from the burden of the unconscious man whose arm he had around his neck in the combined effort to carry him into the house. His voice was firm, but he did not appear to be insulted by the question. Times were difficult, and it was clear to him that strangers were not easily trusted in the Mark even if they were apparently no orcs. “We are here to help. There is no need to fear us.”

Freya glared at her husband in anger as she passed him and led the men inside, motioning them to the living room and the fireplace. Another door on the corridor opened and she looked at the twin sisters who had heard the commotion from outside.

“This way. Wait, let me spread a sheepskin under him, first. Willa? Wyndra? It is �omer, they found him wounded in the mountains! One of you, bring me all the blankets and sheepskins you find, and the other one, go in the kitchen and heat water. Take a large pot, or several large pots, we will need lots of it. And we will need bandages, and the brandy. Quickly!”

“Aye, Freya.” The sisters stormed off.

Overtaking the men, Freya quickly pulled the thick woollen blanket from the bench to spread it on the ground. “Here. Lay him down here.” Anxiously she waited as �omer was laid down, his head lolling in the pit of the dark haired stranger’s elbow, and she stiffened at the sight of his blue-tinted lips and the blood on the side of his face.

“Mother?”

“Who are these men, Mother?”

The little ones! Better if they did not see this. Fighting for her composure, Freya turned around and saw Lo�gar and Edilda standing in the corridor with frightened expressions, hugging themselves.

“They are friends, l�ofa. No need to be afraid.” A deep breath. “Osred, please, can you take them over—“

“I will bring them over immediately, but I can only do one thing at a time, Freya!” Her husband fed the fire with an armful of dry wood while the strangers cautiously freed �omer of his torn cape. Suddenly, he beheld the strange form of one of them: hardly taller than a tree stump the man seemed, and just as sturdy, with a mass of brown, partly braided hair in his face that was heavily encrusted with ice, and he was clad in thick armour. And the one next to him… Osred paused, picking up an even stranger sensation from the fair-haired man next to the short one. As if the stranger had noticed his unusual attention, his strikingly blue eyes went up to met the farmer’s, and their calm, self-conscious gaze was the last straw telling Osred that he was not looking at an ordinary man. Never had he felt as naked underneath anyone’s gaze; never since his adolescence had he felt more like a child again, and the sensation confused him greatly.

“Osred!” Freya’s raised voice finally woke him from his sunkeness.

“Aye,” he muttered distractedly, still staring at the stranger’s pointed ears. Was that the hint of a smile he saw playing around the man’s mouth? Was his unsettlement so amusing? “I am already gone.” Still bewildered, he cast a last glance over his shoulder and then picked up his children. “Come with me, you two. We will go and visit Halad and Fl�adwyn. Perhaps they have another good-night tale for you, hm?”

“Who is this man, Father?” Lo�gar asked, reluctant to leave. “Will he die?”

“No, he will not die. Your mother knows how to help him, but now we must leave her to it and get out of her path, because she has a lot to do. All right?”

The door cut off their voices, and at last, thick silence settled in the little room. Swallowing at the sight of the deep gashes on the side of �omer’s head, Freya carefully reached out to touch his cheek. Gods, he felt so cold! ‘Will he die?’ It could not be. B�ma, no, not �omer!

“�omer? �omer, do you hear me?”

“He was already unconscious when we found him and did not wake during the ride. He still breathes, but shallowly and irregularly. I fear that he has been exposed to the cold for a long time.” The dark-haired stranger who had introduced himself as Aragorn knelt down beside them and his hands – long-fingered, strong hands which looking like the hands of a man used to living in the wild – felt for the younger man’s breath, then slid down �omer’s neck to feel for his heartbeat. Piercing grey eyes met Freya’s in an attempt to read her expression as he unsheathed his knife. “We must get him out of these garments.”

Did he expect her to leave the room? This was certainly the wrong moment for feelings of propriety, and she let him know so with her gaze. Her fingers gently caressing �omer’s brow and cheek, Freya summoned her courage and looked the man straight in the eye.

“I do not think you can afford to send me away,” she said, now feeling the attention of the three strangers on herself. “I am skilled in the way of healing, and I am not easily shaken. Out here, it is I who treats my family in times of illness. It is I who helps our animals to give birth, and it is I who slaughters them when we need their meat. I do not faint at the sight of blood, even if it is that of a friend or family member.” She pointed her chin at the prone figure. “He is dear to me, and I want to help him. Please.” (**)

“Then I will not stand in your way.” Aragorn nodded in satisfaction and looked up. “Legolas, Gimli…?”

“If you do not need my assistance, I will go and see that our horses are properly tended,” the Elf said with a quick glance down. In her concern for the fallen warrior, the woman was paying them no heed. “And his stallion, too. He was wounded in the fight. Will you accompany me, Gimli?”

“And tend the horses?” The dwarf seemed somewhat less enthusiastic, but quickly caught the hidden meaning behind his friend’s words. “Oh well, I assume it would not hurt to go outside and make sure that we were not followed.”

“Very well.” Aragorn inhaled deeply and turned around. “In the meantime, we will see what we can do for him.”

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(**) How �omer and Freya came to know each other is told in the three parts of "Know Thy Place" of "The Way of a King", also on this site.

Chapter 19 - A Healer's Hands

Completely absorbed in their work, neither Freya nor Aragorn heard the elf and the dwarf leave, and for a while, the crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room while they freed their patient of his drenched clothes. Trying to ignore the fact that she had never been this close to �omer as she cut the dirty garments from his limb body, Freya concentrated on her hands. It helped to clear her head that he felt so cold to her touch even if the sensation frightened her, but still she could all too well imagine how, under different circumstances, it had to feel to lie close to him, pressed against his powerful, hard body underneath a warm blanket while they caressed each other. �He could have been yours!� a most unwelcome voice in the back of her head spoke up no matter how hard she fought to silence it. �He wanted you, but you sent him away. And now look what the both of you have: he is dying because you made him choose the way of the warrior, and you are stuck with Osred. It could have been different.�

Her eyes burning both with shame over her thoughts as well as compassion, Freya lowered her head and focused on freeing �omer�s arm from the sleeve, hoping that Aragorn had not noticed her distraction. The sight of the hideous pattern of blue and black marring �omer�s pale skin finally ended her unsuitable thoughts, and with a dismayed gasp, she reached out to touch the particularly dark and large bruise on his right side, her throat narrowing dangerously.

�Oh Gods,� she breathed �What did they do to him?� How could a man of such powerful build still be so frail? As Third Marshal of Rohan, �omer was one of their strongest warriors, both physically superior and extraordinarily skilled in the use of his weapons, and still it had not been enough to protect him from the onslaught of his enemies. If warriors like he could not stop the orcs, who could? Wasn�t it all hopeless? Whispering in a despair-choked voice, Freya gently stroked �omer�s cold cheek: �You must survive, �omer, please. Fight! I know you are strong enough!�

Aragorn�s expression darkened at the sight of the Rohir�s injuries and the young woman�s despair, and as he cut open the sleeve of �omer�s shirt, he noticed with alarm the deformed shape of the warrior�s hand. Frowning, he picked it up and turned it around for a closer examination, at once understanding that he had found the worst of the Marshal�s wounds. This could not wait for much longer. As soon as �omer�s condition had sufficiently stabilised, they would have to concern themselves with it. Deciding not to mention it to Freya yet, the ranger worked even faster to pull away the wet shreds of clothing from underneath the heavy body and came upon the leg wound. Briefly he examined it and found it likewise in a state of slight infection, if not as severely as the hand. It was not bleeding exceedingly, therefore Aragorn decided that it, too, had to wait. Looking up, he saw Freya already picking up the thick woollen blanket by her side and nodded, taking the lower ends.

Quickly they wrapped �omer in three layers of wool before they dared to pause. Kneeling on both sides of the unconscious man, the ranger and the farmer�s wife regarded each other with worried expressions, and only now became Freya aware of the fact that she and her sisters were alone in the house with a man they knew nothing about. For a moment, that thought troubled her... but then she looked once again into the stranger�s kind eyes and found her worries wane. This was no evil man. She could not say yet who he was, but somehow she could not shake the feeling that his travel-worn garments and overall rather dishevelled appearance disguised his true character; she could not deny that there were a depths and a dignity to the dark-haired man that hinted at a probably noble heritage. The way Aragorn talked, the way he behaved, all of it pointed strongly toward the conclusion that he was a lord of men, not a savage. And while his strong jaw-line and overall security in his movements indicated that the man in front of her was used to making decisions and seeing his will done, his eyes also bespoke an enormous capacity for compassion and mercy. To Freya, he seemed like a born leader, and she had no doubts that this was a man others would follow gladly into battle.

Confused how she came to feeling so strongly about a person she barely knew, Freya finally shifted her attention back to the prone figure before her, her fingers resting on �omer's cold brow as she looked down. She did not notice that she was observed, did not see the expression of approval on Aragorn�s face as he regarded her, impressed with her composure. It was easy to see that the extent of the woman�s concern exceeded what she would have felt an ordinary rider, that she had deeper feelings for the wounded warrior, and still she had worked fast and efficiently, not allowing to let herself be overwhelmed by her emotions.

�We will treat his wounds later,� Aragorn spoke lowly, inclining his head to regard �omer�s still features. �For now, the cold is my greatest concern. He must have lain outside for a long time. How far is the water?�

�Willa?� Freya lifted her voice, fighting to remain calm and controlled before the stranger. �Willa, is the water ready?�

�It must not be too hot,� Aragorn reminded her. �If it is too hot, we will do more damage than good.�

�Skin temperature, I know,� Freya said, and noticed how his brows went up as if he had not expected such knowledge from her. �I have treated men exposed to cold temperatures before. We are well equipped for such cases.�

�It is almost ready,� a young voice called out to them from the kitchen. �How many do you need?�

�As many as you have.� She noticed Aragorn�s inquisitive look. �Sheep stomachs. We use them as vessels for the water. They adjust very well to the shape of the body and give off the warmth without loss. We have made very good experiences with them.�

�Very good.� He nodded approvingly, astonished by the woman�s resourcefulness.

�And we could fix him some yarrow tea to warm him up from the inside as well, even if he cannot drink it for as long as he is unconscious�� Wyndra threw in from behind, already rising to her feet in her eagerness to provide more help for the man she had known and loved like an older brother since childhood.

�Yes, that would indeed be helpful, not just for the additional warmth, but in his battle against the infection as well. Please, do so.� Aragorn shifted his gaze to �omer�s face, studying his pale features until a different thought surfaced and he turned back to Freya. �You do not have Athelas in the house by any chance, have you?�

�Athelas?�

�It is a weed, also known under the name of �Kingsfoil�.�

�Now, that I have heard of,� Freya said. �But I have none. I�m afraid that it doesn�t grow around here. But we could fix him spelt water in addition to the yarrow tea. I have seen it doing wonders on other men.� Yes, it certainly seemed to her that a wonder was needed to help �omer survive. Underneath the blood and dirt that caked his skin, he looked like his own ghost.

Following her gaze, Aragorn inhaled deeply. It would have to do. �We will have to wake him to make him drink it though; one way or another.� A taxing glance found Freya, and she tensed, not sure what the expression in his eyes meant. Afraid of what she assumed it meant, she bent over in an attempt to wake �omer in a gentle way.

��omer, if you hear me, give me a sign. Can you open your eyes?� She waited, hoping for his lids to flutter and listening for the lowest groan that would indicate that her words had been heard, but there was nothing to see, nor anything to hear. Except for the irregular and laboured rising and falling of his chest, �omer seemed lifeless. Anxiously, she stroked his brow, and again the coldness of his skin caused her stomach to twist. ��omer, it is I, Freya! Follow my voice! Please, you must wake!�

Silently observing her efforts, Aragorn turned around at the sound of approaching steps from the corridor, and the next moment, the other of the two young women entered the room with two arms full of half-filled, flexible things of which she handed him one to feel for himself.

�I hope that the temperature is right. Will these suffice, or should we make more?� She received an approving nod and a faint, thankful smile, and warmth spread in the pit of her stomach, causing her face to glow.

�It feels right. Thank you��

�Willa.�

�Thank you, Willa. You might save his life with these. And yes, we will have use for more once they have cooled. We will have to keep �omer warm throughout the night.�

�Then I will go back to the kitchen and boil more water.� Standing behind Aragorn and hugging herself with thin arms, Willa watched as the ranger placed the sheep stomachs upon the blankets between �omer�s arms and body and evenly all over him while Freya talked to the unconscious man with increasing urgency.

�He is so pale,� Willa whispered from behind, the warm feeling Aragorn�s praise had woken in her extinguished by a sudden chill. �Can he survive? How grave are his wounds?�

�They would not appear life-threatening to me except for the infection in his hand,� Aragorn said. �But the most immediate fight he has to brave is that against the cold. Is your sister preparing the tea?�

�Aye. We had some hot water left, so it will be ready soon.�

�Tell her to sweeten it with plenty of honey. He will need the additional energy� if we can get it into him.�

�We always drink it with plenty of honey, for we do not get it down otherwise,� Freya said without looking up from �omer�s pale face. Why did he not respond? Was he already dying? Her stomach clenched at the thought, and her pleading now became urging, as if she could will him back to life. From the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn turn toward the corridor again.

�Here is the tea.� Wyndra handed the ranger an earthen mug of steaming contents. �I made it strong, and there are three spoons of honey in it, but it may have to cool for a few moments before he can drink it.�

�Thank you�� Probing, Aragorn took a sip and found the temperature almost ideal.

�Wyndra.� She smiled unhappily and stepped back to where her sister stood. Eyeing the twins with an encouraging expression, Aragorn nodded.

�Wyndra. Willa �� He looked at the first girl. Except for their hair, the sisters looked almost identical. It was only Willa�s mass of ashen curls that made it possible to tell the two young women apart. ��and Wyndra. Very well. You may save him with this.� He turned to Freya and saw her flinch in reaction to his sudden look of determination. �Is he responding?�

�No�� She swallowed. �What will you do?�

�He must drink this. I need you to trust me now, Freya.�

The urgency of his grey eyes almost burned her, and a hard band suddenly tightened around her chest, almost cutting of her breath. Did she trust that man? Yes, she did. She could not believe anything else than that the expression of concern for �omer on his diamond-cut face was genuine. After all, he had brought him here, so why should he do him evil now? She nodded.

�I do.� And it was the truth. �But please, don�t hurt him more.�

�It will not be pretty, but it needs to be done. He may look frail to you, but he is not as frail as you think. He won�t die from what I will do now, and if I don�t do it, his time is running out. I want you to understand this before I begin.�

Again she nodded, her insides twisting into a painful knot.

�I understand.� Upon his silent signal, she moved back, reluctantly taking away her hand from �omer�s cold cheek. While she exchanged a worried glance with her sisters, Aragorn bent over the Roh�r.

��omer, wake up!� The abrupt transformation of his low, compassionate tone into a hard commandeering voice caught the women unawares, and they looked at him with widening eyes, stunned by the complete change of his demeanour. While they still looked on, Aragorn�s hand suddenly landed with a sharp slapping sound in the unconscious man�s face. �Come, I know you hear me! You do not want to surface from this comfortable place you found inside of you, but it is treacherous and you cannot remain there.� �omer�s head lolled under another slap, and the women winced. �Wake up, Son of �omund! Your time has not yet come!�

�Lord Aragorn, perhaps��

�You must wake up!� Before their eyes, the stranger grasped the wounded man by the shoulders and shook him. Her hand on her mouth, Freya stared wide-eyed at Aragorn as he bodily assaulted �omer, and the sight of it sickened her. He had promised not to hurt him further, so how could he do this? Yet before she could voice her protest, she suddenly beheld the briefest flutter of �omer�s eyelids, and her heart jumped into her throat.

�That is good, but it is not enough. Fight, Marshal! Your people need you, you cannot give up yet! You must wake if you want to live!� With relief in his eyes, the rangers gaze briefly grazed the women as he turned around to pick up the mug. �Freya, I need you to hold up his head now.� She rushed to his aid and gently placed �omer�s head on her lap, reassuringly stroking his cheeks.

�I am here, �omer. We have something to drink for you; it will warm you up and help you to heal. It may taste a little bitter, but you must swallow it. Can you do this for me?� She noticed how his eyes rolled underneath their closed lids and felt a light twitching of muscles underneath her fingers. He was not yet fully conscious, but perhaps it would suffice to get the tea into him.

Careful not to spill it, Aragorn pressed the mug against �omer�s lips� and at last they parted. He lifted the mug, and the first drops of golden liquid disappeared in the young man�s mouth� and were swallowed.

�Oh, B�ma be praised�!� Unexpectedly Freya found herself beaming at the stranger before her, feeling the strong urge to fall on his neck. �Thank you, my lord! Thank you so much! The Gods must have sent you to us!�

�The battle is not won yet,� Aragorn reminded her, but finding himself also smiling with relief. �But it is an improvement. Quickly, let us get the rest into him as well, and then we will have to concern ourselves with his wounds.�

----------------------------

�Come, my friend. I will do you no harm, you should know so by now.�

Slowly, the hand reached over the stall door. With pricked ears, Firefoot watched its approach, and his widened nostrils tasted the scent that wafted toward him from the strange being talking to him in a foreign tongue now. Never before had he encountered this scent, and he did not trust it. As the hand moved even closer, the stallion�s ears suddenly flattened against his head and he retreated into the very back of his stall, huffing in exasperation.

Confused, Legolas shook his head and took his hand back. Never before had he encountered a horse that had retreated from him. �He will not let me touch him. I do not understand.�

�I told you that he looked like a grumpy fellow,� the dwarf reminded his friend helpfully, annoyed to still be standing in the stables when they could already sit inside the warm house, preferably with something to eat and drink on the table the young wife of their host had promised them earlier when they had entered the stable. �If he rejects your help, you should leave him alone. Why bother? He is not even your horse. Perhaps he will change his mind once he is in enough pain.�

Frowning, the elf stared at the beast which was still hiding from him in the furthest corner of its stall, making no secret of its disdain for its visitors.

�He should know that I would never hurt him. I have never met such a stubborn horse before.�

�Oh, he is a truly Rohirric steed, my lord,� Halad threw in from behind, fighting against showing his amusement too openly. After preparing the medicine for Firefoot, he had handed the bowl and cloth to the elf and then sat aside on a block of straw to watch, knowing in advance how the stranger�s efforts would end. �All of our horses have a mind of their own; they cannot be compared to ordinary horses.� He turned toward the grey. �And Firefoot is truly a unique steed. He is solely �omer�s horse, and won�t let anyone else handle him... except for me, perhaps. We know each other quite well, and have done so for a long time. Do we not, brother?� The stallion�s ears flickered toward him. Smiling, Halad rose from his seat and walked up to the two strange beings. It was the first time that he saw an elf and a dwarf with his own eyes, and yet it was Firefoot who occupied his attention. �Please, will you let me try? I think that he will trust me.�

He accepted the bowl from the elf�s hands and opened the stall-door, sceptically observed by the strangers and the stallion alike.

�That is madness,� the dwarf uttered, sadly shaking his head. �That beast will crush him.�

�He will not. He knows me.� Confidently, Halad met the scrutinising gaze of the large dark eyes. The sight of the blood on the grey�s hide saddened him, and yet at the same moment, he felt pride over the stallion�s courage to defend his master even against a pack of wolves when most horses would have bolted. Aye, the horses of Rohan were special indeed. �Will you not let me help you, my friend?� he said, switching to Rohirric, and noticing how Firefoot�s ears turned toward him at the familiar sound. �Your master would want you to be treated, but he cannot do it himself. Will you allow me to touch you instead?�

At last, the mighty stallion shook his head with a deep intake of breath, and all tension left his body as he approached the young man inside his stall with three steps and pressed his nose against Halad�s chest. Smiling in joy over this great proof of the horse�s trust, the young man reached up to rub Firefoot�s brow, his fingers cautiously circling the gash on the stallion�s cheek while he examined the wound. It did not look deep, but would have to be cleaned. Slowly working his way down to the horse�s nostrils and noticing how the grey closed his eyes in enjoyment of his caress, Halad lifted the bowl and looked back over his shoulder.

�See, he trusts me. I will tend him, and then let him rest.�

�Will you come with me then, my lords? Fl�adwyn�s voice suddenly rang out from behind, and the men turned around. Wrapped into a heavy shawl, the young woman nevertheless looked half-frozen with her hunched-up shoulders and the tip of her nose as well as her cheeks rosy from the frost. She also looked very young to Legolas and Gimli, but the expression of open friendliness on her frail features prompted them to smile in return. �The meal is ready, and I assume that you must be hungry after a day in the wilderness.�

�The meal is ready?� the dwarf exclaimed joyfully, and his heavy hand landed with a slapping sound on his friend�s side. �You certainly know how to revive a dwarf�s spirits, lass! Come, Legolas, let us go! That horse will live on without your help, but without some food in his stomach, this dwarf will not!�

�I still don�t understand it,� the elf uttered, offering little resistance as the dwarf pulled him along, already having forgotten about the horse as he followed their host outside. �He should have trusted me��

Chapter 20 - The Nature of the Beast

White Mountains

Aragorn knew not for how long they had treated the injured marshal on the ground before the fireplace, but it had felt like an eternity: steadily they had exchanged the cooling sheep stomachs for new, hot ones to gradually warm up �omer from outside, while – at the same time - they also succeeded through endless patience in administering him two mugs of tea. By and by, the Rohir’s erratic breathing had steadied and along with the warming of his skin, some colour had crept back into his face, strengthening Aragorn’s hope that the warrior would survive. But it would not be a success to claim solely for himself.

As he leant back into the chair that would be his resting place for the remainder of the night, a tired smile wandered over the ranger’s face in fond memory of the three women’s help: Freya and her younger sisters – as he had quickly learned – had done more than their share, always quick to provide what he asked them for, no matter how odd his request had deemed them. His gaze unfocused on the flickering light of the candle that illuminated the room, Aragorn’s smile deepened as he recalled their aghast expressions upon his request for mouldy bread. Yet to their credit, instead of questioning him, they had actually succeeded in producing the needed substance and even in sufficient quantity for his purposes. Then they had waited and observed him with almost professional interest as he opened the wounds on �omer’s hand with two quick incisions to drain the poisoned blood. With equal concentration they had watched him cleaning the cuts with the brandy after the red flow had slowed… and with fascinated expressions, they had followed his efforts of working the mould into the wounds before a bandage was tightly wrapped around it. At that point finally their questions became unavoidable.

"And this will help him?" Freya had asked him sceptically, but even though her expression had been doubtful, Aragorn had already detected a faint sparkle of intrigue in her tense features, as if no matter with which methods of healing he would surprise them, she would still lay her trust in his better knowledge. "It will not make the infection worse?"

"As astonishing as it may seem, the mould found on dark bread is a very potent remedy against infection," he had replied with a brief glance at his host while he quickly treated the arrow-wound in the same fashion and moved on to inspect the dark bruise on the Rohir’s side. "I learned about it some years ago from the elves."

"The elves!" Willa had exclaimed excitedly, and her sisters’ faces had mirrored her wonder. "I have never seen elves… before today. I thought they only existed in fairy-tales, like dragons, and fairies, and dwarves. Dwarves… your friends – excuse me – are they… you know… "

At this, Aragorn had laughed good-naturedly, and because his fingers had found no broken bones during their examination of his patient’s discoloured ribs, the tension had at last seeped from his body. It was then when they had all suddenly heard an audible moan from the man on the ground, and the sound had brightened their faces. Not only was he back from the brink of death, now it even appeared as if �omer was on his way to consciousness. With a deep, satisfied sigh, Aragorn sat back on his heels and winked at the young woman who had inquired about his companions. As a people that had always preferred seclusion, the simple Rohirric peasants of course were not usually acquainted with the existence of other beings than men, except for orcs. Most of them never left the spot of land they were born on. It was only their armed forces and nobles who understood that the world beyond their borders did not solely belong to their kind, and that there forces out there – both good and evil – which far exceeded their knowledge and might.

At this thought, the ranger’s expression sobered. How sad to only know the vile side of creation when there were also such powers of light inhabiting this realm. He cleared his throat and again leant back, his thoughts returning to the rest of the conversation.

"As you have seen with your very own eyes now, Willa, many of these so-called ‘fairy-tales’ are deeply rooted in history, and not all that we take for make-believe is such. There were dragons once, and as you have seen, dwarves and elves are just as real as you and I. They may look strange to your eyes, and their language may sound foreign to your ears, and yet they are similar enough to man in their thoughts and deeds to understand and befriend each other. They know about the value of freedom; about the importance of friendship and compassion. They know about honour and pride, and they are fierce fighters for those causes. And in this battle against Evil, they are on our side."

Awe-struck by his elaboration, the young woman had only silently nodded, her blue eyes wide with wonder as he shifted his attention back at her older sister. "I find no broken bones, so it appears to be merely a bruise. A hideous one, I agree, but a bruise nonetheless. If he rests for a few days – and by that I mean that he should stay in bed - he should recover quickly. Perhaps you could apply a salve to help the distribution of the clotted blood underneath his skin, but apart from that, I believe that this injury will need no further treatment." At his statement, the faces in front of him had visibly brightened despite the women’s obvious exhaustion. It had been a long, intense evening and time to get some much-needed rest, at least for his hosts. "I believe then that we are ready to carry him over. Would you have a spare bed for him?"

Upon calling Osred, Gimli and Legolas over from the other house, the men had carefully carried �omer into the children’s vacated room and laid him on their bed, still wrapped in the three layers of woollen blankets, and Aragorn had begun his silent vigil by the sleeping man’s side. While he believed that the Marshal had braved the worst of the storm, he was nonetheless determined to stay with him for at least this first night. Hardly had he settled back into the chair when Freya entered the room, a tray in her hands on which a bowl of strong-smelling stew and two thick pieces of dark bread in addition to two mugs had been placed.

"I know you said that it wasn’t necessary, Lord Aragorn, but I fixed you something to eat. Your friends told me that they already had the evening meal at my brother’s house while we were treating �omer, but now it is late, and still you had nothing to eat. You must be very hungry, and I do not want to be a bad host." She held out the tray to him invitingly and with a warm, slightly shy smile now that they were alone in the room, and he accepted it with a thankful nod, his empty stomach rumbling in anticipation as the delicious smell of the stew reached his nose.

"That is very kind of you, Freya. I am indeed very hungry." He tried a first spoon full, and his smile broadened at the spicy taste. "It is very good." He looked down and found to his surprise that the stew contained a great amount meat, something in no way to be taken for granted in a land where many people were starving because of the damage of war. "I know that in these hard times, it is not easy to feed additional mouths when you have a family to be taken care of, so my gratitude is even greater. But I hope you are not giving us something you cannot afford to spare in this hard winter."

"You saved �omer. That alone is worth more to me than everything I own." Freya’s expression became sombre as she tilted her head to regard the sleeping warrior.

"But it is not your task to pay for it. We were merely paying off a debt, but even that was not our reason for helping him. It is a duty to help others in need, no matter who they are, " Aragorn said pensively, following her gaze. "We met him and his men on the plains some days earlier, and he greatly helped us in our errand by lending us horses even against the orders of his king, although we were strangers to him." He sighed and shook his head, once again silently contemplating what had brought the young Rohir into this dire situation. Aware that Freya was still listening to him as she sat on the edge of the bed, he met her gaze again, urgency in his grey eyes as he spoke the next words: "In these dark times, we must stand united against the enemy, or we will be defeated." He fell silent, and his powerful statement seemed to echo in the air.

Thinking about his words as she absent-mindedly caressed the unmoving shape of �omer through the blankets, Freya bit her lip. "You said that he was attacked by orcs," she said at length, not sure why she was asking, for her guest’s answer would surely upset her even more. "Forgive me my ignorance, please, but what can you tell me about our enemies? Out here in the wild, far from the lords, we do not hear much. �omer sometimes told me about incidents and battles, and that he suspected that those dreadful creatures were sent by some evil necromancer in the west." She laughed nervously. "Please... an evil necromancer? I do sound like Willa with her dragons and fairies when I say such things, don’t I?"

Aragorn regarded her silently, using the moment while he was still chewing on his mouthful of stew to cautiously consider his reply. Should he say the truth and frighten her further by telling her that the evil wizard was only one of two enemies, and the weaker one at that? Should he tell her that the world that she knew lay in the hands of two Halflings, and that it would end if they failed to destroy the enemy’s mightiest weapon; that each being refusing to serve the Dark Lord would die and the sun be extinguished in the sky, plunging all of Middle Earth into a second darkness? Or should he lie? He chose a middle path.

"I admit that it sounds strange... but such things like magic and spells do exist, and there are people... or beings... who are born with a natural talent for mastering them. That may be all there is to the title of a ‘Wizard’; that he is a man gifted with a special talent – or cursed, it depends on how you see it and what use that man is making of it."

"But even if there is such a man, and spells, as you say... why does he seek to destroy us?" Freya shook her head, searching for answers in the deep grey eyes of the man in front of her. She did not know why she thought that he could answer that question, except that there seemed to be an endless depth to him, a wealth of knowledge gained only by far journeys and the open mind willing to understand all those journeys brought. "What did we ever to do him to incur his wrath?"

"Not all evil deeds are borne from wrath, or revenge," Aragorn spoke carefully. "In fact, I would say that it is greed that does the most harm. And that necromancer, he lusts for power."

"Power over a land of grass and horses?" She did not understand. "What would that man win by destroying us? This land is rough; it takes a lot of very hard work to get anything out of it at all. I doubt that he would set fields or plough the ground himself, would he? Apart from our horses, there are no treasures to be found in the Mark."

"It seems to be the very nature of evil that if often comes without apparent cause. We cannot always understand why evil deeds are committed; we can only try to fight back," Aragorn admitted. Even he did not have all the answers. "The mind of man often defies all explanation. Even the men themselves cannot say why they must act in a certain way; except for an inner urge."

"But this has been going on for so long. So many have lost their lives, men, women and children alike, and it appears to get even worse all the time." In an attempt to wipe the weariness away, Freya ran a hand over her face, but of course the gesture did not help. "Please, Lord Aragorn… I do not know who you are, or what your errand is in our land, but my feelings tell me that you are a good man, and you seem to know a lot about the nature of men and of war. So please, tell me if you think that this evil will end one day? Will we brave this storm? Or will the Mark become a vast, empty land once all of us have been slaughtered? When I see him—" she nodded at �omer, "—I fear for the worst. He is a capable man, said to be one of our best warriors. He must be, or he wouldn’t be a marshal at his young age. But even he was overcome." She had no defence left against the sudden surge of desperation that rose in her, choking her. Suddenly, she found herself in the stranger’s embrace. "Oh, B�ma, no…"

"Do not despair, Freya," Aragorn spoke lowly, the warmth of his breath comforting on her skin. She tried in vain to hold back the tears surging up from the bottom of her soul. "��omer will live, and so shall the people of the Mark. My friends and I are here to help Rohan in its need, and for as long as there is a single drop of blood left in our veins, we will not yield." For a wile, he just held her while suppressed sobs shook her thin frame. "It is good, Freya. It will come to a good end."

Sniffling, she separated from him at last, an embarrassed smile of apology on her lips as she wiped her eyes.

"I am sorry, Lord Aragorn. I did not mean to break into tears in front of you, I usually don’t. It is only…" she shrugged, her hand performing a little, helpless gesture. "The shock to see him like this… and all this misery we keep hearing of…"

"It is hard to bear, and even harder not to despair, aye, I understand that very well, my lady." With his rough hand, Aragorn cupped her cheek, and his gaze intensified as he looked at her, almost burning her with his urgency. "Some days, it would appear as if there is no hope, but in these times, we must avert our eyes from the evil around us and concentrate on the good things which still exist, and we must draw our hope from them." He could see the question forming in her features, and provided the answer before she could even voice it: "�omer is still alive, and he will recover. The people of the Mark are still alive, and still fighting, and nothing is lost yet. Life was never easy for the sons of �orl, and yet after five hundred years of struggle, you still endure, and your enemies fear you for your hardiness, your courage and your determination. No one has ever defeated the Rohirrim for as long as they stood united... and now my friends and I have come to aid you in that fight; you stand not alone." He pointed his chin at �omer. "On the plains, I promised him that we would draw our swords together one day, and I intend to keep my promise. Believe me, my lady, it is far too early to give up hope."

Through her tears, he saw her smiling, and was glad to have lifted the young woman’s spirits. Like a true woman of Rohan she deemed him; simple but honest, proud and hardy, and yet warm-hearted and compassionate at the same time to those deserving of it. A people like that deserved to endure, and if it was in his power, he would do his part in ensuring their survival. His hand sank from her face, and she took it and pressed it affectionately, thankful for his comfort.

"You cannot know what your words and your deeds tonight mean to me, Lord Aragorn. I can only repeat what I already said: the Gods sent you to us in this dark hour. Perhaps, they still look kindly upon us after all, even if they have a strange way of showing it."

"That I am convinced of," he assured her, giving back the pressure. "Even if I do not know whether it was them who led me here. But now that I am here, I am intent on making the most of it." His smile deepened, and carefully, he smoothed away a strand of ashen hair which had fallen into her face. "It is already very late, you should go and get some rest now. I promise you that I will stay with him."

"But you must be tired yourself."

"I am used to long watches. And while I do believe that the worst is behind him, I will find not rest myself until I am sure that he is on the way to recovery." Seeing that she was still not glad with his answer, he offered: "But if you insist, I will wake you around dawn for the continuation of the watch. Will you accept that?"

"Gladly," she nodded, and rose to her feet, no longer able to disguise how very weary she felt. Her hand reluctantly left its place upon the shape of �omer’s arm below the blanket. "And since you say that you are a man of your word, I expect you to keep your promise..."

"I will."

"...and that you will wake me if you need my help."

"I will do that, my lady. I know how dear he is to you."

She believed him. However reluctant she was of leaving �omer, she needed to sleep. He was in good hands, and the thought of a man she had known only for a few hours yet being the only one awake in their house did not trouble her at all; in her mind, Aragorn had already ceased to be a stranger. With a last glance back, Freya silently closed the door behind her, the despair which had haunted her for weeks suddenly replaced by a feeling so unusual that she at first fail to name it for it had been a long time since she had last felt it. But yes, there was no denying anymore that with these three strangers, hope had returned into her home...

----------------------------

CENTRAL PLAINS

The night was cold and too bright for Elfhelm’s liking. The light of the waxing moon in addition to the blanket of snow on the ground allowed them to see far, and no doubt had their approach been visible from the watchtower of Edoras if the guards had paid attention. The city lights had died down approximately a while ago, and while they waited in the cover of the group of rocks upon the river’s edge, shivering from the cold even though they sat huddled into their thick blankets, hardly a word was spoken between the men.

"There is the signal! Look!" Arnhelm suddenly hissed, pointing a finger in the direction of a small moving light in front of the gates, and his words prompted his comrades into motion. Still they did not talk, and as they swung into their saddles with limbs stiff from the hours of sitting unmoving in the cold temperatures, Elfhelm saw his own tension mirrored in their drawn faces. How easy it would be for the Worm to lead them all into a trap if his spies had found out about C�orl’s plan! The feeling of foreboding was strong in him, and growing stronger with each step that took them closer to the mighty wooden fence surrounding the city. Suddenly, �on stopped.

"Captain?" His scout regarded him from underneath a furrowed brow, and it was only then when Elfhelm realised that – in his reluctance to enter the city – he had involuntarily pulled at the reins. Angry at himself, the experienced warrior gave his waiting men the signal to proceed, although his instincts were crying out at him to turn back. Stubbornly, he told himself that his disquiet stemmed from the exposure on this last part of their approach which offered no cover; something an experienced warrior always sought to avoid even if he wasn’t riding into battle. Their horses, sensing their riders’ tension, remained silent as well, although the familiar scents of home and of others of their kin would have prompted them to welcoming neighs under normal circumstances.

These were no normal circumstances. They were here to plan a revolution, an unprecedented event in the history of the Mark. His lips a thin, bloodless line, Elfhelm’s eyes narrowed as he tried to identify the man with the now extinguished torch waiting for them in front of the opened gates. It was not C�orl, and it was not �othain, so much he could see already, and his discovery brought about another fit of anxiety rumbling through Elfhelm’s broad frame. Who else was left the Captain of Edoras trusted enough to appoint with this precarious task?

Laying his right hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword to be ready, just in case, he approached the waiting figure… and finally recognised it as one of the men who had accompanied his Edoras’ counterpart to Aldburg .

"Westu hal, Anlaf! Is C�orl inside?"

"Westu hal, Captain Elfhelm. Aye, he sent me to bring you to the meeting place." He craned his neck to look up, and again Elfhelm felt a strange shudder at the sight of his guarded face. "Will you allow me to share the saddle with you, Captain? I did not bring my own horse, for it would only have raised unneeded questions of why I needed it during my watch."

"I understand," Elfhelm said, extending his hand to help the guard mount behind him. Of course the man was tense, he berated himself, after all, he was risking his life by allowing them into the city as much as they were. "We do not meet him at his home?"

Anlaf shook his head.

"The Captain fears that his home is under surveillance by the enemy, therefore he chose another place. Let us proceed inside quickly. The city appears to be sleeping, but one can never know whether there not malicious eyes watching from behind one of these dark windows."

Heeding the man’s words, Elfhelm urged his steed through the narrow gap in the gate, and with a click of his tongue, reminded the stallion to move cautiously. His gaze fell upon the houses surrounding the square they entered now, and a chill travelled down his spine at the thought of the guard’s words. Were they being watched? Was there a group of the Worm’s men waiting in the shadows for them to approach, their arrows already fitted to the string of their bows and ready to loose them as soon as their aim was true? Their horses hoof-beats seemed treacherously loud to his ears, certain to alarm the entire lower city. Perhaps it would have been better to leave them outside… but then again, five fully saddled, riderless Rohirric war-horses in front the gates would likewise rise suspicion, and Elfhelm had no way of knowing for how long their secret meeting would take. No, better to take them along and hide them away in a barn. The snow and mud muffled the sound, and it probably seemed only loud to his strained ears and would not wake a man sleeping inside these houses.

In silence, the short line of riders proceeded through the sleeping city until they came to the last building in a hidden back-street, a weather-worn wooden structure that seemed to have been used as a shed for the craftsmen living close by until a fire had recently destroyed part of it. Even in the moonlight, the charred black scars in the wood were still visible, and a faint burnt stench still wafted toward them through the clear air. Upon Anlaf’s silent signal, Elfhelm brought his steed to a halt, and after a long, thorough look at his surroundings, he finally dismounted, followed by his men. The columns of their frozen breaths rising into the chill night, the warriors strained their senses until at last, all faces turned to Elfhelm and the guard, awaiting their orders. With a deep breath, Anlaf walked up to the large door and knocked his knuckles against the wood in a careful rhythm. Rigid, all hands on their swords and muscles strained to react to whatever situation they would find once the door opened, the men waited. Finally, the muffled sound of steps could be heard from inside.

"Who is it?"

"It is I, Anlaf. I bring Elfhelm and his men."

They held their breath. At last, the sound of a bolt sliding aside reached their ears, and the door opened... to darkness. The face of the man whispering to them from inside to enter quickly was hidden by the shadow, and yet Anlaf seemed to recognise him as he disappeared into the blackness. Hesitant, the warriors looked at each other, until at last, Elfhelm took his heart in both hand and followed the guard inside, his fingers clenched around the hilt of his blade.

"C�orl?" It was too dark. He understood the import of secrecy, but not even a candle had been lit to help him see where he was going, and suddenly, the darkness was complete when the door closed behind them. "C�orl?" It was a reflex that made him draw his sword, the barest notion of a presence near him, but it was already too late: his vision exploded in a fireball as a heavy object connected with his head, and the blade slipped from his hands. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

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This is for Maddy, without whose medical knowledge Aragorn would have looked pretty stupid in this chapter! Thank you, and I hope you recover quickly and give us another delicious episode of "Unexpected"!

Chapter 21 - In the Wolf's Den

EDORAS

�Captain? Captain Elfhelm? Please, you must believe me, I did not mean to betray you, but they said they would kill my family if I did not deliver you. I have two little daughters! Please, I did not--" A dull sound interrupted the anxious flow of words and replaced them with a pained grunt.

�Enough of that disgraceful whimpering,� a rumbling voice spat disdainfully. �You betrayed your commander, get used to the thought! I don�t think he wants to hear your blabbering now. You did it, now live with it.� Another rush of air, then breathless gasping. This was what Elfhelm woke up to. He opened his eyes to the flickering light of fire... and a headache that felt as if someone had buried an axe in the middle of his skull. Instantly, a debilitating wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he spilled the sparse remainders of his evening meal onto the ground in a violent retching fit.

�Now will you look at him, your proud Captain of Aldburg!� The same dark voice sneered with unmistakable glee. �Look carefully, all of you who think you are something better! Scrambling on the ground like a pig he is, ready for the slaughter. If I wanted, I could kill him right now without breaking a sweat!� A foot prodded Elfhelm in the side and turned him around less than gently, and the warrior could not suppress an anguished groan. �What? Are you in pain?� the voice snorted. �Believe me, this is only the beginning. Once my master begins his work on you, you will wish that you were never born!� Heat assaulted the Captain�s face as the torch was lowered, threatening to burn him.

The brightness of the flames assaulted Elfhelm�s eyes like knife stabs, digging into the soft matter inside his head. Instinctively, he tried to evade them and found his hands bound behind his back. Dirty laughter rose from several men before him he could not see in the semi-darkness.

�You think this will help you, traitor? You think you will get away from us? I believe not.� The torch came closer, almost scorching his face now. Unable to breathe or get away from the fire, Elfhelm did the only thing he could think of: he kicked out. His feet found a solid aim, and with a surprised grunt his torturer went down, dropping the torch... onto him! Quickly he rolled and extinguished the flames before they settled in his garments. A wild curse was uttered in the guttural Dunlending tongue, another dirty laugh from the men further behind � and then a brutal kick landed in his stomach and left him gasping for air. �Bloody mule-headed Rohirric bastard! You do not understand when you have lost, do you?�

�Enough, Felrod! I need him alive! Step back!� Now, that voice Elfhelm recognised, and even over the pounding in his head and the churning of his blood through his ears, he knew who had come to this shed, but what for? To torture and question him where no one would see? And what of his men? Where they still alive? Had one of them perhaps even managed to escape? He craned his neck, yet found that he could still not see what lay in the darkness of the building.

�Wormtongue...� He hissed through clenched teeth, spitting out his adversary�s accursed name as if the word itself were poison. �Tell me, is it Th�oden-King�s wish now that you assault the men who protect his people, or what is this? What crime is it you find me guilty of? Is it unlawful now to enter Edoras?�

�Ah, dear Captain, do you really feel you have to ask me that?� With a rustle of garments and leather, the dark-haired man squatted beside him, his pale features hauntingly to behold in the flickering light. The self-satisfactory expression the Counsellor�s wore was unmistakable, and if Elfhelm�s hands had not been bound, he would have snapped the man�s neck right then. As it was, it took all of his supreme willpower to even lift his head. The smile dropped from Grima�s lips, replaced by a hard glint in the almost colourless eyes.

�I know perfectly well why you are here, Captain! You planned to unseat me. Together with C�orl, you intended to attack me, in what way I do not know, but do not insult my intelligence by trying to convince me that you sneaked into the city in the middle of the night like a thief without treacherous intent. Do you believe that I could not guess the reason for C�orl�s departure for Aldburg four days ago? Do you believe that I did not know the purpose of that journey? If I had so little wit, I would not hold the key to power over the Kingdom of Rohan in my hands. But of course, your arrogance was very helpful, too. As long as the so-called warriors of this land keep underestimating me, you make my task very easy, and I thank you for it.� The triumphant smile with which Gr�ma rose was almost enough to lend Elfhelm the strength to kick again, but as it was, it was he who found himself the aim of another well-placed boot, and he fell back gasping... and froze as his adversary�s boot was placed upon his throat. From above, the Counsellor�s voice dribbled into his reeling conscious like poisoned honey.

�I could crush you right now and be done with you, once and for all, Captain, and it would not even cost me a single drop of sweat.� The pressure on Elfhelm�s throat intensified, and he struggled for air. �How does it feel to be at the mercy of someone you hate? How does it feel to know that you have failed all who set their trust in you?�

�You will soon find out, snake!� All air he had been able to collect was spent with his hateful rebuke, but the effort was worth it, even if the pressure on his throat now became intolerable. Would Gr�ma indeed kill him? Somehow, Elfhelm could not believe it. The next moment, the weight was taken from his neck, and he was forcefully hauled to his feet. The pain in his head exploded at the movement, and if it had not been for the strong hands holding him, he would have fallen to the ground like a stone. With a muffled grunt, Elfhelm squeezed his eyes shut to suppress another powerful retching fit. His chin was lifted, and for a moment, he hoped he would spew whatever was still left in his stomach onto the accursed filth, but then the dry heaving stopped.

�You think you are so smart, don�t you? Sneaking into the city like you did, thinking that I would not find out what you had planned. I give you one advice, Captain, even if it will not be of help to you anymore: I know everything! My eyes and ears are everywhere, and you cannot even breathe without me knowing about it. You made it so much easier for me to capture you by stealing into the city like this! I could not have arrested you for entering Edoras had you arrived in broad daylight, underneath the citizen�s eyes. They are afraid of me, but I do know my limits, and arresting a warrior they trust and respect without apparent cause would probably have resulted in an uprising, which I then would have had to end with much bloodshed. Ah, but now I understand: you wanted to spare your kinsmen the bloodshed! How very noble of you, Elfhelm of Aldburg! It shall not be forgotten when they sing the mourning song at your grave!�

�You like to hear yourself talk, Worm, don�t you?� Elfhelm spat. �If you want to kill me, just do it, don�t talk about it. But make no mistake; the people will learn of it one way or the other, and one not-so-far day, what you fear will become reality. Only you will be powerless to subdue them when it happens. They will tear you to pieces, I promise you this!�

�We will see who will tear whom to pieces,� Gr�ma dismissed his threat. �It seems to me that you forgot who stands behind me. There is a great army of orcs assembling in the west as we speak, and it can only be a matter of days now before they march for this city and erase every hint that this land had ever been occupied by man. Perhaps I will let you live until then; it should be quite satisfactory to make you a witness of the slaughter before I let you die. Anyway, for the moment, you are of greater use to me alive.� The nasty smirk became threatening. �There is a Rohirric maiden who needs to be taught certain lessons... and since I have no solid proof yet for her brother�s demise, I think that keeping you as an insurance that no one will engage in any foolish acts of misunderstood courage and honour might be a wise precaution to take.�

�You will use me to blackmail �owyn? You filthy--� Another blow to his head ended Elfhelm�s heated outburst, and he slumped in the henchmen�s grasp. Barely conscious, he felt his mouth being pried open and a gag applied, and for a moment, panic spread its nightblack wings in his stomach. With the nausea still not subdued, what if he had to retch while he was gagged? Weakly he fought against his assailants, but it was to no avail. A moment later, a slightly brighter quadrangle opened in the darkness before him and he was dragged outside into the street, stumbling and unable to walk by himself. Without warning, his head was yanked up by the hair, and Gr�ma�s face filled his vision like a sickly pale moon.

�Listen closely, Captain: we will take you up to Meduseld now. For every attempt you may undertake to free yourself or cry out and alert the citizens, we will kill one of your men. Do you understand?�

His men were still alive? Barely conscious, Elfhelm tried to turn his head, but it was forcefully held in place.

�Blink once if you understood. Fail to co-operate, and the first of your men dies right here.� He blinked. �Good.� Gr�ma released his hold and took a step back, his eyes narrow slits. �Remember it well, for I will make it true.�

In ghostly silence, the line of men left the shed and made its way over to the winding path up to the dark, forbidding shape of Meduseld�

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MEDUSELD

She could not sleep. No matter how she tossed and turned on her bed, �owyn just could not find the position that would make her drift off. Her sheets and blankets were already a crumbled mess, impossible to disentangle, and she gave up fighting with them and for a moment, just lay still on the bed and stared against the ceiling in the eerie pale light of the moon.

Something was very wrong; she felt it with every fibre of her body. The atmosphere had been strange in the hall all day long; the tension even worse than all these past weeks. It had reached breaking point; the point where something had to happen, to yield one way or the other, even if she could not tell why she felt tis way. At first, �owyn had blamed her strained nerves for this notion; after all, she had spent four days in the narrow confines of her chambers, forced to watch helplessly why Rohan�s enemy was free to act as he pleased. And of course the general mood had to be bleak in the wake of the recent events: �omer�s banishment, �lric�s disappearance, the sudden dismissal of Maelwyn, who had been after all a long-time member of the Royal household� but while those incidents certainly depressed the remaining personnel, they were not responsible for this strange feeling of foreboding the daughter of �omund felt; a weight lay on her shoulders as if the roof of Meduseld was about to collapse and bury them underneath the debris.

Abruptly, �owyn sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, no longer able to remain inactive while all her instincts told her of something afoot. She had barely seen Wormtongue today; only once around midday had he briefly entered her chambers to see her, his expression tense and guarded as if something had happened that was not to his liking. She barely dared to guess what it might have be that disturbed him. Perhaps �omer was returning with his �oreds to avenge himself on the Counsellor and his band of crooks? She still was not entirely convinced that her brother was at the Worm�s mercy, and she did not want to believe it. Quickly dressing in the darkness, �owyn then rushed over to the window, anxious to find out what it was that had her instincts in an uproar.

The glass had frozen over from outside, and she opened the window to gaze out. From her bedroom, she had a partial view of the slope with the ascending path, the nether regions of the city and the plains surrounding it all the way to the White Mountains, whose snow-capped silhouettes were a ghostly contrast to the blackness of the sky. The moon was almost full and shed its silver light onto the sleeping land, illuminating the scenery� A cold chill suddenly wandered down �owyn�s spine, and it had nothing to do with the air from outside. There was movement on the slope, several dark silhouettes on the ascent to the Golden Hall. She narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. Who was roaming the city in the middle of the night? For another long moment, she just stood and watched.

There were no horses. They seemed to be men, but some where moving strangely, hobbling, or in tight groups, as if they were carried or pulled along. The sight of it, even if it was indistinct, was so wrong that at last, the decision came easily to her: feeling for the comforting weight of her hidden dagger, �owyn rushed toward the door� and found it locked! The revelation stunned her for another couple of heartbeats. It also confirmed what she had already felt: something horrible was afoot. Somehow, she had to alert the few people who she knew were still on her side. Hands balled to fists, she hammered against the door.

�Gamling! H�ma! Help! Raise the alarm!�

Again she pounded against the wood, hearing some muffled words of the guard in front of her door but not giving a care as she turned to fetch the poker from the fireplace. With powerful swings, she attacked the door with renewed vigour.

�Wake up, all of you! Raise the alarm!�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

The night seemed to have no end. Although experienced in long, lonely vigils, Aragorn could no longer deny that he was experiencing increasing difficulties in warding off sleep. The long days on horseback, the worry and concern for their friends and the Rohirric Marshal and not least of all, the heavy evening meal had done their share to lull the ranger into a stupor. Likewise, neither the flickering light of the candle on the nightstand nor the pleasant warmth in the small room helped in keeping himself awake. Briefly he considered opening a window to let in fresh, cool air to clear his head, Aragorn nonetheless quickly dismissed the idea as he turned his attention back to the man he was watching over. It had taken �omer long to warm up, and his condition was still fragile. Better to keep fighting drowsiness than risk a relapse, Aragorn decided. And also, it was time to get some more liquid into his patient and see how the young man was faring. He rose to his feet.

��omer? Marshal?�

He received no response, but had expected none. Even if the Roh�r had improved to sleeping rather than being unconscious, he was probably so far out of this world after all that he had been through that he would not wake for at least another day. Gently, Aragorn laid his hand onto the warrior�s forehead and found it warm to his touch� too warm. But even this development did not trouble him; he had applied the mould to �omer�s wounds only a few hours ago; it would need some time yet to do its wonders. Judging from the state they had found the Rohir in, it was most likely that the son of �omund had been burning with fever even when he had set out from the cave, the fall from the back of his horse a result of his weakness overwhelming him. Yet while the cold had almost cost his life, it had probably broken the fever, too, and Aragorn did not believe that it would rise to a dangerous level again� not if he could help it. Turning toward the nightstand, he calmly poured some more of the steaming tea Willa had left him in a temperature-preserving vessel before she had gone to bed into a mug.

He looked up, having caught the notion of movement from the corner of his eye. �omer�s eyes, however, were still closed and the warrior was obviously dreaming as he shifted on the bed, his brow creasing with worry. Quickly, Aragorn set down the mug and once more laid his hand against the side of �omer�s face, this time to calm the ill man.

�Ssshh� be at peace, Son of �omund. You are safe and among friends.� This time, there was a reaction to his words, and his wrist was suddenly grasped as he found himself the focus of dark, feverish eyes. He did not stir, and very soon, his hand was released when the Rohir�s strength deserted him. Acting on impulse, Aragorn grasped it himself and pressed it reassuringly as he beheld the growing confusion in the young man�s stormy gaze. �There is no need to worry. You were wounded, but none of your injuires are serious. Just rest, and in a few days, you will have fully recovered.�

He could not tell whether he was being understood, but when he saw the younger man�s fog over with drowsiness again, he quickly turned to pick up the mug. �Here, I have something to drink for you. It will help you to sleep, and also quicken the healing.� With one hand helping his patient to hold up his head, the ranger gently pressed the rim against �omer�s lips, and although the Rohir was barely awake enough to keep his eyes open, he drank half of the contents in small sips before he lay back, utterly exhausted even from the small effort. When Aragorn addressed him the next time, he had already sunken deeply into the realm of sleep again. A tired smile wandered over the ranger�s face. Even if it had only been brief, but that first moment of wakefulness so soon after the crisis had to mean that �omer was out of danger. He felt incredibly relieved.

�Sleep, Son of �omund,� he whispered, carefully covering the warrior�s hand with the blanket again. �And when you wake again, you will feel much better.� After a quick inspection of the bandages, the Aragorn settled back into the chair for the continuation of his vigil�

Chapter 22 - Challenged

MEDUSELD

The way up the slope to the Golden Hall had never seemed so long to Elfhelm, but it was not only due to his injuries. Every step on the way, through the horrible pounding in his head, he had waited for the one opportunity to overcome his captors, the one opportunity to communicate with his men and tell them to hold themselves ready. And yet, nothing had presented itself to him. The Worm’s henchmen held him firmly in their grasp, their fingers cutting off the circulation in his arms until Elfhelm could not even feel his hands anymore, and while he waited, his mind raced: what had happened to C�orl? Was he still alive? And what were Gr�ma’s plans now that he finally held all the cards in his hands? Had he already disposed of H�ma and Gamling, too, for Elfhelm was certain that this had to be the point where their obedience to the King ended. Under no circumstance would they tolerate that the last men loyal to the Mark would be executed or thrown into the dungeon...at least he hoped so.

Silently the mixed group approached the corner, behind which the Golden Hall waited for them, and from the last building before the stairs, a shed normally used to store provisions for the Royal Household, Elfhelm suddenly saw a group of men emerge. All of them were but dark shapes, strangers to his eyes, but the way four of them had arranged themselves in a half-circle around the fifth person in the middle who stumbled toward them as if he could barely walk, Elfhelm knew who was joining them for the last part of the way. His soul cried out as he beheld the bleeding, dishevelled figure of his brother-in-arms, and his jaws clenched around the gag in his mouth in helpless frustration. Gods, what had they done to C�orl? Blood encrusted the warrior’s face from two gaping cuts on his left eyebrow and cheekbone and also below his nose and mouth, and the way he held himself indicated that the injuries to his head were by far not the only ones. Of course not, Elfhelm cursed silently, C�orl would never have betrayed them. He knew the valiant Captain of Edoras long enough to understand without words that his kinsman had silently swallowed whatever punishment his assailants had subject him to in order to make him speak. He had given them nothing, ready to sacrifice his own life to ensure that the chance of surprising their adversaries remained intact for Eflhelm, but he had been powerless to act when his torturers had turned on his men after forcing them to watch the terrible beating of their captain. And along with that horrible threat of killing his family, poor Anlaf had finally broken. As hopeless as his own situation seemed right now, Elfhelm could not blame the man. He could not tell what he would have done in the same situation.

When the two Captains regarded each other, the sight of his friend’s swollen and bruised features prompted a surge of rage so powerful and uncontrollable in Elfhelm’s that he rammed his weight against the guard to his left, sending him to the ground and kicking him hard in the ribs. From the corner of his eye, he saw his men respond, and for a moment, he felt wild triumph and the possibility to free themselves well within reach. It was abruptly ended by a hard blow between his shoulder blades that sent a silver bolt down his spine. All feeling left his legs, and the warrior fell to his knees like a sack of meal, grunting. With a brutal tug, his head was pulled up by the hair and he looked into Wormtongue’s face.

"I thought we had an understanding, Captain. Very well, it is you who will have to live with the consequences of your actions now." The Counsellor gave a short nod to one of his minions guarding a captive. "Kill him!" Suddenly, there was thin, long knife in the thug’s hand, and as Gr�ma straightened and walked over to where his followers had already suppressed the short eruption of mutiny among their prisoners, Elfhelm groaned. Against the gag in his mouth and the fire in his spine, he tried to shout out, he tried to scream, and he even tried to rise to his feet to prevent what would happen, but the hands that held him down were too strong.

"Watch closely!" Felrod sneered into his ear, audibly delighted by his opponent’s dismay. "It is your fault that he dies now."

Before the widening eyes of the Rohirrim, the dark-haired guard buried his dagger to the hilt in the chest of the rider next to him, and with infinite sorrow and rage Elfhelm realised that it was Anlaf. The doomed warrior’s jaw muscles clenched painfully around the leather in his mouth as he narrowed his eyes, and his muffled outcry tore apart his comrades’ souls. For a moment, his powerful body tensed… and then sagged when the last remains of life left him. No one could move. The Rohirrim were stunned into shock, and their guards tensed in expectation of their violent reaction. For a while, the world hung frozen. His almost colourless eyes scanning the prone figure on the ground for movement, Gr�ma cautiously prodded his foot against Anlaf’s side. The man felt slack, thoroughly lifeless, and the pool of blackness spreading from beneath him did not lie. Satisfied he turned around to stare at the kneeling Elfhelm.

"You still have not learned that I keep my promises, Captain." He extended his hand toward the lifeless man. "There, look what you did with your misguided sense of comradeship and honour. Although I do not understand why his demise should even distress you…" A cruel glint flickered to life in the pale eyes. "After all, this was the man who betrayed you. Shouldn’t you rather thank me for his disposal?"

An unintelligible outcry of rage escaped Elfhelm at the evil Counsellor’s mockery and again he attempted to shake off his captors, but the men were too strong, and he could do nothing when they hurled him to his feet. Another cold gaze grazed him before Gr�ma turned to his own men and said with a curt nod at the dead man’s body: "Take him with us and see to it that there is nothing left of his blood on the path. We will dispose of him in the dungeon. And now let us hurry, before the city wakes after all and we will be forced to kill even more men!" With a warning glimpse, the Counsellor turned and approached the steps to the Golden Hall with firm strides. For the longest moment, Elfhelm and C�orl’s eyes met, and both men saw the bottomless despair in the other’s gaze before they were forcefully shoved toward the stairs.

-----------------------

MEDUSELD

"Gamling! H�ma! Wake up! Please, you must—" From outside, �owyn suddenly heard the sound of fast approaching steps, and then an angry voice exclaimed:

"Excuse me, my lords, but may I ask what you are seeking here in the middle of the night?"

"You may not; K�r. Step aside, or I’ll make you!" It was H�ma’s voice, and its sharp tone and the long unheard determination in it caused �owyn’s heart to jump into her throat. They had heard her! They had indeed come! With renewed vigour, she pounded against the door with the palm of her hand.

"H�ma! H�ma, open the door! Someone is approaching Meduseld!"

"You cannot do this, Captain! The Counsellor’s orders said—"

"I do not care for the Counsellor’s orders! I am the Chief of the Royal Guard, and if anyone has the authority to give me orders, it is but the King himself! To him I swore my oath and not to his counsellor, and since his niece is calling for my aid, I will see what she needs, regardless of what you have to say against it. Stand aside, if you do not want me to go through you!"

"H�ma! H�ma, quickly, open the door!" Outside, the men quarrelled for another moment, but at last, �owyn heard the much anticipated sound of the key turning in the lock, and the door opened to the concerned faces of the seasoned warriors. "H�ma! Gamling! Oh B�ma be praised, I was beginning to despair!" She felt the strong impulse to fly around Gamling’s neck, but knew that there was no time. Rushing out of her room, �owyn’s gaze went over to where the massive doors of Meduseld still lay in darkness. She turned around, urgency in her features. "Someone is approaching Meduseld, a group of men, and I feel that there something is wrong with them. They seemed to move with great stealth."

"A group of men?" In an instant, the two warriors were alert. They no longer heeded the guard as the man stole away into the shadows. Gamling stared at �owyn in alarm. "Whom did you see, Lady �owyn? Enemies? Dunlendings even?"

She shook her head.

"No Dunlendings, or at least I do not think so, but they moved strangely. Quickly, Gamling, you must summon your men and await them here, ready for battle, whoever it is!" Instead of leaving, the old warrior simply turned and shouted into the silence:

"All men to me! Quickly!" Yet before he could proceed, the doors of Meduseld were thrown open and a great group of men spilled into the hall along with a gust of cold air. Yet it was not the air that chased a chill down the guard’s spine as he beheld the mangled and bloodied features of the two Rohirric captains in their midst. Involuntarily, Gamling’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword. �owyn had been right; evil was afoot, and this time, he could no longer afford to tolerate it; not for peace’s sake, and not for his King’s sake. With C�orl and Elfhelm, two of the four remaining men of power were in danger of being eliminated by the Worm, and he felt that at last, the time had come to make his stand. Squaring his shoulders, the wiry warrior stepped forth together with his brother-in-arms to confront the darkly-clad figure who just now shed its hood and stared at them contemptuously from beneath a deeply furrowed brow.

"What is this, Counsellor Gr�ma?" H�ma’s tone was hard and determined like �owyn had not heard the usually calm guard in a long time. "What evil is going on in Edoras these days that you felt you had to arrest Captain C�orl and Captain Elfhelm, and in the middle of the night, too, sneaking into Meduseld in all secrecy as if you wanted to prevent that anyone sees your prisoners? It appears to me that this is not an operation sanctioned by the King, nor that he knows about it."

�owyn’s heart beat furiously against her ribcage, and involuntarily, her hand went for her hidden dagger as the atmosphere in the hall abruptly thickened to the point where a single heated word would suffice to ignite it. Finally, the true servants of the Mark had decided that they would no longer tolerate the Worm’s secret reign, and both H�ma and Gamling were a sight to behold as they blocked Gr�ma’s path. It was exhilarating to finally witness the confrontation that would see Wormtongue banned, an event she had wished for for years… and yet at the same time, a part of her was dying, because she knew that with this deed accomplished, her uncle’s fate would be sealed… and �omer’s as well, if the Snake truly held him captive. She did not fully believe it after the uncountable lies the filth had been telling her over the years, but still the possibility remained. And her uncle… perhaps there would be a way to save him; perhaps their healers would find the potion in Gr�ma’s chambers and be able to find a cure to it in time. Perhaps, no one had to die… but even if all went wrong, it could not go on like this.

In the long sleepless nights of her captivity, �owyn had at last come to the painful realisation that the protection of her loved ones could not mean the sacrifice of their entire people. As hard as the decision had been to make, she knew for a fact that �omer would be content with it if by his death, he would buy life for Rohan, and so would be Th�oden. Still, how was she supposed to go on without them, knowing that she was responsible for their deaths? Perhaps, it would be for the best if this confrontation would be solved with bloodshed; perhaps, she could see to it that it would claim her life, so that she would not have to continue living with this great burden of guilt about sentencing her only remaining blood-kin to death. Her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her dagger as her fingers clenched it in unconscious distress, �owyn fought back the despair that threatened to choke her. This was not the time to break down; first, they had to dispose of the enemy! Defiantly, she lifted her chin, determined to see this through.

Behind them, the remainders of the Royal Guard still loyal to Gamling and H�ma emerged from the darkness of the throne room to form an expectant half-circle behind their captains and await the outcome of the confrontation, ready to assist if their strength was needed. Meanwhile, Gr�ma stared at the two men in front of him with the same amount of disdain he would have reserved for a rotting orc-carcass.

"These men you see here, they entered the city in a secret and most cowardly manner that leaves only one possible conclusion: they are conspirators against the Mark and planned to--"

"Conspirators against the Mark? C�orl and Elfhelm?" Gamling laughed. "I fear, Counsellor, that you will find no one here ready to believe your unfounded accusations! Take the gags out of your captives’ mouths and let them explain themselves, or are you afraid to hear the truth, namely that they came to rid Rohan of its true plague, which is you and your men?"

"I see, Old Man. You are one of them. Alas, I wished I had known before how far the conspiracy against the King already reaches." The pale blue eyes narrowed to dangerously sparkling slits as Gr�ma raised his voice for all to hear: "Listen well, Gamling and H�ma of the Royal Guard: you are herewith dismissed from your service to the King! You will step aside and leave this hall now, or I warn you, I will have you both arrested as well!"

"And what would our crime be, Counsellor?" Instead of looking intimidated, Gamling even took a step forth, and his fingers tightened around his sword. "That we protected our King and our people against your devious plans? Because it is not Th�oden-King you serve, that much is clear to all present by now, but no matter who your true master is, he will have to find himself another pawn to do his bidding, because here and now, your rule over Meduseld ends! Release your captives, or we will free them by force!"

"I do not believe that you understand the situation, Lord Gamling." Gr�ma’s voice was almost too low to be heard, just like the slight rustle of dry leafs before the snake underneath them uncoiled for the deadly bite. Nonetheless he took a step back, which brought him closer to the safety of his men who had likewise unsheathed their swords and looked ready to kill their captives at the first command of their master.

Unsettled by their adversary’ strange composure in the face of the uttered challenge, �owyn followed the man’s gaze beyond Gamling’s shoulder into the darkness of the throne room, and the sight of many dark shapes silently emerging from behind the pillars froze her. In a half circle, they arranged themselves with readied swords behind the members of the Royal Guard who looked in shock and confusion at the new development. These were Dunlendings! How in �orl’s name had Dunlendings entered the city, and even the Golden Hall without anyone having taken notice of them? Where had all these men come from? �owyn guessed the answer, and her already pale features turned deadly-white. So Gr�ma had pried from Th�oden’s captured mind the knowledge of the secret passage between the King’s chambers and the foot of the lonely hill of Edoras; a path hewn through the rock by generations before them and thought as a means to ensure the King’s survival in case that an enemy would ever gain entry to the Golden Hall. There, in all secrecy, Gr�ma had arranged his army within this passage, safe from detection until he would need it on the day when he would seize control. His plan was flawless, for the warriors still loyal to the King were now far outmatched.

The guards’ expressions became grim as they realised their predicament. Instinctively, they moved closer together and formed a circle, daring the enemy to attack. For a moment, none of the men dared to breathe. His features darkened and his body tense in expectation of the first charge, H�ma suddenly turned to �owyn.

"My Lady, please, you should go back to your chambers now. I believe that he will let you do so..."

"Yes, �owyn, you must go. There is no sense in getting yourself killed!"

"No, Gamling, my place is here with you. I can help you." She drew her dagger, not evading the men’s pleading gazes as she whispered: "Yes, we are outnumbered, but all we must do is kill the Worm! Without him, they have no purpose to fight for, they will submit!"

"Lay down your weapons, all of you!" Wormtongue now raised his voice, interrupting her, and on his pale face, open triumph sparkled for the first time. No longer did he have to hide his satisfaction, for his victory was complete; with the removal of C�orl, Edoras belonged to him. "As even the most stubborn Rohrric peasant would have to admit: you are outmatched! Don�t be foolish! You will lay your arms to the ground and step back now, or this hall will bear witness to a massacre of the likes it has never experienced before. You will either let yourself be arrested… or be killed, the choice is yours!"

The men looked at each other, doubt and fear on their faces, and for a brief moment, �owyn thought that they would submit... but from the corner of her eye, she caught the silent exchange between Elfhelm and C�orl, nothing more but a wink, and suddenly, all hell broke loose...

Chapter 23 - The Battle for Meduseld

MEDUSELD

The attack found Wormtongue�s guards unprepared, and before they knew what hit them, they had been rammed to the ground and immobilised with kicks to their stomachs and heads by their captives.

�Free the prisoners!� H�ma shouted and raised his sword, and despite the threat of the Dunlendings from behind, the Rohirrim charged in a wave against Gr�ma�s guards. Not thinking about her own safety when the future of Rohan was at stake, �owyn joined in their attack although she only carried her dagger, and in the first rush that swept them right into the midst of the enemy, she suddenly found herself standing before Elfhelm.

�Quick, turn around!� With a well-aimed cut, she freed him of his bonds, and he flexed his hands to start the circulation to his fingers again.

�I thank you, my lady, but now you must seek shelter, or your brother will have my head if anything happens to you! Duck!� Pushing her aside even as he spoke, his fist landed in the face of the guard who had thrust his sword at �owyn; blocking the strike. The man fell like an axed tree, but even before he hit the ground, Elfhelm had wrestled the blade from his grasp and ended his foe�s pain permanently. �Rohirrim, to me! Form a circle!�

In the flickering light of the torches, it was difficult to determine who was friend and who foe; everywhere men were fighting in close proximity, sometimes even back to back, and battle cries and shouts penetrated the din of clattering swords and rushing footsteps. Not wanting to flee when every single blade was needed but understanding her disadvantage caused by her inferior weapon, �owyn stood frozen in the conflict for a moment too long, and suddenly found the way to her chambers blocked by an advancing Dunlending. His crude sword menacingly raised for the deadly strike, he grinned at her with yellow teeth as he realised that his intended victim had no means of defending herself.

�Do not kill the King�s niece!� Gr�ma�s voice suddenly rose above the noise of the battle, but it did not penetrate to the Hillman as he lashed out. Her instincts dropping her to the ground in an evading motion, �owyn suddenly found herself at her assailant�s feet, and with her whole weight behind the thrust, she buried her dagger in the Dunlending�s gut. Malicious eyes widened in unexpected pain, and the man�s sword clattered to the ground as he clutched his horrible wound. Not wasting her time to see him die, �owyn rolled and grasped the blade she had won. More confident now that she had an adequate weapon, she regained her feet and looked around to get her bearings. Where was Gr�ma? He would not be in the middle of the melee without a weapon, she knew him better. And just as she had suspected, she caught a brief glimpse of the familiar dark cape behind the mighty statue of his guard Felrod where he supposedly deemed himself safe. Hah, she would show him! If no one was allowed to attack her, she would put that advantage to good use.

Moving through the cluster of fighting men as if she were invisible, �owyn focused on her enemy. She would end the Mark�s captivity now; with Gr�ma�s death, their enemies would surely surrender. Her only regret was that she would have to kill the Worm quickly to not risk it that his reign endured if he was just wounded and their attack failed. Still several men were between her and the Counsellor; and carefully she sought her way around them, avoiding any provocation that would cause them to attack against Gr�ma�s orders. Suddenly a voice cried out:

�Lord Gr�ma! Watch out! Behind you!�

She did not see the man who had warned Wormtongue, but his words had been heard and now the aim of her attack pivoted Upon seeing her and instinctively understanding her intent, Gr�ma�s pale eyes widened in disbelief before he tugged at his guard�s shirt.

�Felrod!�

Driving back the Rohir he had fought with a powerful strike, the big man swivelled, and a nasty grin spread on his angular face as he waved his sword at �owyn in a menacing gesture.

�How nice! I have never fought a woman before. It is one experience in life I always wanted to make: first cut them up, and then��

�Then enjoy this!� �owyn shouted, and lashed out while Gr�ma dived away to seek shelter behind a pillar. Sparks flew as her crude Dunlending sword collided with Felrod�s, and with a horrible clang, half of her blade was hacked clean off while the hilt of the mutilated weapon reverberated in her hands. Instinctively, �owyn retreated, but Felrod had licked blood now and was determined to claim his prize.

�You think you can defeat me, lassie? I already defeated your brother, so what do you think you can do against me?�

At his words, a red curtain lowered over �owyn�s vision. That pig had killed �omer? With a shout of rage, she attacked with the shard of the blade in her hands, succeeding in blocking the big Dunlending�s countering strike and cutting deeply into his hand. The next moment, she suddenly found herself on the floor to his feet, unable to breathe and her stomach a ball of fire. Gasping, she looked up and saw the big hand that had punched her reaching for her. Strong fingers dug into her tunic and hauled her to her feet when suddenly, she was released from the grip. From her left, an angered shout reached her ears, and a Rohir charged against her tormentor. So furious was his onslaught that he drove the Dunlending back several steps before Felrod could block his sword and push against his attacker. It was H�ma.

�Flee, �owyn! Out of the hall! We cannot hold them for much longer!� The guard was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, and his eyes were wide in dismay as he cast her a brief glance of utmost urgency.

And as she followed his gaze, �owyn saw that he was right: wherever she looked, their men were fighting one against three or four enemies at a time, and even as she looked on, their numbers dwindled further when two more fell to the ground, hewn by their foes. She turned back and saw Gr�ma behind his pillar, almost within reach while the front doors of Meduseld lay equally far away on the other side. The exit was unguarded, all men involved in fights. No one would stop her if she fled now. But how could she leave Gamling and the others behind when they needed her? She turned back to H�ma, just in time to see the guard block two mighty thrusts, but with the third, Felrod knocked the weapon from his hands.

�No!� She dashed toward him, meaning to help, but it was too late: his attention focused on evading his assailant�s next strike, H�ma stepped back � and into the sword of a Dunlending who had sneaked up on him from behind. �H�ma!� For a moment, the guard�s eyes looked in utter bewilderment at the bloodied sword protruding from his skewered chest� then his knees buckled and he fell, his weight ripping the sword in his midst from the Dunlending�s hands. Black eyes stared at �owyn in dismay as the Hillman unexpectedly found himself unarmed, and his triumph over the Captain of the Royal Guard was short-lived as �omund�s daughter hewed his head clean off his shoulders with an enraged shout.

�You are defeated!� Gr�ma�s voice could suddenly be heard over the fight. �Drop your weapons and you shall live. Anyone still insisting on resistance dies I mean it!�

Pivoting, �owyn saw that is was indeed true. There were only few Rohirrim left among the mass of dark-haired Dunlendings and the Worm�s personal guards; too few to speak even of the faintest hope. Among them, she saw Elfhelm and C�orl, both bleeding from several cuts and surrounded by enemies. Gamling she could not see, but her heart sank at the discovery that she herself was encircled by their foes. There was no escape; not for her, nor for anyone. They had lost the battle for Meduseld. All fighting spirit leaving her, she sank to her knees next to H�ma, and her broken sword clattered to the ground. �Oh H�ma��

Reaching out to caress the dying man�s cheek in a last gesture of farewell, �owyn felt a sudden desperate impulse to take up the razor-sharp shard of her blade and turn it against herself. What use was there in living on? What could she expect from her adversary, if not even more grief and horror? She had known H�ma of the Royal Guard for most of her life. He had always been kind to her from the moment on when Th�oden had brought them with him from Aldburg, and many times had he covered for her, deliberately misdirecting her stern teachers of needlework and court-etiquette who had sought her while she had been secretly at the training grounds, practising her swordplay. He had been her secret confidante, an ally in the strange world of the Rohan court she had been cast into. And now, he had saved her for the last time. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stroked his cheek, horrified by the sight of the thin stream of blood flowing from the corners of his mouth.

�H�ma, I am so sorry��

�I wish�� He coughed, and the pain forced him to shut his eyes. �I wish you had escaped, my lady�� His rough hand grasped her fingers, and she held on. �You� you should have fled.�

�I could not leave you behind,� she cried now, oblivious to the sound of steps which approached her from behind. �But you saved me, H�ma. Once again, you saved me. And it will not be in vain; the Worm will not win, I promise you that.�

H�ma could no longer speak, but the sadness in his gaze said more than words could ever have expressed. She pressed his hand, and choked on her tears when the guard�s eyes grew distant with death and his strength deserted him.

�My� lady�� It was but a whisper, and with it, H�ma of the Royal Guard died. The pain was too great for a scream, and so �owyn just bent over the fallen man and cried silently while the steps came to a halt behind her.

�He left us no choice,� Wormtongue�s voice reached her ears. �You left us no choice. I did not wish for this bloodbath; it was your own fault. Why do you people not understand when you are defeated? Why can you not see when you are faced with impossible odds? The Rohirrim always pride themselves of their defiance and their stubbornness to accept someone else�s superiority, but I say that it is foolishness. He needn�t have died. It was your misdirected sense of pride and honour that put him into his grave, my Lady.�

A hand dug painfully into her shoulder. It was an impulse, happening so fast she had no means to stop herself: suddenly, the broken sword was back in her hand and she thrust it upward in a vicious move. A pained shriek rewarded her before her wrist was seized and the weapon painfully wrestled from her grasp. �owyn shouted in pain as she was hurled to her feet by her twisted wrist, and the next moment, her breath was cut off by a thick forearm pressing against her throat.

�Did she hit you, my Lord?� Felrod�s deep voice growled behind her, and as Gr�ma straightened, his hand cupping his cheek and blooded oozing from between his fingers, �owyn felt a moment of wild triumph even through her pain and despair. Her adversary�s pale eyes blazed with fury as he regarded her.

�Throw her into the dungeon! Take the darkest, loneliest cell you can find. It is about time this wench is taught a lesson she won�t forget!�

�What about the others, my Lord?�

�How many of them are still alive?�

�Three. The two Capains and Gamling. As you said earlier that you wanted to take them alive if possible��

�Indeed, that is what I said.� Taking his hand from his cheek to regard the redness of his own blood, Gr�ma cast a last, dark glance at �owyn before he turned to the men who awaited his orders. �You did well. Throw them into the dungeon as well. Captain Elfhelm will be given the cell opposite the White Lady�s, and he will be shackled in it. The other two will be brought into another wing, out of earshot from each other, and without light. I will teach the stubborn descendants of �orl the bitter taste of defeat!�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

It was no longer easy to keep herself awake with the slow approach of dawn, Freya found. With �omer resting save and soundly on the bed next to her chair, his cheeks slightly flushed from the fever but nowhere near as pale and death-like looking as he had when the three travellers had brought him to her, the surge of energy that had flooded her veins during the treatment had vanished. She was still concerned for him, but it was more like holding the night-watch over her children on those occasions when they had played for too long outside and caught a cold. No longer did she believe that �omer could still die, not when he looked so much better already.

�You will live,� Freya whispered, her fingers brushing over his heated brow in a gentle caress although he gave no sign of hearing her. �I know it. You are strong.� Letting her hand sink, she settled for taking his hand into hers, hoping that he felt her presence even in the darkness he roamed and thus know that he stood not alone in his fight. With a tired smile, she leaned back into the chair and looked at the twilit world beyond her window. It was too early to lose hope, Aragorn had said. Was �omer�s survival then to be seen as a good omen, a sign to not despair? Her eyes resting on �omer�s still features, Freya felt the same, unsettling stirring in her she had always felt in the warrior�s presence. Ever since their first, fateful meeting, she had asked herself whether she had been right in sending him away when, after all these years, their feelings for each other were still as strong as ever. Every time he visited her here, he brought her emotions in an uproar, and she knew that he felt the same way about her; his secretly stolen glances even when his men were around, the little smiles on the face of that man who didn�t smile often and the soft, loving expression in his eyes whenever he looked at her, they all gave him away, and it was an elevating feeling and excruciating at the same time, with neither of them able to live out what their hearts truly wished for.

As if �omer felt her turmoil in his sleep, he suddenly shifted his position and sighed deeply, but his eyes remained closed. With a loving smile Freya bent over to smooth away a strand of flaxen hair which had fallen into his face� but suddenly, she froze. A well-known chill turned her skin to gooseflesh, and when she looked up, she saw Osred�s face through the narrow gap behind the open door. Quickly retracting her hand as if she had reached into fire � �And perhaps that is the very thing I have done!� � she sat bolt upright and heat flushed her face, even if her own dismay angered her. She had done nothing wrong! Yes, she loved �omer, and Osred had known it for a long time. They had never talked about it, but the looks he had given her whenever the Marshal had been around had spoken louder than words. But it was not anger she saw now on her husband�s broad, shadowed face with the trimmed flaxen beard. It was defeat, something even worse in Freya�s opinion. It would have been easier for her to bear had Osred shouted at her or flung the door, but this quiet submission in his expression was unbearable. While her mind still raced thinking about what to say, Osred suddenly turned away and left, and she jumped to her feet to follow him.

�Osred! Osred, wait!� As quietly as possible, she shut the door behind her and followed her husband to the end of the corridor where he stood and gazed at Aragorn, who was sleeping on the ground before the fireplace, wrapped into a blanket. When he turned around, his accusatory gaze briefly grazed Freya, and without a word, he passed her by and went into the kitchen at the far side of the corridor. Her heart painfully beating in her chest, Freya followed him inside and closed the door behind her. �Osred, please, it is not as you think��

�Spare me, Freya,� he mumbled, staring at the window as he felt not able to face her. �I know what is between you and the Marshal. I even understand you, for how could I � a simple farmer � compete with a Lord of the bloodline of �orl himself? Of course you feel flattered that a noble shows interest in you; every woman would. Who am I to complain?� He shrugged and shook his head. �Perhaps I should rather feel honoured because my wife is deemed worthy to belong to a captain of our riders.�

Sitting down at the opposite site of the table, Freya reached for his hand, but he took it way, denying her touch. She sighed, shame burning her at the sight of her husband�s torment.

�Osred, will you hear me out, please? Please?� Reluctantly, he looked at her. �Osred, you are my husband, and I love you, you must know that!�

�Not as much as him,� Osred said quietly. �You cannot deny it; I have seen you together.�

�And you feel that you have a reason to complain about the way I have been treating you? Do you not feel loved by me?� He remained silent at that. �Because I do love you, Osred, but it is a different kind of love. �omer� I have known him for so long, he is like a brother to me.�

�No.� Osred shook his head, and now his voice was coloured with anger at last. �No, you do not look at him as if he were your brother; do not take me for a fool, Freya! Perhaps I must endure the thought that you long for another man, but I will not endure being lied to! I do not deserve that after all these years!�

�No, you don�t.� Now she had to avoid his gaze. �You are right.�

�I love you, Freya; I took you for my wife because of who you are. I love our children and the life we lead out here; I love this land and I will do all that I can to ensure that we have a good life. I may not be a great warrior with shining armour and endless courage and honour, and I may not know much of the world beyond these mountains, but I do know what is needed to ensure the survival of my family even in these hard times. I work hard from dawn to dusk each day; I set the fields, I see to the animals and the buildings, and when I am done, I come home and hear how your day was and play with our children. I do what I can, Freya, but I see that I cannot compete against him, and it hurts.�

�You do not need to compete,� she said quietly, her eyes burning. �I married you even though �omer asked me to become his wife years before we met. Do you not think that this is the answer to all your doubts?�

Obviously, it was not.

�But why did you marry me, Freya? Was it not only because you knew that you could never have him? That, and you needed someone to take care of the farm for you, someone who would not always be away and might not return from his next battle. I was the reasonable choice, but never the one your heart wished for, is it not so? No matter what I do, I will never be more than second-best to you. It is not fair, Freya.�

She swallowed, his words burning her soul because each of them was true. B�ma knew how much she had tried to feel the same for Osred as for the son of Marshal �omund, but her heart would not let itself be fooled, and it knew the difference between reason and love all too well. She had hoped to be able to hide it from her husband, not wanting to hurt him when he didn�t deserve it, but apparently he had known it after all for all these years they had spent together, even though he had said nothing. Feverishly she tried to think of a way to tell Osred that he was mistaken, but her head was empty. Feeling the tears rise, she shut her eyes.

�Have you never wondered what you are for him?� Osred now asked lowly, defeated. �Have you never asked yourself this question? He knows as well as you that there is no future for the two of you together, he must have understood it from the beginning. He is only playing with you��

�He is not!�

��to ensure that there will always be a warm bed and a good meal waiting for him on his patrols through the Eastfold. I know of what I speak, Freya! It was that way in the village I was born in. The young women there, they were always keen on making friends with the riders, because those would share their stories of honour and battle with them and take them out into the world even if it was only with their tales. Sometimes, they would even bring them gifts, small tokens they had won in battle and which they brought the woman of their choice to be sure she�d remember them after they had been away for a while. Not because they loved them, but to ensure that they would have a home away from home on their journeys; and perhaps even a woman in addition to the one waiting for them at their home; a body to use when this one urge became too great after weeks of separation��

��omer is not like that!� she shouted, rising to her feet with such force that the chair toppled over behind her. Surely, all in the house were awake by now and listening to their quarrel, but this she would not take! �He never used me, and he never tried to, either! Years ago, when we were both much younger, he even asked me to become his wife, but I sent him away even then because I knew that it could not work. We are friends, Osred, even if I will admit that we feel more for each other than ordinary friends, but we have arranged ourselves with the situation. We cannot be together, not in that way; that is simply the way it is. I never betrayed you!�

�But you married me instead to make me feel every day that I would never be the one your heart beat for.� Osred narrowed his eyes. �You got yourself a fool who would work his fingers to the bone to provide you and your family with food and protection while your love was reserved for someone else. I was blind, Freya, until today I never understood how cruel you were.� He stood up from the table, too embittered to further bear his wife�s presence. He needed to leave. In a desperate attempt to escape the conflict, he rushed to the door.

�Osred��

�Stay away from me, Freya! Please! Do not touch me!� Lifting both hands in a defence motion against her, Osred shot his wife a warning glare, and the young woman�s insides twisted into a hard knot at the bitter expression on his face. She halted, and her arms dropped to her sides as all strength left her.

�I do love you, Osred. Don�t forget this when you leave me now. I love you in a different way, and that love is just as honest, if not more honest, as the one I have for �omer. Think about it when you leave me now; think about the life we share, and whether you truly think that for all these years, we were living a lie. Will you do that, Osred?�

He lifted his chin, stubbornly, unsuccessfully trying to hide his inner pain.

�I cannot tell you yet what I will do, Freya. At this moment, I do not know anything.� He did not fling the door, but the silence he left behind was just as deafening.

Chapter 24 - Abandon all Hope

Chapter 24: Abandon all Hope

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MEDUSELD

Shock-numbed and grief-stricken, �owyn offered no resistance as the guards lead her downstairs into the dark, forbidding heart of the mountain, a place she had only been to once before in her childhood, and although it had just been a visit then, it had been a frightening experience. It was �omer who had enquired about the dungeon after witnessing a trial in which their Uncle had sentenced a man to a fortnight in the cell because another man had been injured in a fight. A few months had passed since their relocation to Edoras, and while Th�oden had deemed the siblings too young to visit such a dreadful place, their cousin had in the end persuaded his father to be allowed to show them the place, his point being that � as possible future rulers � his cousins should be well aware of each aspect of Rohan life. The darkness, the cold and leaden silence and the hollow echo of their footsteps had horrified �owyn even then, and she had been glad to leave the dungeon shortly afterward to the mockery of her brother. This time, she would not get out so easily, or so soon, and yet the prospects did not frighten her � they didn�t even reach her. She was dead inside.

As they passed the already occupied cells, surprised shouts and gasps could be heard upon the sight of the noble King Th�oden�s niece. �owyn neither heard them, nor did she not care; in the wake of the battle, she was left bereft of all fighting spirit. Gr�ma was now in possession of the one thing he had craved for all these years: absolute power over Meduseld. The only remaining question was whether he would leave her uncle alive yet, counting on his worth as a captive just in case that �omer wasn�t dead, or that Erkenbrand and Grimbold, now the Mark�s only two Captains and remaining men of power, would ride for Edoras because they felt that something was wrong in their capital. Or was he killing the feeble King even now, convinced that he no longer needed him? And what would he do to her afterward? So many questions and possibilities she denied herself to contemplate. What did it all matter? With �omer banished and most likely dead, H�ma killed and Gamling, Elfhelm and C�orl incarcerated along with her, no one was left to save their people from extinction; it would be too much too expect that deed accomplished by the two remaining Westfold-Captains. Not even the thought of the deep gash she had marked Grima�s face with could bring a smile to her face.

What was that scratch compared to the agony poor H�ma had had to endure, impaled on a sword and dying in his own blood on the floor of the Golden Hall? What was it compared to the sight of C�orl hanging between his captors like dead weight, too weak to stand and losing more blood from his multiple wounds with each beating of his heart? And Elfhelm, likewise a man she had known since her earliest childhood as he had been their father�s best friend; and the mentor and often times saviour of her brother� he, too, was wounded and would rather need a healer than the dungeon. Gamling she had not seen as they had pushed her over to the door leading to the stairs ahead of the others, but she suspected that in the horrible fight, he, too, had not been spared from the sharp swords and axes of their enemies.

At a crossroads, they briefly came to a halt in the flickering light of a distant torch; and Wormtongue turned around to his men. The deep cut in his cheek throbbed and hurt, and yet the pain did not spoil his mood. He had won, and determined to savour each and every little aspect of his victory he had worked so hard for all these past years. Pain was a temporary thing; glory was forever, and he would wear this scar proudly. Even better, in the years to come, it would be a constant reminder to the hot-headed niece of Rohan�s soon-to-be-history King of how she had failed. In fact, she had done him a favour with it. Clearing his throat, Gr�ma pointed in the direction of the crossing corridor and addressed Guthlaf.

�You, Guthlaf, will take Captain Gamling to the northern end of the dungeon; and C�orl to the western end. There will be no torches in their corridors. I want them to be in absolute darkness. As they have demonstrated to us too often by now, the Rohrrim do not learn lessons easily, so we must ensure that they understand their defeat this time. Go!�

�C�orl needs a healer, or he will die,� Elfhelm growled, his voice tense from his own battle against the pain. His head felt as if the top half of it was about to fall off, and from numerous cuts he had not been able to avoid, he felt his hot blood running down his body. �Or is that what you want, to make us die slowly down here, Worm? You will not succeed, no matter what you do. Sooner or later, �othain will find out what happened here, and he will alert Erkenbrand and Grimbold. Once they are at the Golden Hall�s doorstep, you will wish that you never came to Edoras!� In vain, he tore at his bonds as C�orl and Gamling were led away.

�Is that so?� Gr�ma replied coolly, immensely satisfied with Elfhelm�s obvious distress. He had yet some more information to share which would stun the arrogant Captain of Eastfold into silence, and the haughty daughter of his king along with him. Every word tasted delicious on his tongue as he bent his colourless eyes on his captives to share his full knowledge with them at last: �I really hate having to kill your hope, but I fear that the Lords Erkenbrand and Grimbold will soon be too concerned with trying to save their own part of the Mark to even think in which direction to ride for Edoras�� Oh, how delightful it was to see the warrior�s expression darken with this unnamed dread he had woken!

�What do you mean?�

�What do I mean?� With raised brows, Gr�ma inclined his head to gaze at �owyn. The King�s niece had for once not even attempted to resist his guards up to this point, and he had almost believed for her spirit to be broken, but now the distance in her gaze gave way to a wary sparkle. Smiling, the Counsellor shifted his attention back to Elfhelm. �I mean that within the next few days, the men you are setting your hope in will be faced with an army of Uruk-hai so great that even the sky has not enough stars to rival their number. From the Gap of Rohan to the border to Anorien, the grass of the Mark�s plains will disappear beneath the feet of a host greater than anything this land has ever seen; a host so great that the earth will shake from their marching long before you can see them even from this hill!� Thoroughly satisfied with the growing horror in the warrior�s eyes, Gr�ma bend forward to whisper in mock-confidentiality: �Your Westfold-armies will be crushed underneath their feet like ants, Captain Elfhelm. Whatever aid you are expecting, no one will come. No one will be left alive to come for you, except the great orcs of my master. In about a fortnight, the Kingdom of Rohan will have ceased to exist. Enjoy its last days, even if you spend them in a cell.�

With Elfhelm rendered unable to speak, Wormtongue�s re-focused on �owyn. Even in the flickering light he could see her turn deadly white. �Perhaps, if you behave, I will let you witness the destruction of Edoras from the terrace, my Lady. It should be a most valuable lesson for you to see the power of Isengard swallow you insignificant realm of farmers and horses. Not even all the stubbornness of your people combined will suffice to let them survive.�

�owyn�s lips were a bloodless, trembling thin line, but her voice was dangerously low when she replied: �The most devastating defeats are always received when one of the combatants thinks that he has already won. The sons and daughters of �orl know how make good use of such haughtiness, Worm. Our salvation will come from a direction you won�t anticipate, mark my words.�

Wormtongue smirked.

�Proud and stubborn as ever, our brave daughter of �omund. Very well, so be it; this is only the first day of your trial yet. Let�s get her into her cage and be gone, for it feels rather draughty down here and I long for my warm fire. Go!� He gave his guards a curt nod and slowly trudged after them while they pushed the King�s niece into the small, barred niche in the rock, shut the door and turned the key in the lock even as she turned around. Then he watched with great interest as Elfhelm was shackled to the wall by his wrists in a standing position in the cell opposite �owyn�s.

Upon the completion of his orders, Felrod turned around, keeping half an eye on their female captive to take delight in her reaction as he asked:

�My Lord Gr�ma, do you want us to extinguish the torches in this corridor, too?�

Provokingly slowly, Wormtongue turned around to face �owyn, and for the longest moment, let her remain in uncertainty while he pretended to contemplate his minion�s question. She was afraid of the dark, oh yes. How much she dreaded to be left in this very real cage and to be choked by its narrowness and the absence of distraction from her hopeless situation! � No. Not yet, at least. I want them to see each other. And I want her to witness how with each passing day, this man you care for will weaken while he slowly starves, provided his injuries don�t kill him first. How slowly he dies will be your decision, my Lady. Each day, I will come down here once with water and food, and you will be appointed a task. If you solve it to my full satisfaction, he will get both. If I need to force you to do it, he will only get the water. And if you won�t comply at all, he will get nothing.� He paused meaningfully, waiting for the crunching with which Elfhelm�s cell-door closed to make his point before he added: �You now have a whole day to think about my proposition, Lady �owyn. Use it well.� He granted his guards a curt nod as an indication of his satisfaction with them as well as an order to leave. �Now back to your posts. Our captives need the quiet to contemplate their situation, and I do believe that there is some cleaning up to do in the Hall.�

�You will pay for this,� �owyn shouted after him, rattling at the steel bars. �Sooner or later, you will be punished, and you will pay like no man has ever paid before!� She received no answer, and when at last the sound of steps faded away, all strength left her and she leaned heavily against the bars, her despairing gaze meeting Elfhelm�s. The warrior lifted his head, and urgency replaced the weakness and pain in his grey eyes.

�My Lady, I do not know what that Snake has planned, but I fear that he will try to use me in order to break you. But no matter what he does to me, you must promise me not to bend to his will. Lady �owyn? Will you promise me this?�

She stared at him in dread.

�I do not know if it is in my power, Elfhelm. If he tortures you� I may not be able to endure it.�

�But you must.� Elfhelm�s gaze pierced her. Instinctively the seasoned warrior understood what it was their adversary would ask of �omer�s sister, and he knew that he would not want to live with the knowledge of being the reason for �owyn�s degradation and the destruction of her spirit. �Promise me that you will not tolerate it that the Worm lays his hands upon you! Not for me, and not for anyone! If you succumb to his will, it would be my ultimate defeat. Pain cannot touch me; I have endured it before, and I will die gladly if I can ensure by it that your honour stays intact. Promise me!�

The moment stretched between them, and for the longest time, only the omnipresent trickling of water could be heard in the semi-darkness while the daughter of �omund of Aldburg and the Captain of Eastfold stared at each other. At last, �owyn closed her eyes, and the two words she uttered despite the hard lump in her throat felt to her like the ultimate betrayal.

�I promise.�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

�I am proud of you, Cousin. This was a dire situation you were in, but you mastered it.�

�So I am still alive?� �omer looked at the older man sceptically. �But then why am I talking to you?�

Th�odred smiled.

�Because you are dreaming. I exist only in your head, don�t you remember? We talked before, and you didn�t ask those questions then. I am, in fact, you. And yes, you are alive.�

Not understanding his cousin�s strange explanation, �omer creased his brow, but then chose to ignore it. If Th�odred said that he was not dead, he would believe him, and wasn�t that all that mattered? Silently, both men let their eyes sweep over their surroundings for a while. Once again, they were at the fords, but this time, the slaughtered men and horses of Th�odred�s �ored were nowhere to be seen, and the clearing with the backdrop of forest and mountains looked almost idyllic in the misty light of early morning.

�And now you expect me to summon the Rohirrim against Gr�ma,� �omer began at last, and his gaze wandered over to where his cousin squatted on a rock that protruded into the river, his hands in the fast-flowing waters. �Even if I am still alive, I will need time to gather our forces� - provided they will indeed follow me.�

�They will,� his brother in all but blood said confidently, looking up. �You underestimate your own esteem, �omer. There are none among the Armed Forces who would ever believe the Worm�s accusations. The Royal Guard, I cannot say, because they are the King�s own men and closer to him than anyone else. Whatever my Uncle says is their law, no matter what his condition is. But the riders are your weapon, and you must use them now. They are already waiting for you.� The moment stretched between them; a moment when �omer studied his cousin�s expression intensely to find nothing but honesty.

�I hope it is like you say,� he said at length and shifted his view at the distant mountains, unfocused. �But I fear that there is not much time left to act. It is only a feeling, but the dark clouds are already on the horizon. It cannot take much longer for the storm to break loose. There were too many orcs involved in those skirmishes of these past weeks, and their sheer number suggests that the White Wizard�s army must be ready to strike any day now. �

�And your intuitions were always accurate,� Th�odred admitted. Refreshing himself with the clear cold water, he straightened. �Saruman must be your first concern, as much as you ache to ride for �owyn�s aid. The threat he poses must be eliminated first, for if you wait too long, his army will invade our land, and even if we succeeded in stopping it later, the danger would be too great that we lose the entire Westfold in that first attack. Erkenbrand and Grimbold are valiant men, but they cannot withstand the assault of the White Wizard�s entire host. They will need your help, �omer, and soon. Once Saruman is defeated, Wormtongue himself is nothing, and every threat he could still utter would be empty.�

�But what if we lose this battle, Th�odred?� It was a thought �omer was reluctant to concern himself with, but the mental image of the burning city of Edoras was hard to suppress. �What if we are defeated, and no one rides to �owyn�s aid?�

Th�odred rose to his feet, and his gaze hardened.

�And what if you freed her and Edoras, only to be surprised by an army following on your heels that killed everyone in the Westfold and burned the land behind them because there were no sufficient forces to repel them when they crossed the Isen? Wouldn�t she die then, too, and everyone else along with her?� He paused, waiting for his words to sink in before he added, shaking his head: �No, �omer, it is Saruman who needs your attention now. I am afraid that there is no other way.�

�omer remained silent. Th�odred was right, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. His cousin had not been the Mark�s mightiest man of war for nothing before his death; despite his youth in comparison to seasoned captains like Grimbold and Erkenbrand, Th�odred had always been a shrewd strategist and won many skirmishes by superior planning as opposed to greater numbers.

Not waiting for his answer, King Th�oden�s son added: �You doubt, and yet the situation may not be as grim as you figure it, Cousin. No longer do you stand alone; and you made some mighty friends along the way. Mighty enough to turn the tide for us, even, with a little help from the Gods.� He smiled faintly at �omer�s sceptical expression.

�You mean those three wanderers we met on the plains? Aye, I agree that they must be skilled warriors; or they would not have reached the Mark. Their leader had something to him I cannot put into words, and I am honoured to know them on my side, but, how can three additional swords, no matter how well-handled they may be, make a difference when we are faced with an army that multiplies with each passing day and replenishes its ranks from one battle to the next?�

�You will find out,� Th�odred said cryptically. �But you are right in one regard: The enemy�s army grows larger the longer you wait. Your only chance of defeating it would be to attack it while it is still not complete. Every day counts now, Cousin. You must strike first and surprise them, or we will be outmatched to an extent that no matter what we do, we cannot emerge victorious. And when you go, you must rip out the plant by its roots, never to grow back. No matter where the traitor has his breeding pits, you must destroy them, so that no one can ever use them again.�

�omer snorted, understanding what his cousin was driving at. �What you are saying is that I should stop lying around and act.� Blue eyes mustered him thoroughly, and it appeared to �omund�s son as if the older man looked right into him.

�I realise that you will need at least a few days to recover. But you must find the balance. You will not be able to lead our riders if you can barely hold yourself in the saddle. But aye, I fear that there may not be enough time for you to recover fully before you must be on your way. It is a balance only you can find. For now, the best advice I can probably give you is to heed your saviours� words: rest while you still can, because the opportunity will soon pass.� And with a long, warning look, Th�odred turned his back on him to wade toward the other side of the river. To his dismay, �omer found that he could not follow him there. All of a sudden, an invisible barrier had formed between them.

�Th�odred? Where are you going?�

�I must leave now. The world of the living is not my place. I gave you what help I had to offer, but the rest of the path you must walk alone. You know the direction you must take yourself now; you don�t need my help any longer.�

�I will always need you, Th�odred! Please�� Feverishly thinking of arguments, but coming up empty, �omer helplessly raised his hands.

�You have other help now, potent help, and it is given willingly. Accept it for the good of Rohan and free our people, Cousin! They are setting their hope in you, and they are right to believe in your abilities. You must find that confidence within yourself now, �omer, there is no more room for doubt.� Having reached the other shore, Th�odred turned around, and a choking feeling of finality robbed �omer of his breath as his cousin raised a hand in a gesture of farewell. �Follow your instincts, �omer! Become the leader our people need in these evil times. They are waiting for you, and eager to follow the man they respect. Call them, and they will come!�

�When will I see you again?�

�I will await you on the other side in due time, and gladly welcome the saviour of our people in this realm, but not anytime soon. Until then, I bid you farewell, brother!�

�Th�odred!�

But already, a blanket of grey mist veiled the opposite riverbank from his eyes, and the river disappeared even as he dashed into the water, swallowed by whiteness. Disoriented and dizzy, �omer halted. Turning on his heels as he tried to pierce the insubstantial wall around him, he briefly caught a glimpse of something darker to his left, and moved toward it. It was a path formed by trees on both sides of the way, their gnarled, leafless branches touching each other to form a solid roof. Instinctively, �omer understood that it was the path he was expected to take, and with a deep intake of breath, he straightened and squared his shoulders. Where it would lead him he did not know, but it felt right when he set foot upon it, and he submitted himself to its gentle pull�

Chapter 25 - Awakenings

WHITE MOUNTAINS

After a long night of worry and concern, the world ready to be born again and eagerly welcomed the first faint touches of daylight on the horizon. Yet they failed to lift Freya�s spirits as they slowly illuminated the world beyond her window. Since her quarrel with Osred, the young farmer�s wife had sat unmoving in her chair and listened to the soothingly regular sound of �omer�s breathing; her gaze unfocused and distant while her earlier argument still echoed through her head.

�No matter what I do, I will never be more than second-best to you. It is not fair, Freya.�

No, it wasn�t. Not for her, not for Osred, and not for �omer. He had never asked to be born a noble and to lead a life where its many privileges were counterbalanced by high expectations and strict rules of conduct. Why should the Third Marshal of the Mark not be free to take for his wife whoever he wanted, instead of what others deemed good or appropriate for their land? And why should she not be deemed worthy, only because she could not write or read, or had no fancy dresses to wear or knew how to behave in the presence of the lords? All these skills were impractical when it came to ensuring the survival of her family in this isolated part of the Mark, but still considered higher of worth than the vast practical knowledge she had accumulated in a life that had forced her to stand on her own two feet at a very young age. Where was the justice in that? Years back when she had just met �omer, she had sent him away herself for those very reasons, having been raised with these traditions in her mind; but lately, she had begun to wonder.

Although she did not wish for a life at the Court of Edoras, the thought that others might consider her unfit for it stung. What would those fine people do if they were forced to make a life out here in the mountains? Undoubtedly they would starve before even a single month had passed! Not that �omer fit that description: though born a noble and undoubtedly taught the necessary skills to move securely and without fail at the court, her young rider had declared to her repeatedly how he loved the straight-forward, uncomplicated life underneath the open skies. The dangers on the plains were well known to him and he was prepared to face them; even preferring to test himself against a severe storm or a group of enemies rather than being towed into a game of words with the council members at Edoras. It was the simple life of a rider he was born for, and being part of a group of men loyal to each other to the death meant more to him that the approval of a court tactician ever could. And that feeling was mutual: during each of his visits with his �ored, Freya had clearly perceived the respect his riders held for their leader despite his youth. They respected �omer for his skill and determination as much as his humility; and his noble blood was of no concern to them. It were his deeds which had earned him that respect, not his lineage. The thought that one day, duty might call �omer permanently back to Edoras and end this nomadic life he loved whole-heartedly was a dark cloud on the horizon of his future, and for his sake, Freya prayed that it would never come to that.

�I do what I can, Freya, but I see that I cannot compete against him, and it hurts.�

She closed her eyes and fought against the rising tears at the thought of Osred�s despair. Never had she intended to cause her husband pain, or to make him feel not good enough for her, and for all these long years, she had believed to have successfully hidden the true extend of her feelings for �omer by disguising their mutual affection as ordinary friendship. With his powerful frame, his long golden mane and the contrast of his dark eyes in his well-cut face, the young marshal - in addition to the power which came with his title and his physical prowess - was after all a strikingly handsome man, and Freya was certain that women throughout the Mark regarded him with secret desire in each settlement he passed on his patrols. The sudden quiver of jealousy that thought woke in her came as a surprise, and she creased her brow. What was she doing? It was not her place to feel jealous about a man she could not have! Inwardly tensing, she returned from the foray into her mind to the narrow confines of the room to regard the object of her conflict.

�omer had not married yet, and in the long years they had known each other, he had never told her of someone being close to his heart except for his family. What did it mean? That he, too, was not ready to love another woman but her, that he instinctively sought her likeness and kept coming up empty? It would have made it easier for Freya to give him up if she could tell herself that he belonged to someone else now, she mused, inwardly asking herself whether she was now blaming �omer for her own failure. Yet how was she supposed to handle this emotional conflict in the future� provided that a future existed for their people? Would it make things easier for her to ask �omer to no longer visit her farm? Perhaps it would be the best solution, even if it would break her heart, and possibly �omer�s, too. And what of her brother Halad? He had been eleven years old and unable to cope with their mother�s death when that fateful winter storm had blown �omer and his �ored into their little valley, and at once there had been a strange connection between the lad and the young rider, one that endured even today. How could she cut that connection?

The warrior�s attention and understanding had brought Halad out of his self-chosen isolation, and Freya knew that up to this very day, he saw in �omer a surrogate older brother and mentor, even if he had not followed in the riders�s footsteps and become a warrior himself, for which she was thankful. As much as she respected the Rohirrim for their selfless service to the Mark, the thought of sitting at home worrying while her loved ones rode into battle was disquieting. She had lost her mother at an early age, and three years ago another hard winter had claimed her father�s life after a long time of illness. Freya was not certain that she could bear another loss. With �omer entering her life, she had not been able to avoid that fear altogether, but so far it had been helpful to hear of the battles he had been in only after he had survived. She was not sure how that would be in the future, now that she had seen for the first time that he, too, was not immune against the dangers roaming their lands.

So many questions, and after all these hours of pondering, Freya still felt unable to come to a decision. What was she supposed to tell Osred when she saw him later today, provided he would even speak with her? And what should she say to �omer once he woke? No doubt would he realise the change if she suddenly kept her distance. How had her life suddenly become so complicated? With a soundless sigh, Freya settled back into the chair and though back to the day when she had first met her husband at the Harvesting Celebration in one of the bigger settlements in the Folde.

What had it been that had attracted her to Osred? His powerful frame and white-golden hair, a shade brighter than she had ever seen and which made him stick out of the crowd wherever he went? His broad, honest face with the big blue eyes which seemed incapable of hiding even the smallest thing from her, and which, during those the three days of the celebration, had sparkled with heartfelt joy whenever he had spotted her in the crowd? Or the way he had treated his parents and younger siblings, with so much care and consideration that he had reminded Freya of her own family? Perhaps it was everything, and combined with the considerable skill Osred had demonstrated in the various farming competitions, she had somehow come to a reach the practical decision that he would make a suitable husband. She had liked him at first sight, hoping for love to develop between them; a decision of her head and not her heart. Perhaps she had hoped to forget �omer over him� and yet after all these years, it was still the son of �omund who made her heart beat faster and who caused that pleasant flutter in her stomach whenever she thought about him. It was a sensation Osred had never evoked in her, and perhaps it was time to admit to herself that he would probably never do. Had she committed the worst mistake of her life by marrying him?

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Freya�s gaze accidentally fell on �omer�s face� and with a jolt, she realised that his eyes were open and mustering her intently; his expression a single great, unspoken question.

�So sad�� he breathed upon noticing her attention, his words almost inaudible, and his brow furrowed with concern as if he asked himself what had turned the spirited woman he had known since his youth into the sad creature sitting by his side. While Freya still tried to think of an answer that would not result in a blatant lie, his hand emerged from underneath the blanket and opened to her in an unspoken invitation. With a lump in her throat and an involuntary glance at the still closed door, Freya finally laid her delicate fingers into his palm, her conscience crying out over her delight at �omer�s touch as he cautiously closed his hand around hers. The smile she forced onto her face felt entirely false, and nervously she asked herself whether he would notice. After a moment of mutual silence, the need to speak at last became too great.

�Not sad.� The lie sounded awkward even to her own ears. �Worried, yes. And tired, too. I feared for you, �omer, and I thank the Gods that they decided to let you live.� Anxiously she regarded his face, searching for the hint that gave his disbelief away. As to be expected, he looked drowsy and exhausted, and yet Freya imagined seeing that glint of scepticism in his eyes she had feared to find. How could this man be so perceptive when he had only just woken after a night spent on the narrow ledge between life and death? But then again, wasn�t this one of the qualities she had loved him for since the beginning? To this day, Freya had never felt so naked under �omer�s gaze, never more vulnerable: there was no hiding from these inquisitive, keen eyes, and she felt not surprised when in response to his examination, he released her from his hold.

�I am sorry�� he whispered, a slight frown spreading over his face. �It is not my place to��

She did not want him to let go of her, and yet at the same time, she hoped that he would not touch her again. How was a woman supposed to endure that kind of conflict? Longer than necessary, she cleared her throat, but the lump that had formed inside would not disappear.

�You do not have to apologise, �omer, please, don�t be foolish.� Ignoring the warning of her inner voice, she deliberately claimed back his hand. �How do you feel?�

He considered her question. The blistering cold which had mercilessly sucked the energy out of his body was but an unpleasant memory, and the throbbing of his wounds had ebbed to a more endurable level. In the wake of the fever, his body felt slack with weakness but at least pleasantly warm. His side and leg still hurt, but it was nothing unbearable, and as he freed his injured hand from underneath the blankets to look at the bandages, the swelling there seemed reduced, too. Aye, he had been lucky indeed, no matter how mangled he felt. His gaze found back to Freya.

�Alive,� he replied at last, cautiously flexing his fingers. �I did not expect to�� His thoughts flowed apart, and in silent excuse, his lips curved upward in a sleepy, thankful smile. �You saved me,� he whispered, the sincerity in his eyes sending a shudder down Freya�s spine. B�ma no� She wished he would stop looking at her like that.

�It was not I who saved you,� she said at length and looked own upon her hands to avoid his gaze, attempting to give their conversation a new, less personal direction. �It was your friend; I only assisted him. He knows more about healing than I will ever learn. At some part of the procedure, he actually asked us for mould to work it into your wounds!� She laughed an insecure little laugh. �I thought he had lost his mind, but when I look at you now, I must admit that his unusual treatment has to be the reason that you are still alive� and it was he who found you, too.� She could see the confusion spread over �omer�s features. Too much information at once, too many words. She had been babbling, Freya realised. No wonder, considered how nervous she still felt in his presence. And she had so much looked forward to being by his side when he woke!

�My friend? Elfhelm? �othain?� But what business would have brought �othain into the mountains? And since when did he know about healing? Too exhausted to further follow the confusing train of thought, �omer shut his eyes.

�His name is Aragorn. He said that he met you on the plains, and that you gave them horses to find their friends.�

�Aragorn�� The sound of the unexpected name gave �omer the strength to look at Freya again, even if his eyelids seemed as heavy as horse-shoes.

�You made some mighty friends along the way. Mighty enough to turn the tide for us.� Th�odred�s voice echoed in his mind, and through his exhaustion, he felt a sudden surge of excitement strong enough to prop his hands against the mattress in an attempt to sit up� but if his eyelids alone weighed too much to keep them open for longer than for a few brief moments, his body seemed to be made of lead, and he could not lift it at all. Groaning in response to the silver bolt shooting through his injured hand and side, �omer sank back onto the mattress.

�Careful, �omer! Your wounds--� Freya�s hands on his chest, their pressure soft but insistent, were more than sufficient to keep him down. Fighting with his deteriorating concentration, �omer gathered what concentration he had left to ask:

�Is he still here?�

�Aye,� Freya nodded. �He and his two friends spent the night here.� Her mouth curved into a slightly wondrous smile as she remembered the sight of the three unusual strangers. �An elf and a dwarf accompanied him. They were the first beings of their kind I have ever seen, and still, I only had eyes for you, isn�t that funny?� Suddenly, heat crept into her face, and she stopped herself before she could say more than was appropriate given the current situation. It would not help things if she kept on letting �omer know with each of her words how much she cared for him. �The two slept over at Halad�s house, but Aragorn is in the living room. It is still early and he is probably still asleep, but I am sure that he will look after you as soon as he wakes� he sat with you for most of the night until he felt certain that the danger had passed.�

�His friends� he found them?� Gods, he could barely think. If only he wasn�t so tired! There were so many questions to ask, so many things he needed to know. Like Aragorn�s presence in this isolated vale� what had brought him here, a long way from Fangorn Forest where he had intended to go? And yet even in his feeble state, �omer remembered clearly having perceived one thing about Aragorn Son of Arathorn in the few moments of their conversation: this man would always have a reason for his journeys and deeds; he was not the kind of traveller who wandered through the world aimlessly.

�I do not know; he did not mention them, but only the three of them are here, if that answers your question.� Freya lowered her gaze to glance upon her restlessly moving fingers. Angered over giving away her emotions so easily, she folded them. �You can ask him later� but now I have a question, if you are not too tired to answer it, but I have worried about it all night.� From his own contemplation, �omer�s attention shifted back to her. �Aragorn said that you were attacked by orcs, but I wonder, why were you alone? Where is your �ored?� A shadow fell upon his face, and Freya swallowed, fearing that she had said something wrong. �Or shouldn�t I ask? But I do care for them, especially for �othain. Is he well?�

�I don�t know�He was not with me.� Not feeling ready yet to confess what had happened, �omer closed his eyes again, shame flushing his cheeks. No, it was not something he wanted to talk about; not yet. Not when he was just about to drift off again. But there was other one thing he had to know. �Firefoot�?�

�He is here, and he is well. Halad looked after him yesterday. He said that he has suffered a few scratches, but Firefoot allowed him to clean them, and they are no reason for concern. Do not worry.�

�He protected me�several times. Without him, I would not be here.�

�And you can visit him once you are better,� Freya offered, readjusting the blankets and stuffing �omer�s hands back underneath. After last night, he still needed all the warmth he could get. �But for now, you must rest. Aragorn said that none of your wounds are too serious, but you were exposed to the cold for a long time, and the infection weakened you. The best you can do for now is sleep and allow your body to heal. You are safe here, and there is no reason to rush things.�

�There is,� he mumbled, already half asleep again. �I must summon our forces� There�s not much time left��

�But I am sure that you will agree that you are in no condition to leave the bed yet, let alone ride through the Mark and give battle. They will have to wait.�

�No time�� he repeated, barely audible, and then fell silent as he once again drifted off into darkness. Although his words had been but a whisper, the sense of urgency in them chased a shudder down Freya�s spine, and as she straightened, hugging herself, she could not shake the feeling that the storm which had been brewing on the borders of the Mark for so long was about to be unleashed�

Chapter 26 - Revelations

EDORAS

It was the first time in days that the sun shed its light onto the plains from a cloudless blue sky, and even if it was still cold, the very sight warmed �othain’s heart and lifted his spirits as he approached the great gates at the head of his �ored. For one and a half days, they had pursued a band of orcs on the fringes of the Westemnet, urging their horses to keep up their speed once the tracks they had followed became fresher, until at last, they had overcome the foul beings just before these could seek refuge in the nearby mountains. Needless to say, they had put an end to them.

And since none of his men or any of their horses had been wounded in the fight, �othain’s spirits were unusually high as he steered his bay gelding toward the opening gate. From the guard tower, the bell announced their approach to the citizens of Edoras, and its silver sound warmed his heart. It had been a long time since he had last felt positive about the City of Kings; had felt at home within the confines of the mighty wooden fence.

"Captain?" Aedwulf rode up to him. "Do you have other errands for us today or…"

The son of C�orl shook his head.

"I just kept you away from your families for two full days. No, Aedwulf. See to your horses, and then you are released from duty for today. Tell the men. I will give the King my report, and then I will go and seek some respite as well."

"But like I said earlier, I would deem it wiser if some of us accompanied you up to the Golden Hall…" The older man’s gaze went up to the stark silhouette of Meduseld, and his expression darkened as he narrowed his eyes "After that confrontation with the Worm’s guards, I would feel very uncomfortable at the thought of you delivering your report unguarded, �othain. B�ma will forgive me when I say this, but all know that Meduseld has become a snakepit. Please, allow us to protect you. We cannot afford to lose our Captain, too, not after they already banished our Marshal." He stared back over his shoulder, for a moment lost in thought before he at last turned back with a soundless sigh and slow shaking of his head. "Do you reckon that �omer is still alive? What might he be doing now?"

"I count on it, and I count on it that he is out there somewhere, teaching our enemies to fear him and preparing his triumphant return to Edoras," �othain said with more confidence in his voice than he felt, his gaze following Aedwulf’s to the distant mountains. "And when he does, we must be ready to support him."

The other warrior nodded.

"Aye, my Captain, and that begins with being alive. Thereby I consider it decided that we accompany you to the King, �othain, and I will hear no words of protest! Hiya!" With a mock-serious glare, Aedwulf urged his mount ahead of his captain and called out to their riders to itell them of his plan. As expected, it did not take long to find a dozen men more than willing to make the way up to the Golden Hall; the difficulty was more to determine who would not accompany them, as �othain found the thought ridiculous that their entire �ored walked up the path. And needless to say, the sight of one hundred and twenty armed, grim-faced warriors marching up the hill toward their own Hall of Kings would definitely upset the citizens. He wanted to keep things as quiet as he could. There were enough worries on the people’s minds already.

In a long line, riders and horses snaked through the half-opened gates into the city, and the feeling of returning home brought a smile to �othain’s lips even if home was no longer what it used to be. The faces of the people awaiting them on the large open space behind the fence brightened with relief, and with heartfelt shouts of joy, the riders were welcomed back by their family members. His gaze sweeping the buzzing activity around him, �othain involuntarily sought his father’s stern features in the mass of people, but it was his mother he saw instead hurrying toward him with an expression on her face that at once alarmed him: how could eyes look so relieved and so anxious at the same time? Swiftly sliding out of his saddle while his heart beat furiously in his throat, �othain opened his arms, and Glenwyn accepted the invitation gladly as she embraced her son with a vigour which astounding given her fragile appearance.

"Oh �othain, it is good to have you back! With all that going on in our land, one can never be sure if one sees his loved ones again when they ride out, even if the report spoke only of a small band of orcs." Her arms tightened around his chest, and he smoothed one of her ashen curls aside to kiss her lovingly on the brow.

"And I am glad to see you, Mother, but where is Father? Has he returned from Aldburg yet?"

The lines on Glenwyn’s face deepened abruptly with the mention of her husband, and her bright blue eyes, who were so much like her son’s, fogged over with concern.

"Aye, he returned yesterday shortly after you left... but none have seen him since he went up to the Golden Hall to deliver his report to the King. I know that he did not ride out again, because his horse is still here, but he did not return home last night, and after what happened to �omer, I dare not think about what might have happened up there!" Barely suppressed tears sparkling in her eyes, she craned back her neck to look at her son who stared at her with a growing feeling of foreboding.

"Nobody has seen him, you say? B�ma…" Pressing his lips together, �othain looked up to the Hall towering above them. The decision came to him easily, and Glenwyn almost recoiled in shock when she beheld the expression of cold fury on her son’s face. "I will go immediately and find out where he is, Mother, and if that Snake in the disguise of the King’s counsellor says so much as a wrong word, he will deeply regret it!" He let go of her and turned to grasp his horse’s reins. Torn between clashing emotions of relief and concern, the wife of Captain C�orl laid a hand upon his arm, first wanting to hold him back, but reconsidering at the same moment.

"Be careful, �othain, please! Do not go up there alone!"

How far had it come for the people of Edoras to be afraid of approaching Meduseld, �othain thought bitterly. He grasped his mother’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Fear not, Mother. My riders already demanded that I’d take them with me, and once I tell them about father’s disappearance, they will all storm up the hill together with me. Wormtongue will not dare to oppose me with an entire �ored on his doorstep!"

---------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Daylight flooded his room through the heavy yellow curtains and bathed everything in a warm golden glow when �omer woke again. From outside, children’s laughter could be heard, a wonderful, long-missed sound of normality. It market the absence of danger, and for a moment, while his body was still pleasantly heavy with sleep, �omer allowed himself to just lay back and stare at the ceiling, thinking of nothing.

"Ha ha! You missed! You are too slow!"

"Hrmpf! I will show you who is too slow here, Young Man!" a deep, rolling voice grumbled in mock-anger, and a lazy smile spread over �omer’s face when he recognised its owner. B�ma knew he had made his own experiences with the temperamental dwarf; to the point where they had glared at each other with drawn weapons. Had not Aragorn interfered at the last moment, they would have spilled each other’s blood. And how foolish would that have been, for the enemies of the White Wizard to kill each other and helping him in his evil task of emptying the plains of the Mark of all human life! "The orcs do not fear Gimli son of Gloin for nothing throughout Middle Earth! Sooner or later, I’ll catch you, and then I will tan both your hides!"

"You will never catch us!"

The sound of silent laughter reached �omer’s ears from the right, and cautiously, he turned his head to see Aragorn in the chair Freya had occupied earlier. Strangely enough, the sight of Elendil’s heir did not surprise him. Had not Th�odred spoken of the mighty friends he had made and who had come to his aid?

"He does not really mean it," Aragorn chuckled, amused by his friend’s antics invisible to him through the curtains, but which he could easily imagine. "That dwarf loves to act as if he understood no fun, but he has a very big heart, that one, especially for young ones. Even if they are having their fun with him. I suppose they cannot understand how someone can not be taller than they and not be a child. I can honestly say until today, I have never seen Gimli engaged in a snowball fight."

"A snowball-fight?" �omer echoed in amused disbelief, trying to envision the stout, hairy warrior in that activity and failing. "I wish I could see them."

"You can, they are right in front of your window." Aragorn rose to his feet and walked around the bed to pull aside the curtains. The bright sunlight blinded �omer, and he shielded his eyes as he adjusted to it after days of muted twilight in the caves and overcast skies. "Let me help you sit up." He offered his hand, and it was readily accepted.

Remembering how he had failed last time, �omer cautiously pressed his free hand against the mattress and then slowly half-shoved, half allowed himself to be pulled into an upright position against the wall, grimacing against the throbbing in his side. The effort brought beads of sweat onto his face, but it was a definite improvement from the first attempt a few hours earlier, and Aragorn nodded at him approvingly as he helped him to make himself comfortable. Finally, �omer leant back against the thick cushion in his back, and he smiled at the sight of the short-legged opponents racing through the snow in front of his window.

"They are good with the snowballs. He stands no chance."

Aragorn nodded, satisfied.

"I am pleased to see that you recover extraordinarily quickly, Marshal."

"I am no longer a marshal," – Aragorn’s eyebrow went up – "- and aye, I am astonished about that myself. Although I probably shouldn’t be after Freya told me that I was in your capable hands." �omer met the ranger’s gaze evenly. Somehow, talking about the shame of his banishment to this man was easier than it would have been to others. There was something in the older man’s nature that inspired trust; a thing �omer had never given lightly to anyone. "She said that it was you who found me on that mountain path, and that it was you who treated me. Your intervention is the reason that I am still alive." He gave the ranger an appreciative nod. "I will not find it easy to repay that debt."

"You repaid it already by surviving," Aragorn assured him. "In fact, it was us who were indebted to you in the first place for lending us your horses although you knew of the risk. Yet I would not have accepted them had I known what resulted from this generous decision." He inhaled, and his expression turned grave as he shook his head in disbelief. "You say that your title was taken away from you. It is still hard to accept for me that Th�oden-King would expel even his own kin. I used to know a different man on the throne of the Mark."

"That may be so, but the Th�oden-King you are speaking of is no longer the man ruling us. That man is but an empty shell our enemy uses cunningly to weaken the Mark from within, for there are still too many men of power left who will do Th�oden’s bidding regardless of how strange or unwise his orders may sound to them. I assume there is no way of expressing it differently: my Uncle has become the ultimate tool in the undoing of the Mark." �omer fell silent, broodingly staring with unseeing eyes at the window when memory briefly overwhelmed him. At last, his attention returned to Aragorn. "You say that you knew him before he fell under the enemy’s influence… when was that? I do not remember ever seeing you in Meduseld."

"It was a long time ago," Aragorn said, deliberately imprecise as he knew that the younger man would be sceptical when he told him the truth. "It does not matter now. We will concern ourselves with him, and with your enemies," Aragorn assured him, compassion colouring his voice. He could well imagine how the proud young man in front of him had to feel about being expelled from his land by his own family member. "Once we have defeated them, your Uncle’s condition may even be reversible."

"I must unfortunately say that I am having my doubts." Lost in contemplation for another moment, �omer then shook his head as if shaking off the last cobwebs of an unpleasant dream, and life finally returned to his eyes when he asked. "What about your friends, did you find them?"

Aragorn nodded.

"Indeed, thanks to your help we did, and astonishingly enough, they even were in good spirits and more or less unharmed. Those Halflings appear to be possessed of an incredible talent to land themselves in trouble and then escape from it by the most unbelievable incidents. By pure chance, they discovered what must be the safest place in all of Middle Earth, so we decided to leave them there for the time being and head back to return your horses... and also, I told you that I would be honoured to draw swords with you. I stand by that."

A faint smile wandered over �omer’s gaunt face.

"I am glad to hear this and would never have doubted your word, and yet I wonder what you are doing here. How come that we meet again in the eastern Ered Nimrais when this farm is a long way from Edoras, which was your initial destination?"

From outside, a shrill shriek and ensuing laughter indicated that the son of Gloin had at last caught up with his tormentors, presumably treating them to a good, cold face-rub in the snow. For a moment distracted, Aragorn glanced outside, and the sight was indeed unusual enough to chuckle. Shaking his head in amusement, he turned back to the waiting Rohir.

"On our way to Edoras, we came across several orc-tracks and decided to investigate, thinking that it could not hurt to make ourselves useful while we were here. I admit though that it was by pure chance that we followed the one that lead us to the caves, and ultimately, to you." �omer stared at him, not liking what he heard.

"You are saying then that there was more than one group. How many more?"

"We saw four." Aragorn studied the younger man’s expression with interest. "They seemed to move in one great group at first, and upon reaching the mountains, they split up… apparently in search of you."

"Of course," �omer growled. "Wormtongue wants me dead. He knows that I will skin him alive when I return." A hard glint of vengeance suddenly lit up his eyes. "It is this very thought that speeds up my recovery, apart from wanting to help my sister and having to summon our armies against the traitor in Isengard before he attacks us."

"Who is Wormtongue?"

"My Uncle’s so-called counsellor and chief minion of Saruman. I have no proof for it, but there can be no doubt that the King’s condition is due to foul play on his part. According to my sister, Th�oden’s will is held enslaved through the use of a secret potion which his body has become so depended on that he might die if it is withheld from him. That is the chief reason why we could not dispose of the Worm yet." �omer exhaled, bitterness in his features "I fear though that we can no longer allow for this to influence our decicions. Where the fate of all of Rohan is at stake, the life of a single person is of no concern – even if he is the King."

At the mention of Saruman, Aragorn had straightened, and his gaze hardened when he stated: "So you already know of the White Wizard’s treason."

"We suspected for years that he was behind the steady increase of orcs-raids in the Westfold, although I found solid proof of it only now." �omer shook his head in frustration. "Of course, Th�oden-King would not listen when I confronted him with it. Instead, he threw me into the dungeon for disobedience, and I am convinced that the Worm made what I found against his master disappear. Yet it matters not; most of our Armed Forces know who our true enemy is by now, and I am convinced of it that they will follow me into battle even if I am no longer their marshal."

"And yet I must tell you that Saruman is not the only foe to fear," Aragorn spoke slowly, reluctant to burden the still weakened warrior with the weight of his knowledge, but it was something �omer needed to know. "And the weaker one at that, I am afraid. The true adversary awaits us in the east." He looked into suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"What do you mean?" For the longest time, the two men regarded each other while the merry laughter outside seeped into the quiet of their room, suddenly very distant. "Are you saying that the Dark Lord is behind all that is happening in Rohan? So far, we thought he was only stealing our horses."

"As brought to us by Gandalf Greyhame, as you call him here, a union has been concluded between the two towers of Isengard and Barad-d�r; their aim being nothing less than the complete annihilation of all who are not on their side; be it men, elves or dwarves. The Dark Lord is readying his armies to cover all of Middle Earth with a second darkness, and with each passing day, his power grows. Soon, he will be ready to strike, and if he gets hold of his most terrible weapon, there will be no withstanding his onslaught no matter what we do. In this hour of peril, my friends and I have come to Rohan to join with the sons of Eorl in fight and ensure that the war will not be brought to us from two sides. I do not know whether our presence here can tip the scales in our favour, but all that can be done to achieve victory, we will do."

Chapter 27 - Rebellion

Chapter 27: Rebellion

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

For the longest time, �omer stared at Aragorn as he tried to grasp the meaning of the older man�s words, and his stomach plunged into a deep hole within his body as he contemplated the full extent of the ranger�s revelations.

�So if Saruman is not even our real enemy... B�ma help us�� He sank back into the pillow, suddenly feeling bereft of all his strength as his gaze sought the ranger�s eyes. �Once again, you bring me heavy tidings, Lord Aragorn. And this while I am not even convinced that our strength will suffice in dealing with only one foe.�

�I know, and I would have liked to wait before I told you, but time is running through our hands, it would seem.� Aragorn fell silent, and for a while, both men pondered the implications of the other�s revelations and silence thickened in the small room until their attention was diverted from the problems at hand when a shadow suddenly moved in front of their window.

�Are we interrupting something?� a cheerful voice, muffled by the glass, inquired, which was all the more disconcerting as all the two warriors saw was the large head of a grey horse. �I could not help noticing that the curtains had been drawn aside, and thought that this would be the sight that would brighten your spirits, �omer!� The next moment, the laughing face of a young man appeared in front of the glass.

�Halad!� �omer beamed and with astonishment, Aragorn watched as the young warrior�s expression change without transition from dread to heartfelt joy. �How good it is to see you! And what a splendid idea of you to bring Firefoot!� �omer fought to sit up and allowed himself to be helped by Aragorn, miraculously finding some reserves of his strength within his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, although he could not suppress a hiss as an angry bolt of pain raced through his injured thigh. Yet not even this could ruin his sudden enthusiasm as he looked at the ranger, who respectfully stepped aside to not interfere with what seemed like the reunion of good friends. �Lord Aragorn, please, could you open the window for me?� �omer�s smile broadened when, in reaction to his words, the horse�s head turned around and the stallion�s warm breath obscured his sight as Firefoot sought for his master, whose voice he could hear without being able to detect his scent on the air.

�Only if you wrap yourself into your blankets,� the rangers demanded sternly. �I spent all of last evening trying to warm you up; I will not let you undo my work now!�

�Or, let me guess, I will have an unpleasant encounter with the �Sword-that-was-broken�?� �omer grinned, upon which Aragorn nodded in mock-threat. Still smiling, the Rohir turned back to the patiently waiting Halad and noticed the younger man�s arched eyebrows.

�I hope you don�t mind me agreeing with him, �omer, but it does sound reasonable. I did not see you myself last night, but Freya said that you looked like death personified when they brought you in, and while you certainly look no longer dead to my eyes, I would not yet go as far as to say that you�re looking at the peak of health again.�

�I see. It�s a conspiracy!� �omer nodded, his eyes narrowed, but of course, he had no valid points to make against the two men�s concern, and so he sighed and blindly groped for the blankets behind him. �Very well, if you insist��

�I do indeed. And as you know, I always get my will,� Aragorn confirmed with a wry twitch at the corners of his mouth, but then helped �omer to untangle and spread the blankets over the injured man�s shoulders. Briefly creasing his brow as he noticed that � during his unconsciousness - he had apparently been gifted with a new shirt and trousers - �omer then looked up with the expression of a child promised a very special gift as the ranger opened the window. A whiff of crisp cold air carrying the distinct scent of horse immediately wafted into the room, and the rider�s smile widened in untainted joy as he reached for his horse. �Firefoot! Come here, you big, grey, courageous, stubborn mule!� Hooking his fingers into the simple halter, �omer pulled the big head closer and rejoiced at the sensation of the stallion�s warm breath against his chest.

�He guarded you well,� Aragorn said, smiling at the sight of the Rohir�s reunion with his animal ally. He had never seen any man beyond the Mark�s borders so attached to his horse, but then again, the memory of how the stallion had risked his life for his master was still vivid and strong. �There cannot be too many horses on the face of this earth that would defend their riders against a pack of starving wolves. He was a sight to behold when he fought them.�

�Aye. Aye, he is special through and through,� �omer said proudly, his fingers circling the healing bite on Firefoot�s cheek. �He knows it though and thinks it an excuse for his unsurpassed haughtiness. Don�t you, Meara-mule?� With narrowed eyes, he regarded the thick crust of dried blood which had formed on the gash, sharing Halad�s opinion that it was barely more than a scratch that would be forgotten in a few days. With a brief glance at Freya�s brother he asked: �Is that his only wound?�

�There are a few more scratches and another bite on his left foreleg, but it does not hinder him. he doesn�t even limp. I cleaned everything and he didn�t even twitch.� The young man clapped the stallion�s muscle neck adoringly, and his smile broadened as Firefoot began to chew on �omer�s shirt. �He, that is my shirt you are destroying there! Watch what you are doing; I don�t have so many that I can afford to let you eat them!� He gave the halter a quick tug, and the stallion tossed his head in refusal. ��omer!�

�Now you want my help again, Halad, hm? Where is the cheek now that you showed to me earlier?�

The young man shrugged.

�You do not have to help me. What do I care if your untamed horse eats your borrowed garments, for it is not I who will have to walk around unclothed in the snow once these are gone, for I have no others to spare.� Immediately, �omer tugged at the fold of the fabric Firefoot had in his mouth.

�It is good, Big One. I know how much you love me, and I love you, too. Now please, leave me this shirt if you will.� He pressed against the grey head, and reluctantly, the stallion let go, but instead tried to seize his master�s bandaged hand. �No. No, Firefoot!�

Having followed the playful exchange for a while, Aragorn strained to look past the stallion.

�Halad, can you see my friend back there?... Legolas, I mean?� Legolas had left early after the morning meal to search for tracks and find out whether they had been followed. He had been gone for a while now, and while Aragorn knew that the elf could certainly look after himself, he found himself getting increasingly impatient.

�The elf? Not since he left this morning.� Halad�s playfulness change to nervous uncertainty as he noticed the shadow that suddenly fell upon the D�nadan�s weathered face. �Do you believe he might have� found something unexpected?�

It was too early yet to be alarmed. Legolas was thorough, Aragorn told himself; there was no doubt that he would cover a great distance to ensure that his report would be well-founded. Distinctly aware of �omer�s suddenly wary look, the ranger fought down the sudden feeling of foreboding and shook his head.

�No. It is nothing.� None of the Rohirrim looked thoroughly convinced, so he added: �Our company has been through a lot since we set out, and it makes one cautious. My friend is probably still underway, but if he is not back when the sun has reached its highest point, I will go after him.� He inhaled deeply and looked down on �omer. �First though, I will have another look at your wounds and change the bandages. The injuries seemed less inflamed last time I checked, but I will not take any chances.�

For a moment, the Roh�r�s gaze seemed to penetrate right into his thoughts, and in response, the younger man�s expression likewise hardened as �omer gave Halad a curt nod, dismissing him.

�Thank you for letting me see Firefoot, Halad. And thank you for taking such good care of him, too. There are few who could have done that.�

The younger man smirked and briefly tugged at the stallion�s halter to catch his attention.

�I know. And it makes me feel thoroughly special, knowing that your ill-tempered demon likes me enough to let me tend him.� He clicked his tongue. �Come, Demon, and meet the ladies on this farm. We could do with some M�ara-blood around here..� With a last nod, he took the stallion with him and left the two warriors alone. Silently and brooding, Aragorn closed the window while �omer leant back into his pillow, staring at his new-found ally with precisely the same sense of foreboding he had read in the older man�s eyes.

�Orcs do not hunt in the daylight,� he spoke slowly, yet not entirely convinced himself. The new breed of orcs the White Wizard had bred was oblivious to the sun. Their skin did not burn, or they did not mind the pain as much. Of course it was possible that something had happened to the elf out there on the mountain path, and this very moment, a sling could be tightening around their necks they did not even know of. Aragorn nodded, instinctively understanding from �omer�s tense tone that the Rohirrim had likewise already encountered the new orc-species.

�He will soon be back. He just wants to be certain, that�s why he is taking so long. I know it.� Blinking as he shook off the cobwebs of the dark vision haunting his mind, the D�nadan nodded at his patient. �Now let me see your hand��

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EDORAS

The omnipresent buzz of the citizens on the way to their many errands came to an abrupt halt as all on the market square as well as the winding path froze in their tracks, and the atmosphere, which had been unusually upbeat for a change after the �ored�s return, abruptly thickened with the weight of looming violence. A serious conflict was about to erupt, blood was about to flow, this much was clear to all of the onlookers as they watched with obvious tension in their bearing their riders march toward the Hall of Kings. The sight and sound of the one hundred and twenty men storming up the hill with grim expressions, their hands on the hilts of their swords and preceded by their young captain, whose blue eyes blazed with determination, could only mean one thing: the patience of their Armed Forces had ended. Word of C�orl�s mysterious disappearance in the wake of his return from Aldburg had spread like wildfire through the city on the day before, and not only the people well-acquainted with the Captain�s son expected that the numbness of the warriors in the face of Wormtongue�s dubious orders would end with this unsettling incident. Meaningful glances were exchanged between the people, and suddenly, a great upwards movement set in, drawing the citizens to the place of the expected conflict�

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MEDUSELD

�My Lord Gr�ma, quick! There seems to be a mutiny in progress!� Guthlaf, the broad-shouldered half-breed threw open the door and stormed through the throne room, not caring who heard him as he frantically sought for his master�s pale shape in the deep shadows. He finally heard the door to the King�s chambers open and saw Wormtongue emerge with an expression of disbelief on his face.

�What are you saying, G�thlaf? Mutiny? Who? And where?�

�A great crowd is coming up the path, and they look very angry! Captain �othain leads them, and it looked to me as if he is accompanied by his entire �ored! And not only that, many citizens seem to have joined them as well, armed with hayforks and shovels and whatnots. They must soon be here, and I don�t think my men can stop them! There are too many of them, and they look quite determined!�

��othain, huh?� Gr�ma sneered menacingly. �What does that brat think he�s doing? Does he think he is the Marshal now?� With a deep breath, he swivelled and looked to where his most loyal henchman was silently awaiting his orders. �Feldrod, take a few of your men and get me C�orl and �owyn from the dungeon. Meet me at the door, quickly! I don�t care if you have to carry them. All others--� Wormtongue waved at the host of heavily armed Dunlendings occupying the throne room, who had already risen in expectation of finally being allowed to slaughter their adversaries without having to care for secrecy anymore. �Follow me! The moment for which I prepared you has arrived. It is sooner than I anticipated, but that changes little, they stand no chance against us. Come, my brothers!�

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EDORAS

�What will we do once we�re up there, �othain?� Aedwulf asked underneath his breath, not wanting for anyone else to hear. Only two more switchbacks ahead, the dark silhouette of Meduseld stood in stark contrast against the cloudless sky. As the sun was behind it and blinding them on their way up, he could not see whether they were already being expected, but it would be foolish to think that they could surprise Wormtongue. �If they deny us entry � will we fight our way through to the King? I do not wish to fight against H�ma and Gamling.�

�If what I feared happened to my father, then H�ma and Gamling won�t welcome us at the doors,� �othain growled, his hand already sweaty on the hilt of his sword. He changed his grip, silently asking himself whether this would be the day when he would at last hew the Worm�s head from his shoulders. �At least I hope it for them, for if they tolerated that, I would not spare them. Still, the other option is not really better, because it would probably mean that they are dead.�

�Perhaps not,� Aedwulf muttered without real hope, yet not wanting to resign to dread when nothing was proven yet. �Perhaps he locked them into the dungeon instead. As hostages. They could be of great worth for him� and your father, too.�

It was not a question, and �othain felt not inclined to answer. The rising noise behind them told him that many citizens had joined his �ored, and his heart beat furiously in his chest, as for the first time in month, a feeling close to exhilaration flushed his veins. It was enough; finally, all were ready to fight against what they had earlier accepted as fate, and perhaps they would succeed in casting the poisonous snake that was Wormtongue out of the Hall which had provided him shelter to this day. Oh, how satisfying it would feel to stick his sword into the filth slowly and avenge all his brothers-in-arms who had died as result of all the cunningly laid traps Saruman�s orc-hordes had been able to set with the help of the spy in their midst! And �omer� Gods, he would cut the Worm into stripes for what he had done to his best friend!

�What will we do then?� Aedwulf took up his thought again, dismayed by the prospect. �What if Gr�ma locked up all who are not on his side and holds them hostage: Th�oden, �owyn, H�ma and Gamling� what are we supposed to do then? Tolerate that they will be killed when we attack?�

�othain�s heart froze at the rider�s question, for he had no answer to it himself. Angrily shaking his head to himself, he hastened his steps instead, quickly approaching the last switchback which would lead them to the stairs.

�We will see how it goes, Aedwulf. But no matter what my orders will be, I need to know now that I can trust you to follow me.� He turned his head to look at the older man without stopping and read consternation in the grey-blue eyes. �Can you promise me that?�

�Why wouldn�t-�

�Forget I said that,� �othain suddenly interrupted him, inwardly swearing at himself. Now was definitely the wrong time to alienate his companions. �Of course I did not mean that--� The sight awaiting them on the top of the hill silenced him like a blow to the gut, and as his men followed his gaze, gasps and swearing rang out into the air. Of course their ascent had not remained unnoticed, and he wouldn�t have suspected so. Yet what he had not anticipated was the sight of the terrace in front of the Golden Hall brimming with dark-haired men dressed in rags and armour; all of them pointing their bows at him and his �ored. Dunlendings! Their swarthy appearance gave them away even though they were clad in Rohirric armour from head to toe. There were so many of them that the narrow space in front of the opened doors hardly seemed sufficient for all of them. He had not yet recovered from the sight, when a cold, familiar voice rang out into the stunned silence.

�No step further! Or all of you will regret it deeply! I will not hesitate to let my men riddle you with arrows if only one of you so much as twitches!�

Chapter 28 - A Siege and a Vow

CHAPTER 28: A Siege and a Vow

EDORAS

Before he knew what he was doing, �othain found himself stepping away from the mass of his comrades and setting foot upon the first step to the Golden Hall. Immediately, a thicket of arrows was aimed at him, and he understood that it would be the easiest thing in the world for Gr�ma to dispose of him now if he really wanted to� and dared to in front of the angry �ored. Yet �othain did not believe that he did.

�Then why not shoot and be done with us once and for all, Worm?� he shouted, his voice firm. �Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid that this would at last cause the uprising that will be your undoing? I fear that your assumption would be correct. The people of Edoras have enough of you, and they are ready to demonstrate it.�

Another step, closer yet. Now he beheld the pale figure amidst their enemies. Unlike he, Gr�ma did not present himself as a target, and for good reason. Apparently, Saruman�s minion had foreseen this confrontation, and there was no guarantee that his enemies would not use the first opportunity they saw to rid their land of their oppressor. In fact, this had been the first instruction �othain had given the best of his archers before they headed up the hill, and even now he knew that they were standing among the crowd with their arrows fitted to the string of their bows, ready for the first clear shot that would present itself to them. Briefly �othain wondered why he felt no fear at the prospect of possibly walking straight into his death, but the answer was obvious: he was too furious to be afraid. Inside him, a cold rage burnt with devastating force; a fury that could only be extinguished with the blood of his adversary.

�If you don�t lay down your weapons and surrender this very instant, they will storm Meduseld despite of everything you�ve been threatening them with for the last months and years, Worm! My �ored and I are, in fact, your only chance to survive their fury. Accept it, or pay dearly for your crimes against the Mark! The choice is yours.�

�What do you want, youngling?� Gr�ma sneered, his colourless eyes blazing with unspoken threat, and �othain halted on the little platform at the middle of the stairs, figuring that he had approached as far as possible without running the risk of being seized by the Worm�s henchmen and taken for yet another hostage.

�You know what I want: I want my father, out here, safe and unharmed, leaving with us when we go. And I want �owyn, our King and all you hold captive released immediately, or B�ma help me, you will live to regret it!�

A disconcerting smirk distorted his opponent�s features at the mention of these names.

�Is that so, young man? How comes that you feel in the position to make such a bold request? Alas, I realise that it is the fault of youth that makes you ask for far too much. Of course you are aware that I can�t and I won�t simply give my captives to you. They are my insurance that you and your men will not stupidly try to storm this hall and die in a hail of arrows, as would your kinsmen if they dared to follow. By keeping them, I am preventing, in fact, a bloodbath, so you should be thankful!� Lifting his chin in a display of calm superiority, Gr�ma�s gaze swept the crowd before him before his attention returned to the young captain.

�Of course, you must ask yourself now why I hesitate to kill you where you stand, but I fear that you must forgive me for now for leaving that question open. All happens for a good reason, is all I have to say to that, and I have another proposal for you as well, one you would be wise to accept: leave, and you and your men shall live� at least for a little while longer. Sheathe your swords and walk down that hill again, Son of C�orl, and make sure that neither of your comrades will be seen upon these steps or this path again, or I swear that your father will die a slow and painful death� at my very own hands.�

With a brief glance over his shoulder, he gestured to someone still hidden within the shadow of the hall, and as that man stepped out, a dismayed gasp rose from the assembled riders, soon changing to shouts of rage: it was Felrod, the muscled guard in charge of Gr�ma�s men, and behind him, chained and slumped between the two armoured Dunlendings supporting his weight, Captain C�orl of Edoras was brought forth, his tunic and breeches torn and dirtied by large stains of dried and still wet blood. �othain felt the colour drain from his face.

�Father!�

Aedwulf could only see his captain from behind, but the young warrior�s enraged trembling was unmistakable, and he knew that it was he who had to save his brother-in-arms from committing the greatest mistake of his life as he stormed forth and grasped �othain before he could storm up the stairs.

�No! No, �othain! Don�t!�

�Take your hands off me, Aedwulf! That snake has my father, and I will--� More hands seized him, holding him back, although he fought like a beast to shake them off.

�That is what he wants, �othain! Don�t you understand?� With a quick glance at the waiting Dunlendings, the older man stepped in front of his captain, blocking his view. �othain�s cheeks were flushed with red-hot fury in stark contrast to the deadly whiteness of the rest of his face, the veins on his temples and neck standing out like strings as he fought against his own men. �He wants you for another hostage! Don�t give him that!�

�But he has my father! Look what he has done to him!�

�Aye.� Aedwulf seized �othain�s garments with both hands and stared at the young man with blistering intensity as he lowered his voice: �Aye, and it is terrible, but there is nothing we can do about it now, not while they have their arrows aimed at us and just wait for our attack. We must retreat for now, and return with a better plan when they don�t expect us. We will free your father, I promise, but this is not the way to do it. We�ll lose!� Breathing heavily, he studied his captain�s expression, which changed only slowly from blind rage to a mixture of anger and defeat, and read in the blue eyes that at last, he was getting through.

Giving up the struggle against his own men, �othain stared at Aedwulf, trembling with emotions he was not allowed to act on, his hands clenching the hilt of his sword so fiercely that his knuckles were white, then his gaze once more went over the other warrior�s shoulder to where Wormtongue waited with an expression of confident superiority for his decision. He swallowed.

�What will it be, Son of C�orl?� the evil Counsellor raised his voice above the din of muttered curses as soon as he felt the young man�s attention on himself again. �Do you want me to kill your father, or will you retreat? To make this decision easier for you, I should perhaps prove to you that he is, in fact, not the only person you care for who is at my mercy at present!� Again he looked back and nodded, and if possible, the horrified reactions from the crowd were even louder when they beheld the lithe figure of the White Lady in the cruel grasp of her captors. Clenching his jaw so tight that the muscles stood out from his neck, �othain stared at the unravelling nightmare in front of him, rendered speechless.

�You will get what is coming to you, Counsellor,� Aedwulf spat instead of him, the fingers of the hand he had laid onto �othain�s shoulder in a comforting gesture painfully digging into his comrade�s flesh. �B�ma sees what you are doing here, and when his punishment comes, you will regret that you were ever born!�

His outburst earned him a nasty smirk.

�Considering all ill that has happened to the Mark ever since your forefathers seized it by force from the Dunlendings, you still seem to put an incredible amount of trust into your gods, Rider! Where were your gods when your people were massacred in the Westfold? Where were they in the endless winter which ended the lives of so many of your kinsmen? And why do they allow that your people suffer if they are supposed to be on your side? Explain that to me, please, for I do not understand it!� Silence answered him. �You have no explanation, isn�t that so? Could it be than that your gods do not care for weaklings? Could it be that your gods favour those who take destiny into their own hands instead of crying rivers of tears over the injustices done to them? Could it be that they favour the determined and strong instead?�

�They certainly don�t favour filthy liars and deceivers, Worm!� �othain finally managed to utter, steaming. �They may bide their time and observe thoroughly before they act, and I certainly would not want to be you when they at last enter into the fray. Aedwulf is right; your punishment is only a question of time and it will be befitting your crimes!�

Shrugging off his angry retort with a dismissive gesture, Gr�ma�s cruel stare found back to the young captain after a suggestive glance at the barely conscious C�orl.

�Believe whatever you may, young man; I couldn�t care less. Just tell me what I am supposed to do with your father now: slit his throat right here on the steps of Meduseld� or will you retreat?�

His voice quivering and his insides in an uproar as he met his father�s gaze and then �owyn�s, �othain at length pressed: �We will retreat� for now.� He collected himself and his tone hardened when he added: �Yet know one thing: each man you sent into the city no matter on what errand will be killed upon sight. From this moment on, we will lay siege to Meduseld, and whoever leaves it and is regarded as an enemy will forfeit his life. You cannot hide within the Golden Hall forever!� He did not like the smug look on Gr�ma�s face in response to his threat; it was as if the filth knew something that he didn�t.

�We will see, young rider,� the counsellor spoke with a tone corresponding with his expression. �We will see. If you think you can threaten me thus, you should know that it will be the captives who will suffer from a shortage of water and food, first. Now leave, if you don�t want your father�s blood to soil these stairs after all.�

His jaw clenched so hard that his teeth hurt, �othain turned his back to the man he longed to kill more than he longed for the next breath, and Aedwulf relaxed slightly when he read in his comrade�s expression that the danger of committing that deadly mistake had passed. If anything, �othain looked even more determined now.

�You are right, Aedwulf,� he muttered under his breath, taking no chances that the Worm could overhear them. �We cannot harm him now, but from now on, I want this path guarded day and night. If any of his scarecrows leave the Hall, we will take them. We�ll see how long they can do without water. He will not let his hostages die, nor will he kill them, or he won�t have anything left to bargain with. It is an empty threat. Come. There is much to discuss!�

With a curt nod at his men, �othain descended the stairs. Though the defeat hurt and the fear for his father and the woman he had regarded as his sister since his youth still threatened to choke him, he at last succeeded to lock his emotions away in a place of his mind where they would not impair his strategic thinking. It was cunning they needed now; a superior plan. Violence could not solve this problem. With a last look back from below at the stark silhouette of Meduseld, �othain narrowed his eyes. Very well, if Gr�ma wanted to play a game of chess with him, he would do so. If only he had not this feeling of missing something important...

--------------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

After the ranger had left and drawn the curtains before the window again, �omer had settled back into his cushion and waited for the throbbing of his wounds resulting from Aragorn�s inspection and cleansing to subside. With relief he had heard the older man�s comment on how much better the gashes looked already, and yet he found it hard to accept his saviour�s stern advice of a few more days of absolute rest. With all the ill news he had learned, how could Aragorn possibly expect him to stay in bed even for another day? His kinsmen needed him! Each day he waited, Rohan�s doom drew closer... and at the same time, Eomer knew that the other man was right. Though possessed of a will that was legendary and feared among the Armed Forces, his body was still too weak to follow the insistent urging of his mind. Simply being awake for the last two hours although he had barely moved had exhausted him to the bone, and once again �omer felt as if all strength had been sucked out of his body to the point where even keeping his eyes open seemed to be impossible. Shutting his eyes, he had dozed for a while and walking the strange land between wakefulness and sleep, when a hesitant rap asked for his attention.

�Yes?� His head felt too heavy to lift it, so he just looked at the opening door from underneath half-closed eyes. It was Freya�s face which appeared in the narrow gap, an inquisitive smile in the corners of her mouth. Although weary, �omer was glad to see her, even if her gaunt appearance and the dark circles underneath her eyes filled him with a sudden sense of guilt for being the cause of her concern. In a brave attempt to lift her worries, he cast her a sleepy smile to let her know how much better he already felt.

And yet he could not see whether his effort had been successful, for a most pleasant smell wafted into the room from the tray she carried, stealing his concentration, and his stomach, having seen only sparse rations of smoked deer meat and dried fruit for days, rumbled in anticipation. Embarrassed, �omer pressed his good hand against the source of the noise in an attempt to silence the sound. And yet involuntarily, his body�s reaction was what widened Freya�s smile, even if there was still something in her bearing that disturbed him, something he could not name except that this was not the uncomplicated woman he knew. With a smile that would not have raised anyone else�s suspicion, but which did not reach her eyes, the farmer�s wife slipped into the room and placed the tray onto the nightstand.

�So at last you are awake, �omer! I was trying to ask you whether you were hungry several times today, but every time I did, you were either asleep or otherwise occupied, and I did not want to intrude.� She nodded her chin at his middle section. �And now I no longer need to ask you, because your stomach answered that question for you quite clearly. You must be starving!� After a quick, nervous glance at the window almost too brief to notice, she helped him to sit up. �Try to eat as much of the meat as you can; it will give you back your strength.�

�I am not very hungry, but thank you. This smells wonderful.� Studying her strangely guarded expression, �omer could not help feeling a sudden quiver of unease. He had never seen her like this; why was she so nervous in his presence, half of her attention apparently directed at the door even as she was addressing him? Frowning, he asked: �Has the elf returned yet?�

She shook her head; her thin lips forming an even thinner, bloodless line as she stared over to the veiled window apparently deep in thought. �No. Aragorn and his friend went after him a while ago. I hope they find him soon, and that nothing happened to him.� �omer looked at her sharply, a cold feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach.

�Aye. I hope so, too.� Not only for the elf�s sake, but because Legolas� disappearance would mean the existence of orcs in the vicinity of the farm, a thought that froze his blood. What if the orcs whose tracks Aragorn had seen earlier found this valley and killed Freya and her family, just because their hunt for him had led them into this sheltered little vale? To soothe himself as much as his host, he added: �Those three know how to handle themselves, or they wouldn�t have made it here all the way from the North through hostile lands and great peril. I am sure the elf�s delay is only the result of his thorough search. They will be back soon.�

Yet some vague shadow of the disturbing mental image which had assaulted him for a moment seemed to be written upon his face, for Freya�s expression was now overcast with even greater concern as she turned her eyes from the window to stare at him.

�But you are not convinced of it, �omer, are you?� She swallowed. �You do not need to say it, for I can see it in your eyes. Do you think your enemies will follow you here?�

He inhaled deeply. There was no point in hiding information she needed to know, not while the situation was still uncertain.

�It is possible,� he admitted at last, meeting her frightened gaze. �Aragorn told me that they came upon the tracks of a great host of orcs leading into the mountains before they found me.� Another breath. �The enemy wants my death, Freya, and I fear that he will take any measure he can think of to ensure that I am out of his way before he sets his armies in motion.�

�Who is �he�, �omer?� she asked lowly, her stomach clenching into a tight knot. �The evil necromancer? And why were you alone when they found you; where is your �ored?� And at last, he told her of all the evil things he had kept from her for so long, meaning not to frighten her further when life in the isolated part of the mountains was already hard enough for her family. Hesitantly at first, but with growing conviction, �omer explained about the King�s predicament and the treason of Gr�ma Wormtongue, ending with the murder of his cousin and the ensuing events which had brought him to her farm. And she listened, never once interrupting him, and finally understanding that these were the days which would decide about the fate of their entire people. The realisation left her frozen. Wordlessly, the silence in the small room weighing down upon them, she stared with unseeing eyes into the distance. �So it could very well be that all of us are dead before the next full moon.� Her voice sounded dead already.

�omer shook his head.

�There is still hope. I was on my way to summon Elfhelm and the Eastfold�s �oreds to take them west and give battle when those orcs intercepted me. I know my men will still follow me, whether I am their marshal or not, and I am convinced that it won�t be different with the rest of the Armed Forces. Even with Th�odred dead, there are still mighty warriors on our side, and all is not lost yet.� He inhaled. �And I would not underestimate what Aragorn and his friends can do for us; I have a feeling that they were sent here for a reason.�

She furrowed her brow.

�Sent? By B�ma, you mean?�

�First I met them on the plains, and despite Uncle�s orders, I instantly felt that I had to help them. I can still not explain what made me place my life in the hand of three complete strangers, but I did, and in return, they saved me. I do not believe in coincidence, Freya, not in this case. Everything happens for a reason, and it is my firm conviction that the last word has not been spoken yet. The traitor in Isengard is too sure of himself, and it will be his downfall.� He fell silent, confused how he had suddenly come to feel so confident about the Mark�s fate when he had watched it fall apart piece for pieces for so long. �And I promise you something else: I will ride for Edoras, and I will kill the filth who helped him myself, with my bare hands if I must, and if it is the last thing I will ever do! As long as there is a single drop of blood left in my body, I will pursue the death of Gr�ma Wormtongue!�

Chapter 29 - Confessions

WHITE MOUNTAINS

�omer had eaten in silence, the atmosphere in the small room leaden in the wake of his dispiriting tale of the Mark�s decline. He understood Freya�s wordless brooding and the far-away look on her face as she contemplated the meaning of his words, but it was beyond him why she still held herself so stiffly in his presence, why her body language was so rigid as if she barely dared to move. She had been tense the entire time she had sat beside him in her chair, her gaze sooner directed at the distant world beyond the window than at him, evading him as much as she could in the narrow confines of the children�s room. It irritated him greatly, and at last, �omer felt that he had to inquire about the reason for the strange behaviour of the woman he had known well for eleven years and yet never seen like this.

�Freya?� His voice woke her from her absorption, and the grey-blue eyes that looked too large in her gaunt face turned to him with a distinct notion of wariness in her gaze. His frown deepened. �Will you not tell me what happened? Or what the cause is for your discomfort around me? I must say that I do not understand. Did I do something?� She flinched in response to his words, her involuntary reaction confirming to him the correctness of his suspicion: her strange bearing was not just an imagination. �Or is it something you would rather not talk about it?�

It took no intensive studies of his host�s expression to interpret correctly the two contradicting impulses on her face: the daughter of F�onwar reminded him of a wild animal, a deer perhaps, that still curiously listened to the cracking of dry twigs in the undergrowth while its muscles already vibrated with the impulse to fly. And she looked guilty, too, distinctly aware of what he meant, even if she still remained silent. Her expression more guarded than ever, Freya averted her eyes to concentrate instead on placing the half-emptied bowl he had sat aside on the tray to take it out.

�And what good would it do?� she replied at length in a flat voice bereft of hope. �For there is nothing that could be changed about it.� Hesitantly she slanted him another glance, and although the moment was fleeting, the hurt in her expression sent a bolt of alarm through �omer even in his state of leaden exhaustion. Straightening against his pillow, he extended his hand to touch her arm, an instinctive gesture to which she reacted as if he had meant to hit her, pulling away from him. Dumbfounded he stared at her.

�Was it is, Freya, tell me! Is it about Osred? Is he not treating you well?� He could not explain what had directed his thoughts in this direction, other than her repeated nervous glances at the door and window while she had sat with him, and was sceptical when she shook her head.

�Osred is a good husband, �omer. It is not he who is the problem... it is I.� Her surprising statement hung in the silence while she contemplated for a moment longer whether to tell him or not, whether to reveal her secret. But didn�t he already know, deep inside, what she was hinting at? Didn�t he feel it, too? Briefly shutting her eyes in a desperate hunt for the right things to say, Freya exhaled deeply before she summoned all her courage to meet �omer�s gaze, grateful that he had not interrupted her and thus granted her the time to bring at least some kind of order to her thoughts, even if her insides still felt in an uproar. �Osred... he is the kind of man every woman in these isolated settlements hopes to find one day: he is crafty and practical, he is eager, he is strong and protective and selfless. He works hard to ensure our survival out here, and he is a loving father.�

�But something is missing, you mean. Something you would seek for in a man with whom to share your life.� It was a statement, not a question, and she nodded slowly as she stared at the closed door, still seeing all-too-clearly the expression of deep hurt engraved in her husband�s weathered face as he observed her tender moment with �omer and understood that he would never be able to evoke the same emotions in his wife as the esteemed warrior of the Rohirrim.

�Do not misunderstand me, �omer; I do care for Osred, but I fear not as much as he deserves. It is a different form of love that I have for him. I respect him for his commitment and dedication and his hard work� but in the end, it is just this: respect... and partnership. We work well together, and we get things done. Our farm has never been in a better state, but that is not what marriage should be about, is it?� She fell silent, an expression of remorse and guilt wandering over her face, for a moment uncertain whether it was wise to go on, but now that she had started, Freya felt it impossible to hold back the outpouring of her emotions any longer. She had to get this out once and be done with it for all time. Perhaps �omer would understand, and perhaps he wouldn�t, it was not in her hands.

�I always that that I should feel differently about the man to whom I swore my oath. That he should make my heart beat faster whenever I thought about him. That the thought of him should fill me with a warm feeling, and that I should barely be able to stand being separated from him. That we should be two halves completing each other; the sum of us being more than one whole thing, something greater.� Her lips tightened, and a terrible honesty shone in her eyes as she looked �omer straight in the face. �My marriage is none of these things, �omer. Osred doesn�t know how to make my heart beat faster; he doesn�t know how to make me dream, nor would he understand what dreaming was good for, for he has no dreams himself. He only knows common sense and the world he can see and touch. For him, the world is divided into �useful� and �useless� things. All those things Aragorn told us about, the far reaches of the land he wandered through and the beings and creatures he has seen... Osred has no interest in that; it does not exist for him. As long as it does not concern our farm-life, he is not even curious to hear about new things. He is satisfied with being faced with the same challenges year after year after year; he doesn�t want to hear about other people or other races. He doesn�t like surprises and thus he never surprises me...� She swallowed at the disillusioned tone of her own voice.

�Life with Osred is predictable, �omer, and it is all about duty and work and reality. All these years that I lived in this vale all alone with my parents and my brother and sisters... I never felt that our world was too small or that there was something missing. But lately, it feels as if the mountains are closing in on me, as if their ring around our valley narrows with each day that I spend here. Some days, it feels as if I am slowly suffocating. If it were not for our children�� She broke off, uncertain about the continuation of her confession.

Listening with mixed feelings, �omer could not help but wonder: �Did you ever tell him? Try to change things? Perhaps he doesn�t know what it is you want.� She looked at him wearily and shrugged.

�How do you explain the importance of dreams to someone who has none himself?�

�But there must have been a reason for you to choose him. I remember that you wedded very quickly. From one visit to the next, things changed from where you did not even know Osred to him living on the farm with you. I was very surprised, to say the least.� Did she hear indignation in his voice, or was it just wishful thinking?

�It is the usual way to marry out here in the wilderness, �omer. We live so far apart from each other that there can be no courtship. We meet at the spring or the harvesting fairs, and if we do not find each other too terrible, we will take them home with us if they possess the necessary skills. I do not have to tell you how hard life is out here. I could not manage it on my own, no matter how crafty I may deem myself. There will always be a task that requires more strength than I have to offer or an additional pair of hands. It was my head that chose Osred; it was reason, not emotion. We cannot afford to wait for love out here; we must take what we are offered. I needed a man who would take care of my family and me, and I thought that with time, love might develop between us, but my heart would not let itself be fooled, for it had experienced that feeling once and to this day, it is someone else who evokes it in me.�

She looked at �omer openly as she submitted herself to his judgement, not entirely sure what she wanted to hear. Perhaps, it would make things easier if he laughed at her; perhaps it would be best if he found her secret longing ridiculous. Her heart would probably break, but she would be cured of her ridiculous dream. But �omer did not laugh; he frowned like someone who had been given bad tidings instead of a declaration of love. Was this better?

�Freya...� Visibly shocked by her confession, �omer reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it at last, savouring and hating the feeling at the same time for it tore her apart. �You know that there is no way for us--�

�Aye, we decided long ago that we could never be together. You are a warrior; I am a peasant�s daughter. You are a noble, our next and perhaps last king the way it looks, and I am a commoner. The Mark can not have an uneducated farm girl for her queen; nobody understands it better than I, and I wouldn�t even want to live at the court of Edoras. We talked about this before. And yet what can I do when my heart feels differently? All these years, when you visited us on your patrols, it was you who lifted me from of the bleakness of my life; with your tales of your battles and the bravery and courage of your riders. Or when you sat with Lo�gar and Edilda when they were smaller, telling them of our ancient kings and legends. It was not only them who listened with baited breath; I did as well. The way you told those stories, the way you made them come alive�you made me feel the adventure as if I was right there. And I remember the passion with which you told me of your dreams and plans for the future�it is something Osred could never do. He doesn�t know about passion. I have lied to myself for so long, �omer, telling me how foolish I was to feel that way when I lay next to Osred in the night and listened to his breaths instead of yours. I thought that with time, I would learn to take those feelings I had for you and shift them to him� but I cannot.� She took a shivering breath, and when she continued, her voice had lowered to a whisper.

�It all came to me last night, when your friends brought you here on the edge of death, bloodied and pale and cold like the snow� and I understood at last what it would feel like to lose you forever, and it was devastating, �omer. I�� she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and ran it nervously through her hair, uncertain whether she was right in confessing her innermost feelings when it would only make things harder. �I felt that with your death, something in me would die as well, something that would be lost for me forever. My children would have forced me to carry on, but life would have held no more joy for me had you died. It would have been like waking to a world without the sun for the rest of my days. Osred must have seen the realisation on my face when he saw me sitting with you at dawn, and he understood it at once. Aye, I still love you, �omer, even though I know that I mustn�t. I cannot help it.�

Now the tears came and she hid her face in her hands, embarrassed to cry in front of the man who had once admitted to love her for her strength. It did not help in keeping her composure that she suddenly found herself enveloped in two strong arms, but she could not fight against something she had longed for for so many years: to be close to �omer, to feel his warmth and the firmness of his muscles underneath her fingers; to hear his soothing voice whispering into her ears. She knew that all these things were wrong, and yet at the same time, they felt so very right. Caught in the storm of her contradicting emotions, she surrendered to the sheer hopelessness of her situation.

�Sssshh�� omer soothed, for once speechless as he held her head against his shoulder, his mind racing as he feverishly sought for a solution. �Freya�� but the words would not come. Or rather, he had something to tell her, but hesitated to utter for fear that it would crush her completely. Yet before he could think of anything else, she straightened in his arms and leant back; mustering his expression with an intensity he had never felt from the frail farmer�s daughter.

�It is not the same for you, �omer, isn�t it? You would have told me now if it were so. I can see you are battling with something you do not want to tell me. Please, I need to know. It might make it easier for me to let go of this ridiculous dream of mine.�

�It is not ridiculous,� he objected, squirming awkwardly. How to bring this to her without hurting her? �Freya�� He inhaled deeply. �We have known each other for a long time. We were both very young when we met��

�And your feelings for me have changed since then,� she completed the sentence for him, laughing unhappily. �Aye, I understand. I told you that we could not be together, and you took your passion elsewhere. Of course, I never expected you to wait for me to change my mind. I just wondered��

�Yes?�

�Why did you never take a wife, �omer? Each time you visited me, you always spoke of your riders and errands, and your sister and your cousin. You never told me about anyone else dear to your heart, and it made me wonder�� She summoned her courage. �It made me wonder whether I was not still in your heart, too, blocking the way for anyone else seeking entry.�

For the longest time, he looked at her, thoughts racing his mind he had pushed in the background for what suddenly felt to him like an eternity. How long had it been since he had last contemplated matters of the heart, rather than battle strategies?

�Perhaps it was so at first,� he admitted at last, thinking back. �It took me a while to understand, and then, to overcome my disappointment. For the first several times we met afterward, I actually dreaded to see you for fear of what your closeness would stir up in me.�

�Aye,� she nodded, like he lost in their shared memories. �You avoided me. I remember fearing that I had lost you after all, that you were unable to maintain a friendship with me even though you had said that you would make the effort.� She looked down upon his hands, which still held her much smaller one firmly in their grasp. �May I know what changed your mind in the end?�

�It was not a conscious decision, at least not one that I could remember. It was a process; a combination of knowing that we were simply not meant to be, a constant need to be on the road in search of the enemy and at the same time, the growing conviction that I had been born a warrior. Elfhelm had been right back then when he told me to my face that I would never find contentment in the life of a farmer; it would have ended in misery for the both of us had we stayed together, Freya.�

�I know this,� she admitted silently, lowering her gaze. �It was the one thing I perceived when I first laid eyes upon you: that despite your youth, you were a man bursting with purpose. That you would not rest until you had achieved your high goals, and that you would never abandon them to sow crops in an isolated part of the Mark.� The conviction in her expression grew as she added, bravely forcing herself to smile: �You have become our land�s greatest protector. It would have been selfish and irresponsible of me to keep you from your true calling. Perhaps it is this I should try to remember whenever I feel again that life has been treating me unfairly.�

�We may not have become lovers, but we have become kin, Freya. We are as close to each other as we can possibly be. You are right in saying that my feelings for you have changed, but it is not for the worse: you are as dear to me as my sister by blood, and I would tear myself in two to keep you and your family from harm. You will always have a special place in my heart, which may be more than any woman I marry in the future may ever be able to claim.� He wondered of which future he was talking. By the look of things, his worries would be non-existent before the next full moon, his dreams and desires like those of his uncounted kinsmen trampled underneath the feet of the White Wizard�s armies.

�Do not speak so,� Freya interrupted him, deeply moved by his confession even if it did not change things. Perhaps she could learn to live with this thought, even if it still felt strange to regard the man who had evoked the strongest emotions in her she had ever known as a brother. Yet faced with the choice of either that or nothing, how could she choose nothing? Laying her free hand against his lips, she whispered: �You will find a wife you love, and she will love you back, I know it. Once this war is ended, you will find happiness and contentment in a woman�s arms, and I will be glad for you when it happens.� She leant forth to kiss him gently on the cheek.

�And you?� he asked, uncertainty colouring his tone. �What about you?�

�I suppose I will have to learn to fill out this new role you appointed to me�� She smiled at his sceptical expression, but it was a sad smile. �From now on, you have an older, wiser sister. You will hate me soon enough.�

He returned her smile although he felt its true nature and could not help admiring her for her courage.

�I doubt it. But what about you and Osred? How will you go on?�

Her gaze travelled over to the door, and now even the sad smile vanished from her face.

�I will have to speak with him. I do not know if we can change things between us; I doubt it in fact. I know that I will not be able to change who he is, but perhaps I can make him understand what it is that I need from him. If we both make an effort, perhaps� we can solve this. I cannot imagine living a life without love.� She looked unconvinced, but no longer as hopeless as she had at the beginning of their talk. Lovingly, �omer stroked her face.

�I wish you happiness, Freya. You deserve it.� A thought entered his mind, and although he felt reluctant to utter it, he had to know the answer to it. �Perhaps I should stay away for a while. For as long as things are not clear between the two of you, Osred will continue to consider me a threat, no matter what you say. I know I would do the same in his position.�

�Would you?� She straightened at the sound of running from behind the still closed door. She had been with �omer for a long time; now it was time to speak with her husband. �Aye, I believe you are right. But don�t stay away for too long, or your new family will feel neglected. As for now, I have but one more request for you: Get well soon!�

�Mother? Mother, are you in here?� Her son�s voice sounded to her through the thick wood, and Freya rose to her feet.

�You should rest now, �omer, you look tired. Please, forgive me for bothering you with my personal problems��

�There is no need to apologise, Freya. I feel honoured that you told me, and I do believe that something good will come out of it for the both of us.� He smiled weakly; barely able to keep his eyes open as a leaden heaviness overcame him. He sunk into his pillow.

Picking up the tray, Freya gave him another grateful glance before she turned to the door, opening it. A young expectant face looked at her.

�Mother? Can I ride Snowflake? Halad said that he would take me with him, but I should ask you first. Please, can I?�

�Can I, too?� As usual, Edilda was not far whenever there was the possibility that her brother could be allowed a thing that she might not.

�Snowflake? That horrible white thing Halad calls a horse?�

�Please!�

�Please, Mother!�

�Well, if Halad says that it is safe��With a last glance back, she closed the door behind her, her smile dropping from her face when she discovered that �omer�s eyes were already shut and that he seemed to be half asleep already. Now all who was left to pretend happiness to were her children, and they were by far too excited by the prospect of being allowed to ride her brother�s big plough-horse to notice her misery. �All right, you two. Go. But tell him that I want him to be cautious, or I will need to have a word with him. Do not leave the farm, and no galloping!�

With a cheerful shout, the two children stormed out of the house, their voices soon muffled by the closing door as they raced over to their uncle�s house. A faint smile on her face at the sound of the little ones� enthusiasm, Freya went into the kitchen and set down the tray, for a moment lost in thought. She did not know whether to feel saddened or glad at the thought of �omer�s confession. While the depth of the feelings he held for her was comforting, they were of a different nature than she would have wished for. Still, wasn�t it better this way? Wasn�t it better than knowing that he, too, longed to be with her, and that all that kept them apart were the strict rules of their people? If he had learned to accept this fate, perhaps she could, too, all the more as there seemed to be only two possibilities left for her: to either send him away for good or to learn to be satisfied with what she could have. She did not want to send �omer away.

With a deep sigh, she turned her attention to the pile of used dishes that had accumulated since the morning. Perhaps it would help to work some of her frustration away. It took her another moment to come to the realisation that she was not alone. Turning around on her heels, her gaze went back to the door she had just passed. It seemed that Osred had been waiting for her to notice him, and from the look upon his face, he had heard every word of her conversation with �omer.

Chapter 30 - Battle Plans

Chapter 30: Battle Plans

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EDORAS

Numb in mind and body from the horrible scenes she had been forced to witness, �owyn offered no resistance as the guards brought her back to her cell and sat down on the wooden bench that served as the laughable imitation of a bed. Not that she expected being able to sleep anytime soon. What she had experienced in those past few days alone would probably suffice for a lifetime of nightmares, and she had the distinct notion that she had not even witnessed yet all the cruelty her adversary was capable of. Involuntarily rubbing her arms to restart the circulation of blood to her hands after the guards� cruel grip, the King�s niece stared wordlessly into the flickering twilight until the echoing of steps died down and the distant thunder of a shutting door told her that they were alone again in their part of the dungeon.

�What happened?� Elfhelm asked at once, his tone and expression tense as he lifted his head. �What did he want from you?�

�To show me to his enemies. Me and C�orl,� �owyn replied in a flat voice, still seeing the scene vividly in front of her inner eyes: the horror in �othain�s eyes when she had been presented like a trophy, and his anguished outburst when the Worm had confronted him with his severely wounded father. For a moment, she had prayed that �othain would order the attack regardless of the Worm�s threats and end this farce of a Dunlending-held Meduseld, no matter how high the price. But even before he had answered to Wormtongue�s challenge, deep inside �owyn had known that the young Captain would never dare to endanger his kin and friends even before she had seen his strikingly blue eyes cloud over with the signs of defeat.

With a soundless sigh, the daughter of �omund tilted her head to face the chained warrior in the opposite cell. The man her adversary would use to break her, she held no illusions in this regard. She could not yet imagine the torture the Worm would submit Elfhelm to in order to bend her to his will, but the half-breed�s inventiveness was beyond doubt. Would she be able to stay strong upon having to hear the anguished cries of the man whom she had known since early childhood when Elfhelm had served as an ordinary rider under her father? The man her brother regarded as his mentor? Her blood ran cold at the thought, and she fought to push it away for the time being. She would be faced with the reality of it soon enough. Lifting her chin, �owyn sought the Captain�s gaze, forcing herself to answer his question with the calmest voice she could manage. It would not help their situation if she broke down now.

��othain and his riders threatened to storm Meduseld, and they were accompanied by many angered citizens. It seems that finally, they are no longer willing to tolerate his reign. They challenged Gr�ma, but I�m afraid that the Worm once again held the sharper weapon in his hands. He threatened to kill C�orl and me if they attacked, and �othain would not dare it� I almost wish that he had. He places the worth of our lives higher than that of all citizens combined. That cannot be right. I do not want my life bought with that of dozens of our people.�

�Don�t blame him,� Elfhelm soothed. �I would have acted the same way. Most of us would have. The filth knows that. It is our weakness, but it is a weakness I am proud of. We Rohirrim care for each other, and will never abandon our kin and friends lightly; it is for this reason that our people still endure after five hundred years of hardship. If we gave up more easily, we would have perished a long time ago. So, I say that this weakness is, in fact, our strength. Our enemies fear us for our determination.� He fell silent, trying to think, although it became increasingly more difficult with the pounding pain in his head and the intensifying thirst and hunger. The gashes he had sustained in the fight did not bother him much yet, but they added to his overall weakness and Elfhelm knew that they would get infected if he did not see a healer soon. �So, �othain retreated, you say.�

�Yes. He threatened to kill Wormtongue�s men if they leave the hall for water and supplies, but I don�t think they will�� Nervously chewing on her lower lip, �owyn recalled what she had seen. �It looked to me as if the filth counted on such an outcome and made the necessary arrangements long beforehand. I saw many sacks and large vessels stacked in the throne room when they led me to the door� as if Gr�ma expected a siege. I would not be surprised if he emptied the entire storage shed. If �othain thinks he can get to him this way, I fear that he will be mistaken.� Her attention returned to Elfhelm, and if possible, her bearing became even tenser. �Still, I cannot shake the impression that Wormtongue does not count on a long siege� One of his remarks made me wonder whether he knew something no one else has an inkling of yet.�

�You mean that he is waiting for something to happen? Or for someone to arrive to solve the problem for him?� Elfhelm inhaled, and his frown deepened. �Even if he got his greedy fingers onto all of Edoras� supplies, holing up in Meduseld will not get him out of danger. He has to know that sooner or later, our people will find a way to get to him, even if they have to turn every little pebble the hill consists of to find the secret tunnels in the rock. No, he is waiting for his master armies, or perhaps even his master himself will come here.� The thought of the White Wizard upon the threshold of Edoras robbed him of his breath. What would the necromancer do to their people once he took possession of the City of Kings?

�Could it be that they are already on the way?� �owyn forced herself to remain composed even if the images of bleeding people and the burning city suddenly overwhelming her mind sickened her. �Could it be that the Westfold is already ablaze with war and its inhabitants dead, and that the plains are swarming with orcs marching for Edoras?� She stared at the shackled warrior and saw the paralysing dread she felt herself mirrored in his eyes. �We have no way of knowing, Elfhelm, but I fear that it might be so. The wheels are turning and the last pieces of Wormtongue�s plan have fallen into place, and there is nothing left to do for him now but wait for the host that will murder his foes and free him. That is why he was so calm when �othain challenged him: there is no need for him to leave Meduseld. Without a miracle, in a few days the Riddermark will be a deserted wasteland bereft of human life, and he knows it.� The sheer enormity of her sudden realisation choked her.

�B�ma�� Stunned by the same imagery, Elfhelm stared into to flickering semi-darkness. �owyn�s assumption made perfect sense. Shaking his head as he fought to subdue the terrible cries and pictures threatening to flood his mind, he lifted his head with an effort, involuntarily grimacing at the stinging of his wounds. �But such a miracle� who should bring it to us? Your brother?� His expression left no question that he did no longer believe �omer to be alive, and his hopeless demeanour caused a sharp bolt of pain to pierce �owyn�s heart. If not even the always optimistic Captain of Eastfold believed in her brother any more� She could not speak, choking despair leaving her mouth dry like sand.

�I assume that we can forget about Gondor coming to our aid,� Elfhelm meanwhile continued, looking through her as he wrecked his brain for a flicker of hope that would help to carry them through the darkness of these days. �They did not answer to any of our calls for a long time. Like the Steward�s son said, they are hard-pressed themselves to repel the enemy again and again and can spare none of their soldiers. Not that I believe that they would send them even if things were different. Gondor has long forgotten about our old alliance. Five hundred years have passed since �orl�s glorious ride, and to many of that high folk, it is barely more now than an ancient myth. A tale for their children when they take them to bed, but not something founded in reality. Nowadays, those fine people think of us as barely more civilised than the hillfolk. We are savages to them, not worthy of their allegiance.�

�If that is what they believe, then both Gondor and Rohan will fall,� �owyn said lowly. �Do they not understand that the war will come to them from both sides if they allow the necromancer�s armies to slaughter us? Our foes are the same, why then do we not fight together?� She waited for another reply, and when none came, looked to the side to see Elfhelm�s face contorted into a pained grimace, his eyes tightly shut. The sight of his distress chased a shudder down her spine and she jumped to her feet. �Lord Elfhelm?�

He groaned.

�Forgive me, my Lady. It is just my head. That coward whom the Worm calls his right hand hit me with something heavy last night when they captured us. Not to worry, I�ve experienced hangovers that were decidedly worse than this; it takes more to take me down.� �owyn�s gaze was still sceptical when he looked up, and to divert her attention from his problems, the Captain of Eastfold decided to change the topic of their conversation. �How was C�orl faring when you saw him? You said that the Worm used him, too, as a shield against �othain. Could he walk by himself?�

Her expression even graver than the one with which she had regarded him, �owyn shook her head.

�He seemed to be barely conscious and had to be supported by two men to walk. I fear for him. He needs a healer urgently, but I doubt that Wormtongue will allow Yalanda to see him. If he gets no help�� She had not the heart to finish the sentence, but the Captain of Eastfold understood her regardless, and he evaded her compassionate gaze. Summoning what strength was left in him, he inhaled deeply and then shouted into the darkness: �C�orl? If you can hear me, Brother, then answer me!� Anxiously, they both listened into the ensuing silence. �C�orl?�

Another breathless moment passed, and then a faint echo answered them, and it was a voice they recognised, even if it wasn�t the one of the Captain of Edoras; its words so distorted that they were almost impossible to understand.

�That must be Gamling,� �owyn said tonelessly.

�Aye, but could you understand what he said?�

�I am not sure�� Her large eyes wide filled with dread. �But I think he said that C�orl no longer answers him either. And they are in the same corridor��

--------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Loose pieces of a distant conversation trickled into �omer�s refuge from outside, gradually waking him from the state of dozing which had overwhelmed him after the meal and the intense conversation with Freya. The young woman�s difficult situation had even followed him into sleep, resulting in a strange dream where he and Osred had entered into a shouting match about who had first mentally deserted the farmers� daughter. Glad to leave the disturbing scene behind as he woke to the reality of his room, �omer soon recognised with relief Aragorn�s calm and at the same time firm voice as he spoke with Halad, and yet he already caught an undercurrent of urgency in the ranger�s tone that troubled him deeply enough to reach for the edge of the mattress in an effort to sit up.

�Lord Aragorn! Thanks be to B�ma, you have returned! We already feared for the worst because you were gone for such a long time� But I see that you found your friend.�

�Our apologies, Halad. Yes, all is well with us, but we made a discovery that needed our attention, and I am afraid that we return with bad tidings. Can you please go and fetch your wife and Osred and meet us in the main house? We must talk immediately, and it would help if all were present. A decision needs to be made at once.�

In the muted twilight of the children�s room, �omer struggled to push himself up against the headrest of the bed, the cold hand of fear clenching his innards at the thought of what the ranger had found. When the door opened at last and Aragorn�s serious face appeared in the gap to find out whether he was awake, �omer saw his worst assumptions confirmed in the other man�s gaze even before the words had left the ranger�s mouth. The question of who the three travellers had run into had just been answered. Swallowing, the Rohir asked the only other question he could think of his state of stunned shock.

�How many?�

�Twenty-five. And they will be here soon.�

--------------------------------

Following the ranger�s brief recapitulation of their encounter with the enemy, the silence in the room cramped with anxious people was thick enough to cut through, and for the longest time, only the innocent crackling of the fire could be heard. Already feeling exhausted even from the few steps over to the living room he had taken with the massive help of Halad and Aragorn, �omer leant against the wall and looked at the Dun�dan from his improved cot on the ground with the feeling that the bottom of his stomach had just dropped out. It was not as if he had not expected for the enemy to find him. The orcs� senses were sharp, and the strong winds must have carried his scent halfway across the Ered Nimrais while he had first battled the elements and finally lain in the snow for hours, long enough for them to estimate his location. He had not wanted to pull Freya�s family into this mess, but there seemed to be little that could be done about it now.

�Twenty-five orcs! And you are sure that they are headed our way? They could not be just passing through on the way to Aldburg?� Osred, too, stared open-mouthed at the ranger, all blood drained from his face. He then checked the expressions of the man�s strange friends, involuntarily hoping to find a hint there that it was only a very cruel joke. Of course, he found none.

�Alas, I fear that it is so.� Aragorn�s gaze wandered over the family�s faces, feeling pity for their hosts. The two small children sat huddled on their parents� laps, their little faces pressed against their shoulders in a vain search for cover. Aragorn knew better. Once the enemy�s host entered this vale, there would be no hiding. It was either running or making a stand, a decision they�d have to reach very quickly. �We attempted to lead them away, but the effort was unsuccessful.� He lowered his gaze to regard �omer, who nodded silently upon listening to his words, knowing the enemy too well himself. �Orcs hunt mainly by scent, and though our tracks were not to be missed, they did not care for them.�

�Of course not. It is me they want,� �omer stated grimly, his insides clenching into a tight knot as all faces turned to him. He ignored them as best he could, although the frightened expressions were painful to behold, and looked at Aragorn instead. �How far away were they when you left them?�

�About halfway between the cave where you slew their brethren and where we found you. I would say no further than five leagues from here.�

�Five leagues!� Osred cried, and his son�s little hands clenched in his shirt. The child whimpered with fright. �But then they are already on our doorstep!�

�They were moving slowly though,� Legolas added in an attempt to calm him. �They are wary after finding their dead brothers, and very cautious not to run into a trap. We tried to get close enough to reduce their number, but the wind worked against us. If they proceed in this fashion, they should arrive here somewhere during the night.�

�Then we must flee,� the farmer decided with a glance at the frightened expressions of the members of his family. �There are yet a few more hours of daylight left; if we saddle the horses now, we could make it to our neighbours before nightfall. And tomorrow--�

�No.�

With a sinking feeling in his stomach at the sound of Freya�s fearful and yet determined voice, �omer stared into the fire. He knew what would follow; after all, he had already witnessed himself how this shy and vulnerable looking woman had fended off wargs with a hayfork to protect her kin. She would not run, even if he desperately wished her to leave.

�No. This is the farm of my parents, and of their parents before them. My family has lived in this for generations; building and adding to it in uncountable hours of hard work. If we run now and leave it unprotected, those things will burn it and slaughter our stock, and there will be nothing left for us to return to. We will be uprooted like so many before us; we will be left without a home, and more people will starve because we can no longer supply them with food.� Clutching her daughter in obvious distress, Freya stared at �omer, her expression confrontational. �You know how important our farm is in sustaining the people in the mountains, �omer! You cannot seriously consider abandoning it without a fight!�

�You do not suggest that we stay here, Freya, do you?� Osred threw in, not wanting to believe his ears. �Or do you value this farm higher than even the lives of your loved-ones? I am not even talking about myself here, but your children and your sisters. Do you believe that your home is worth more than their lives? �

�You do not know what is coming at you, Freya,� �omer rebuked, for once ignoring Osred although he supported his position. �Twenty-five enemies��

�We can defeat them, Aragorn!� Almost expectantly, Gimli fondled the haft of his axe, apparently the only one not dismayed at the prospect of a fight upon the farm�s grounds. �Twenty-five orcs, that makes only five for each of us if we count the Rohir and him in.� He looked at Osred. �We�ve been faced with grimmer odds.�

�I can fight, too!� Halad piped up, but �omer was faster when he asked Aragorn:

�Where there only orcs, or where there Uruk-hai among them?�

�Most of them were Uruk-hai, I fear.�

�Freya�� Determinedly shaking his head, �omer turned back to their anxiously listening host. �Listen to me: you must leave. Osred is right, it is too great a risk. Take your horses and put as many leagues between them and you as you can. And bear in mind that it will not be safe at your neighbour�s farm either; come dawn, you will have to proceed, and your neighbours, too. There is no stopping a host of twenty-five Uruk-hai without the help of an �ored. Trust me, I know! I fought but one of them, and he almost killed me!� He shifted his attention back at Aragorn. �One of us should ride ahead and alert the riders in the closest settlements. We are halfway between Aldburg and Captain Erkenbrand�s stronghold, so--�

�We killed far more than twenty-five Uruk-hai at Amon Hen, Aragorn!� Gimli tried again, his gaze travelling over his friends and the banished Rohir, whose brow creased in anger over his intrusion. To Aragorn�s left, Legolas nodded thoughtfully. �If you and the elf diminish their numbers with your bows from a distance first, we will not even have to face twenty-five in a battle one-on-one. And since they do not know that we are here, we will have the advantage of surprise! They think they will face some unarmed farmers without battle experience. If we use their haughtiness to our advantage, we can make short process of them. Think about it!�

�It would still be a great risk,� the Dun�dan said, unconvinced.

�But he is right,� Freya hurried to say, slanting the dwarf a brief, thankful glance before she addressed her brother: �Halad, you and Fleadwyn and Willa and Wyndra will ride, and you will take Lo�gar and Edilda with you.� She turned around to Osred, sad but determined. �And you ride too, if you must, Osred, but I will stay. I was born here, and if the gods have decided that I should die here, then I will, but I will not let them destroy my home without a fight.�

�And I will stay, too,� Halad said, and looked at his younger sisters whom he knew as able-bodied riders. �Willy, Wyndra, you and Fleadwyn will ride, and you take Lo�gar and Edilda.� He felt his wife tense beside him and wrapped her even closer in his embrace as he looked at the man he had regarded as an older brother for a long time. ��omer, you taught me yourself to fight. You even gifted me with a sword. You need me here. What did you prepare us for all these years if not for this case?�

�You do not understand, Halad. These are Uruks; they are far more powerful than ordinary orcs. I fought one of them in the caves, and he almost killed me although I am much more adept at battle than you. I do not want you killed.�

�And I do not want to leave my home, and my sister, defenceless!�

�You will not have to leave her because we will all leave!� Osred threw in, glaring at Freya. �And I will hear no more!�

�I will not abandon my home, and that is my last word!�

Helplessly listening to the family quarrel while he stared at Aragorn and simultaneously wrecked his brain for a solution, �omer suddenly found it: �I will ride.� Disregarded the deepening lines on the older man�s brow, he continued with sudden enthusiasm: �It is me they want. So it is I alone who can lead them away from here.�

Chapter 31 - Storm Clouds

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Aragorn narrowed his eyes; his expression that of a man not believing his ears. His voice, likewise, indicated what he thought about the Rohir�s idea: �You cannot even stay in a saddle long enough to leave the farm�s grounds, much less lead a host of Uruks through the mountains that will shoot you the moment they get within range!�

�I can do whatever I must; it is not the first time for me to ride under less than perfect conditions!� �omer rebuked against better knowledge, fighting not to raise his voice as he did not want for Freya�s children to hear his words. �And even if you had to bind me to the saddle, I would not stay here and become the reason for Saruman�s brood to slaughter these people!�

�You will not help their cause by getting yourself killed!� Aragorn, too, now added intensity to his voice as he stepped in front of him, his back on the family and thus blocking their view. His hard grey eyes tore into �omer�s. �Or who else should lead your armies against the enemy if you are dead? Do I have to remind you of the state we found you in just last night? Would it not be self-evident to a warrior who set himself a higher goal that he cannot simply throw away his life over a matter of pride?� The two men stared at each other, both attempting to impose their will unto the other while the rest of the present listened to their argument in dismayed silence. What were they supposed to do if even their leaders could not decide over the right course of action while time was running through their hands?

�So you expect me to sacrifice them, is that it?� �omer asked, his eyes widening with incredulity. �To save my own hide? If that is the impression you have of me, I must tell you that you are wrong! I have never hidden behind--�

�You have not even heard my suggestion yet,� Aragorn replied calmly. �Will you not hear me out first before shouting at me and feeling insulted over things I haven�t said? I was always under the impression that a Marshal of the Mark had to be open to common sense, and I am perfectly certain that you are capable of that, Son of �omund. Are you willing to listen to what I have to say?� Silently, he watched �omer�s expression change from anger over pensiveness to wariness, confident that the younger man would see the logic of his words.

Although many years had passed since then, he had ridden with the Rohirrim long enough to be well-acquainted with their occasional flares of temper and fits of stubbornness. In the end, Aragorn had always found the sons of Eorl open to reason, and he had no doubt that it would be no different with the young warrior in front of him who reminded him so very much of his proud father: possessed of the same powerful build and manners of movement and speech, it was the unyielding will of �omund of Aldburg directed at him through his son; the determined gaze of which he found himself the focus similar to the late Marshal of Eastfold�s, even if �omer�s eyes were� for a Rohir of a peculiar - brown instead of his father�s piercing blue-grey. No, the wilful young warrior was very much his father�s son, and it was in him where the Mark�s hope lay. Having risen to one of the highest military positions in the realm of Rohan at a very young age, �omer had to understand about the value of outside advice, even more as Aragorn had gained the distinct impression that � though they had not known each other for long � the Rohir trusted him unlimited.

And really, although he still seemed disgruntled, �omer swallowed whatever objections he had on his tongue in an effort to be constructive, and his voice sounded calm enough when he asked: �And what is it that you suggest, Lord Aragorn?�

Eyeing him for a moment longer with approval in his gaze, Aragorn straightened and turned back to the anxiously listening family, his eyes wandering over the row of concerned faces: �The Uruks are on their way, and by now they must already have passed the last intersection that would lead them away from this valley.� Again he looked at �omer. �So even if you could ride, there is no point. Their path will lead them here, no matter what we do, and here is where we will make our stand.� His gaze found Freya just long enough to see the brief spark of hope in her large, concerned eyes. �Gimli is right, on our journey to Rohan, we were faced with worse odds several times, and we braved them even though our foes had the element of surprise on their side. This time, it will be our advantage. We were very careful when we followed their host today, and I doubt they know yet that they have been detected.�

�But you cannot be entirely certain of that,� �omer summoned, and Aragorn nodded solemnly. �What about the tracks you made to lead them away?�

�Like I said, they paid them no heed. Of course there are no guarantees, but let me assure you that we were extremely cautious. We would not have reached the Mark if not for our skill of passing unseen underneath the enemy�s eyes.� Satisfied with his confident reassurance, �omer nodded. �With the rest of the afternoon and probably most of the night to plan and prepare ourselves, it should be possible to develop a strategy for the defence of this farm, perhaps even a trap. Yet first of all, we need to call for aid. If we can alert a nearby �ored, there might nott even be the need for battle.� He looked at Osred. �We must build a fire; a big fire which generates a lot of smoke. Do you have enough wood?�

�We have our supplies, but this being a hard winter, I�d rather not use it all up. It is hard to get firewood up here in the mountains.�

�I understand, but wouldn�t it be worth the effort? If an �ored is in the vicinity, will they not ride to find the source of the fire to see whether their help is needed?� Aragorn turned back at �omer and found to his surprise a wry smile on the warrior�s lips.

�If there was enough smoke, certainly, they will investigate.� A brief glance at the window confirmed that the sky outside was still clear. �In these conditions, it will be seen for many miles. I�d say that it is definitely worth a try, but we will have to make haste. There are not too many hours of daylight left.�

�How great are the chances that an �ored will see the smoke?� Freya asked, barely daring to hope.

�omer shrugged.

�With the increased orc-activity lately, many of our patrols are constantly roaming the mountain paths, so I would definitely count on their appearance� It all depends on whether they will be here fast enough, for the orcs will see the smoke as well and know what it means.� He looked at Aragorn, who nodded pensively.

�That is right, but since they are headed for the farm anyway, it does not matter. Stealth will not help us in this case.�

�I would build it,� Halad began reluctantly, his gaze travelling from his sister to his brother-in-law and back. �But shouldn�t we at least get Lo�gar and Edilda away from here?� He looked at the two scared children, then at his young wife who pressed herself against him, painfully reminding him of her rounded stomach in which life also grew. No, she could not stay here. Searching for understanding, he looked down upon her. �And Fl�adwyn, I want you to leave, too. And you, Willa and Wyndra��

�And you?� His wife looked up, her eyes large and frightened. She could not have heard him right. �Will you accompany us?� �Please!� her eyes pleaded silently while her hold of him intensified, and it hurt Halad having to deny her wish.

�I am needed here, Fl�adwyn. All these past years, �omer told me to fight, and I am well prepared.� He turned his head to the man he had always regarded as his older brother, hoping for the warrior�s consent. And �omer granted him the little nod he had hoped for, but the expression in his dark eyes spoke of less confidence in his apprentice than Halad would have wished for. �Do not fear for me, Fl�adwyn,� he whispered, and pressed her against his chest. �I am sure there will not even be a fight; our riders will see the smoke and be here before the orcs can reach us.�

�Perhaps that will be so, but I will not take that risk. You are riding with them, Freya!� Osred�s expression indicated that he would tolerate no discussion in this regard, and for a moment, his wife was rendered speechless as she stared at her husband, even her free hand which had reassuringly stroked Edilda�s head for the duration of their conversation halted.

With an insulted edge to her voice she finally asked: �You mean that I should leave you and our guests behind and expect you to protect our possessions with your lives while I myself run?� Incredulous, she looked at �omer, in whose face she read to her dismay the same determination as in her brother�s. Of course she wanted to be with her children and protect and comfort them, but what if the men died because of her objections against leaving their farm unguarded? ��omer, you taught me to fight yourself! You even gifted me with a sword. You know what I am capable of.�

�Aye, Freya, I know.� The warrior nodded, fully aware that his next words would rose her anger. �And that is why I have to agree with your brother. Leave. Your children need you out there. It will be easier for us to defend the farm knowing that we won�t have to look out for you, too.� He saw the crease building between her eyes and immediately understood its meaning even though he had never seen her like this. �And yes, I know that you never ran from anything, and that you defended your farm against wolves and wargs since your youth, but Uruks are no wargs. They are no animals, and while they may lack the sheer weight of a warg, their ferocity is the same, and it is paired with cunning and intelligence. Those creatures were bred and trained for battle, Freya, whereas wargs only seek to fill their stomachs. They are easily discouraged when they meet resistance, but those things are beyond your capabilities!�

�Listen to him!� Osred entered the discussion, incredulous that he should have to convince his wife of such an obvious thing, and for the first time, Freya paused. Edilda whimpered in her tight clutch, and soothingly, she stroked over the girl�s head.

�Ssh� it is good, little one. No need to be scared.� Suddenly uncertain, she looked at Aragorn, but the ranger�s attention seemed to be solely focussed on the wounded Rohir.

�They are beyond your capabilities, too, �omer, at least for now.� He steeled himself for the young man�s outburst he knew would come. But �omer surprised him. With a sly smile, he craned back his neck and met his saviour�s glance openly.

�Like you said, I am too weak to ride, so I am afraid that I�ll have to stay.� He could see that Aragorn was less than amused by his rebuke. �I can fight, Aragorn. That Uruk in the cave only had a chance against me because I was no appropriately armed.�

�How far is your neighbour�s farm away?� The Dun�dan looked at Osred, but it was Halad who answered.

�It is a good afternoon�s ride if they travel fast. They may be able to make it there until nightfall, but they will have to leave immediately.� He looked uncomfortably at Fleadwyn, not wanting to imagine his young wife riding through the mountains without protection. Having seen his worried glance, Legolas stepped forth and met Aragorn�s gaze, finding affirmation there even before he had uttered the first word:

�I will accompany them on the way and then return, there should be time enough. And I can see well enough in the dark to find the way back.� He acknowledged Halad�s silent thanks with a gracious nod and laid a hand upon the young man�s arm in a comforting gesture �They will be safe with me, fear not.�

�I do not doubt that. Thank you, my lord.� With a sudden lump in his throat, Halad nodded at Aragorn and then looked at his sisters and his wife. �I will go and ready the horses. Pack a few things quickly and then meet me at the stable. We must hurry.�

�We have yet to determine who rides with them,� �omer said with a long gaze at Aragorn. �Freya will; I will not. I assure you that I can handle myself. I agree with you that a long ride through the cold would not be in my powers yet, but if I have a few more hours of rest, and with the proper preparation, I will be able to fight. I can still handle a bow, and with a tight bandage around my leg, I should even be able to walk. I�ve had to fight under worse conditions before. You cannot afford to send me away, Aragorn. You need me.�

The ranger�s expression indicated that he knew this to be true, however reluctantly that realisation came to him.

�But you have no weapons.�

�I will take Freya�s sword.� �omer saw dread in the young woman�s eyes in reaction to his words. She still felt guilty to leave when it had been her intervention that could result in their death. �It is a very good sword, as is Osred�s and Halad�s. They are sharp enough to even cut a falling piece of paper in half. I saw to that when I ordered them for you. With them, we are well-armed. Any Uruk who comes too close will regret it.� His words were followed by a meaningful silence as each of the present realised the high stakes. At last, it was Freya�s brother who broke it.

�I must go now. Meet me at the stable when you are ready.�

�Let me help you,� Legolas offered, looking around and finding approval in Aragorn�s gaze. �The sooner we can leave, the better.�

�And I will concern myself with the fire, if one of you could be so kind and show me where the necessary things are,� Gimli grumbled, glad to finally have something constructive to do. The dwarf seemed to be extraordinarily pleased at the prospect of battle.

�I can do that,� Wyndra stepped forth, looking at her sister. �Willa, can you please pack something for me, too, while we build the fire?�

�Of course.�

�Then all of us have their task.� Aragorn looked around, until at last, his eyes found �omer, and the message they conveyed was clear to the Rohir. Their task would be to determine the strategy that would either ensure their survival� or result in their death.

-----------------------

EDORAS

The day had been almost too busy to look forward to the little educational visit to the dungeon he had planned for the early evening, but as Gr�ma stood in the kitchen, waiting for the few servants they had kept within the hall to prepare the tray with his prisoners� meals, he could no longer help feeling excited.

Impatiently tapping his foot, Wormtongue�s thoughts went back to the confrontation with the young Captain �othain of Edoras, and the role his captives had played in it. As a matter of fact, he was surprised that it had worked so well; that it had not been necessary to shoot a single arrow into the angered mob of Rohirrim. And how much he had welcomed it, because the situation could easily have spun out of control if one of their attackers had so much as been wounded in the quarrel. Now, �othain and his men had retreated, and though Wormtongue harboured no doubts that the young man had meant the threat he had uttered, it did not bother him. He was well prepared, the throne room and the kitchens of the ancient hall packed with enough food and water to easily last for at least two weeks, and even longer if they rationed the supplies more strictly. Not that he expected for the siege to last for long. The last message he had received from Saruman had indicated that his master was finally ready to deliver the killing blow to the stubborn peasants of the Mark. Any day now, the western horizon would turn black with their marching army of Uruk-hai, and the earth would shake beneath their feet. Until then, he and his followers would sit safely inside the barricaded hall and enjoy their secret knowledge of the city�s near destruction each time they looked out at the thatched roofs below. A satisfied smile wandered over the Counsellor�s face while he silently followed the kitchen maid�s frantic efforts to fulfil his order and be rid of him.

Perhaps this was the very reason why he still kept the King alive. At first, Gr�ma had considered simply letting the weakened man die in his chambers now that Th�oden was no longer of any use to him; too weak to rise to his feet by himself, he would be forced to soil his bed while he slowly starved to death; probably the most shameful exiting of this world a Rohir could imagine. The thought of it was sweet; but even sweeter was the plan which had formed in the Half-Dunlending�s mind only two days earlier: he would bring the King back from his dazed state; allowing Th�oden to wake from the nightmare he had wandered for years, and when Saruman�s army tore into the capital of Rohan, he would lead him out onto the terrace to watch his people�s destruction. Yes, this measure felt appropriate to Gr�ma as a revenge for all the years since his early youth when he been the object of the strawheads� spite and cruelty. It would be a pleasure to watch their dying throes from the elevated position of Meduseld with their devastated ruler by his side. Another event to look forward to� but now, another task waited for him he had awaited for a very long time, and he was determined to savour every moment of it.

�Your tray is ready, Master Gr�ma,� the kitchen maid at last approached him, her gaze lowered submissively, and he granted her a benign smile, prompted by his extraordinarily good mood this evening.

�Thank you, Hilde. I am certain that the Lady �owyn will appreciate your care in fixing her meal.� From the corner of his eye, he saw the success of his words as the old woman flinched at the thought of her captive mistress, and then turned to G�thlaf who had silently waited behind him. �Take it and follow me!� For a moment, the guard paused and Gr�ma could virtually feel the man�s reluctance in carrying the tray after his master like a serving wench, but one brief glance back over his shoulder reminded him quickly of his place, and he followed without protest. In front of the kitchen doors, two more guards awaited them.

Already in a triumphant mood although nothing had been achieved yet, Wormtongue preceded his group of loyal followers to the door leading to the dungeon, opened for him upon a curt nod by the nearby guard who also handed him a lit torch. A ghastly procession of darkly-clad men with grim expressions except for their leader descended the narrow, winding stairs into the darkness, their steps echoing threateningly through the vast corridors. The few prisoners who had spoken with each other in hushed voices fell silent as the guards passed their cells, inwardly glad that it was not them those men were coming for, even if it meant that someone else would suffer instead.

A fat rat with a crippled leg was too slow in evading as the guards turned into her corridor, and Felrod gladly took the opportunity to crunch the animal beneath his heavy boot. Upon reaching the main crossroads, Gr�ma turned back to his most loyal follower, a knowing smirk upon his face. He had heard the rat�s dying squeak and knew that the big fellow was in the appropriate mood for what he had in mind.

�All except G�thlaf, wait here. I will first see how our dear Captains Gamling and C�orl are faring before we will concern ourselves with the others.� Leaving them standing, Wormtongue and his minion strode down to the other end of the cells and came to a halt in front of the last one before the corner. As he had ordered, the corridor lay in complete darkness, and the red-haired former Captain of the Royal Guard squinted at him from his bench like an owl caught in the daylight as he lowered his torch.

�Lord Gamling, how very wonderful it is to see you here, alive and behind bars. I hope you find everything meeting with your expectations?� The man�s pale face reddened with anger as he came to his feet and grasped the bars.

�You think you have won, Snake! You haven�t, let me tell you this! Enjoy these moments while they last, for your end is coming.�

�Oh, I am certainly enjoying them, dear Gamling,� Gr�ma laughed, unfazed. �After all, they are my sweet revenge for uncounted years of ridicule. Do not think that I did not see it in your eyes whenever you looked at me. Lord H�ma was only the first to pay the full price of his haughtiness, and if you don�t watch your mouth, you will be next.� Meaningfully, he turned to the guard still holding the tray and picked up a bowl of undistinguishable contents and a mug of water. �This is your meal. The dogs had the same this morning, and they liked it well enough, so it should agree with you.� He set it down upon the ground and straightened, mindful not to get too close to the bars as he lowered his voice confidentially: �I am in a merciful mood today because I understand that the shock of what happened is still fresh. Yet know that if you continue to speak with me in this fashion, I will be forced to withhold your meals from you for as long as you refuse to use courtesy in my presence. You have an entire day to make your decision before I return, and since I have always known you to be a reasonably intelligent man for a Rohir, I trust that you will see the wisdom in my suggested course of action. Enjoy your meal!�

He left the swearing Rohir behind, not listening to the man�s enraged words while he silently counted the cells he passed. At the other end of the long corridor, again the last cell of the row, he found what he had been looking for: a dark shape on the ground, crumbled like a bundle of rags; unmoving.

�Captain C�orl? Here is your meal.� He placed the mug and bowl on the ground within reach for the injured man if he woke from his unconsciousness. Wormtongue doubted that it would be soon. Very well. If C�orl did not eat what he had brought him, why should not the rats enjoy a rare feast? Feeling safe that the warrior would not suddenly jump up and grab him through the bars, Gr�ma stuck his arm with the torch through them to have a better look at the prone shape to his feet. Was the man still alive?

�The filth is dead, Master,� G�thlaf grumbled with deep satisfaction. In the battle, the warrior had almost defeated him before the rest of his Dunlending brothers had come to his rescue. Even now the long cut on his arm stung as he stared at his fallen adversary, and not even the knowledge that it had been he who had delivered the hardest blow to the wounded Rohir before C�orl had surrendered had lifted his mood the entire day. It was only now that he saw the man crumbled and bloodied, in all likelihood dying on the floor of his dark, cold cell that G�thlaf felt appropriately avenged. Yet even as he turned away, he saw out of the corner of his eye the smallest of movements and swore: C�orl had turned his head toward them, and his eyes were open, their expression not the broken expression he had hoped to see, even if the man looked more dead than alive.

�Not yet, G�thlaf,� Gr�ma addressed the obvious, half waiting for the Captain to speak even though he could see that the warrior was too weak and barely conscious. �Not yet. But it will not take much longer until the rats down here will have a feast of the likes they have never experienced before. Too bad, I would have loved to let him witness the death of his son first.� He narrowed his eyes as he beheld the strange expression on his prisoner�s face. Was C�orl actually smiling at him? �What?� But instead of an answer, the warrior just turned his back on him.

For a moment, Wormtongue felt angry enough to open the door and teach the prisoner that he had chosen the wrong object for his ridicule, but only a heartbeat later, common sense had the rule over him again, and with a derogatory snort, Gr�ma turned away from the now again unmoving figure. In another corridor, someone else was waiting for him, and he would take his rage with him now and unleash it against her!

�Come, G�thlaf!� he barked, already storming ahead so quickly that the guard found it difficult to follow his master. �We have an appointment, and I would really hate to keep her waiting!�

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In the semi-darkness of her cell, �owyn had sat and listened to the distant interchange even though the words had been low for her to understand the conversation. And yet when it stopped and was replaced by fast steps, she instinctively understood that they were coming for her now. In the eternal darkness of the mountain�s insides, her sense of time had suffered a quick, merciful death, and it was only her empty stomach that insisted it had to be almost evening by now. Gr�ma had said that he would return for her in the evening, and he was known to keep such dark promises. He would not miss this opportunity to cause her yet more torment.

Torment� her insides twitched at the thought of what they would do to Elfhelm, and what the Worm hoped to achieve by brutalising the man she had cared for deeply since her childhood days. The notion that her ideas were presumably not far off did nothing to comfort her, and when Elfhelm whispered her name from the other side of the corridor, she hesitated at first to face him, afraid to let him see the depth of her fear.

��owyn! Please, remember what I told you! Give him nothing, especially not because of me. I can take what he has to give; I am not afraid of him. But if you bend to his will, you will make my resistance worthless. We must be of one mind in this. �owyn? Promise me this!�

She swallowed, her heart pounding in her throat as she listened to the approaching footsteps. How could Elfhelm still have hope? Why not make it easier for themselves by complying?

�To the Worm�s will? Where is your pride?�

It was �omer�s voice in her head, surprising her with its forcefulness, and in the narrow confines of her cell, �owyn straightened as she listened to her brother.

�You are the reason for everything that Gr�ma did, �owyn! It was because of you that he turned to Saruman, knowing that you would never be his under normal circumstances. He still wants you, and with your submission, you would make his triumph complete. Without it,victory will be a hollow, tasteless thing for Gr�ma, even if the Mark comes to ruin . In your hands lies the ultimate act of defiance, and if you remain strong, you can destroy all he wanted to achieve. Be strong, Little Bird�

Tears stinging in her eyes even as she shut them, she nodded, and with a choked whisper said: �I promise.� Silence answered her, and at first, she thought that Elfhelm must not have heard her, but when she turned her head to finally face him, she found him looking at her with a strangely touched expression softening his tense features. It was a brief moment of comfort in the darkest night of her life, and it gave her the necessary courage to swallow her tears and await their captor and his minions with dignity.

Chapter 32 - The Eagle of the Star

Chapter 32: The Eagle of the Star

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EDORAS

�Dearest Lady �owyn,� Gr�ma smirked. �I see that you have been waiting for me. Is it just because of your growling stomach, or had perhaps a part further above in your body also a saying in this?� His smile widened in response to the young woman�s irritated expression, and with an exaggerated gesture, he presented to her the tray which G�thlaf held in his hands, obviously enjoying himself as much as his master: �I am bringing you your meal, my lady. I hope you will find it to your taste.�

�I am not hungry,� �owyn said, lying straight into her captor�s face since Gr�ma�s superior attitude angered her too greatly to grant him even this simple satisfaction. Coolly, she looked away as if the walls of her cell were of greater interest than anything the Counsellor could offer, inwardly dismissing her tormentor. Wormtongue however was not surprised by her cool demeanour. He had studied the White Lady�s body language for long years and knew what each little gesture, each blink of her eye meant. �owyn was still very much listening to his words even if she pretended not to care. Oh, how satisfying it would be to see this cold facade of hers crumble!

�I see,� he oozed, slick as honey, in a tone that feigned understanding. �You are still too proud for your own good, just like your brother.� He noticed how she twitched at the mention of �omer. �Of course, the King�s niece will never accept the crumbs from the hands of the man she despises, even if it is he who is now in the position of power. Very well, have it your way. But you would do well to remember my last night�s words, Lady �owyn: I am on a quest to curing you of your haughtiness and unparalleled arrogance. Through me, you will learn about humility and gratitude for the one who alone is in the position to spare you from a fate you do not even want to begin to imagine. Your behaviour will determine the fate of your friend, our valiant Captain Elfhelm of Aldburg. Did you ask him whether he was hungry? Perhaps he does not see things your way. Perhaps, he would rather not starve to death or die of thirst just because the arrogant young thing in the opposite cell insists on keeping her pride intact?�

�You will not succeed in driving a spike between us, Worm!� Elfhelm spat, a hard glint in his narrowed eyes. �Your intrigues and net-weaving fail against the virtues of the �orlingas. It is the blood of �orl that will ultimately defeat you!�

�Perhaps it will, even if I do not believe it. But either way, you will not be around to witness it if the golden-haired maiden here insists on playing coy with me for much longer.� Inclining his head in mocking mirth, Gr�ma looked at his chained adversary and found to his pleasure that Elfhelm looked already weaker than the past morning. Of course, as yet another prime specimen of the stubborn horse-lords, the warrior would sooner swallow his tongue than admit his worsening condition to his adversary, but there could be no mistaking the way he hung, rather than stood, in his chains. Slowly but surely, his wounds, the hopelessness of their situation and the lack of food were getting to him, and this was just the beginning. His brows arched, Wormtongue looked back over his shoulder to the King�s niece.

�I believe that I already told you how it worked, my Lady, did I not? Co-operate and do what I say without protest, and the two of you get rewarded with food and water. You comply, but only after a discussion, and your poor captain will only get the water. You continue to be a nuisance, and he gets nothing. I would urgently advise you to remember those rules, Lady �owyn, unless you want for your friend to suffer.� Lifting his chin as he waited for a reaction that didn�t come, Gr�ma continued: �Or perhaps you think that the Captain is not hungry either?� He shifted his attention back to Elfhelm. �What do you say, Captain? Perhaps you should talk with each other; after all, I can imagine that it must be gruelling to hang in these chains for so many hours. I see that your legs have already given out under the constant strain. Who knows, a little food might give you back at least enough of your strength to stand again, but like I said, it is your decision to make.� His expression a cruel parody of compassion, Wormtongue picked up the earthen mug from the tray and then slowly turned his hand, watching as the precious water spilt onto the ground. �You can only keep this up for a very short time. By tomorrow you will beg me for water, and you should pray that I will be in the mood to give it to you.�

Nodding to G�thlaf who stooped to place the bowl and the other mug on the ground before �owyn�s cell, Wormtongue did not miss the guilty expression in the shieldmaiden�s eyes as she looked up to him from her cot, although she quickly replaced it with anger.

�It takes more than this to break us, Worm! You cannot touch us!�

Gr�ma cocked his eyebrows meaningfully.

�And I have more to give, don�t think for a moment that I am at my wit�s end yet! You will beg me, oh haughty daughter of the Mark! You will crawl in the dirt before me and kiss my feet and plead with me before long, I promise you this.� He paused, and the weight of his threat seemed to resonate in the flickering semi-darkness. �Yet despite your discourteous manner, know that I am still willing to exercise mercy on you, but only for today. But I will not allow you to threaten me with starving yourself to death. If you are not hungry yet, even if I don�t believe you, then you won�t have to eat now. I will leave your meal here, in front of your cell. It is a very good meal, something the poor citizens outside would be overjoyed to have on their table once a month, and certainly not something the common prisoner could ever expect to receive. The meat is fresh and hot now, almost rare and with a seasoning of herbs on a bed of steamed vegetables. It is a delicacy now; it will be old and spoiled by tomorrow. And when I return tomorrow evening and find that you haven�t touched it, I will let my men force-feed it to you. Think about it, my lady. One way or another, you will eat this; you choose whether it will be a pleasant experience or something to give you yet more nightmares. I will leave you to your contemplation now and bid you a good night.�

Wormtongue did not linger to see �owyn�s blue eyes glaze over with seething hatred. He knew he had reached �omer�s sister from the shocked silence behind them when he and his men excited the forbidding darkness of the dungeon. By tomorrow, the White Lady of Rohan would be more than susceptible for his devious games�

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EDORAS

�I want you to guard this path as you would do in an ambush on the enemy in the mountains; like a cat, ready to pounce. I want none of them able to leave the hall, be it in search for food or to give secret signals to someone in the city or on the plains. If possible, take them alive; if not, kill them. I do not believe that we could exchange them for the Worm�s prisoners anyway, but having hostages to trade won�t hurt.� �othain�s gaze swept the lines of his riders, who had fully assembled on the open square in the lower regions of the city and listened intently to their Captain�s orders. �I also want every stone turned for the exit of the secret tunnel from Meduseld. I know there is one because the Marshal once mentioned it to me, but he did not tell me where it ends. If we can find it, it will give us a great advantage over the Worm!� He inhaled deeply.

�Those not holding watch or searching will begin to fortify the city and prepare it for battle. I am not certain what Wormtongue meant when he said that we would live at least a few days longer if we did not storm Meduseld, but I did not like his tone. In any case, we should be prepared for an eventual attack. I already sent an errand rider to Aldburg this afternoon to call for aid, so reinforcements will hopefully be on their way soon. We must hold Edoras under all circumstances, and I know that I can count on you, my fellow kinsmen, to give your best for its defence! Let�s show our enemies what the �orlingas are made of!�

A challenging yell from many voices answered his speech, and the people quickly dispersed to see to their assigned tasks. For a moment, �othain stood and watched them leave, unable to move himself. All afternoon, even as he had discussed their strategy with the other remaining captains of the city, he had felt numb as if he were walking through a nightmare from which there was no waking, stunned by the sight of his semi-conscious, bleeding father in the hands of their adversary�s henchmen� and the horror in �owyn�s wide blue eyes while the thug behind her back had almost strangled her. There was no way of knowing what had happened to Gamling and H�ma, or to the King, but �othain held little hope that their adversary had left them alive when he at last seized complete command over the Golden Hall. Likewise, the young captain�s hopes of being able to save his father and the others trapped in it were marginal at best. �othain held no illusions that if his enemies stormed Meduseld, Wormtongue would sooner order his prisoners to be killed and escape their wrath with the help of one of his devious potions that would stop the beating of his black heart painlessly, rather then surrender. He had to know that he would be burned if they ever caught him alive.

The young warrior cast a long, dark glance to the forbidding silhouette on top of the hill, and his lips formed a bloodless line when he thought of the ordeal his father had to endure this very moment. His heart cried out at the memory of his mother�s reaction to the ill news he had been forced to bring her after the confrontation, and the feeling of overwhelming helplessness and despair threatened to take his rational thinking away whenever �othain lowered his guard. Deep inside, the young warrior already knew that he would eventually never again see his father alive. Their death toll was rising with each passing day, and yet while �othain barely dared to hope for his own survival, he would be content to be called to his ancestors if he was granted his revenge on the man responsible for the death of his kin and friends first.

With a last deep breath, the Captain of Edoras turned his back to the building he had always seen as the heart of the Mark. The heart was still beating but poisoned, and whether there was a cure for the illness that had befallen it would remain to be seen�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

Darkness had fallen over the land when the five men left for the defence of the farm had finished with their preparations and frantic activity was replaced by the even more gruelling task of waiting for the inevitable. �omer had always found it difficult to wait for the enemy even after the heated hatred he had felt for the orcs as an adolescent had been replaced by the greater strategic wisdom of the young man and then the extraordinary battle-skills of the Third Marshal of Riddermark. To sit around with one�s sword readied while nerves and muscles vibrated with tension, waiting for the enemy to appear, was nothing short of torture, and how many times had he wished to just jump upon his horse�s back instead and ride in a reckless charge against his foes.

Instead, �omer lay on his back on an improvised cot in the little shed used as storage for fodder and gear when the stock was on the higher feeding grounds in spring and summer. It was narrow and uncomfortable between the various sacks and boxes, and the cold in the unheated building he shared with Aragorn was getting to the wounded Rohir even through the thick blankets into which he was wrapped. �omer was aware that he was only still alive because he had at last mastered the hardest of lesson in becoming an achieved warrior: the value of patience. How many times had Th�odred and Elfhelm lectured him about its import; how many times had they admonished him until it had finally stuck? In the end, it had taken a disastrous turn of events to drive the knowledge home, inextinguishable for the rest of his life when he had been forced to witness the annihilation of an entire �ored � not their own � because their leader had not followed Elfhelm�s orders to wait for reinforcements. Patience was an essential ingredient of every victory, and yet after all these years, �omer still found it hard to exercise. Even now as he was supposed to rest and spare his strength for the coming fight while Aragorn held watch, the Rohir found himself too tense to sleep even in his weakened condition. It also did not help that each time he closed his eyes, the images of the advancing host and what they would do with the people he had dragged into this mess if their defence failed assaulted him with increasing force. So instead of sleeping, �omer lay awake and contemplated the many possible turns this night could take, preferring to stare at the ceiling over seeing Halad�s and Osred�s mutilated bodies if their strategy proved wrong.

It would be a hard blow for him if Osred died. The farmer�s dispirited expression with which he had bidden his wife farewell while his children cried as they were lifted into the saddle had filled �omer with regret and guilt, even if he knew that he could hardly be blamed for Freya�s confused emotions. He was afraid that Osred�s realisation his wife�s heart belonged to another man would drive the farmer to a foolish attempt to win her heart in a battle against a foe he had never been prepared to handle. And if this thought was not distressful enough, there was also the question of what would happen with Freya younger brother.

Innocent Halad, who even as a lad had instantly recognised an older brother in him and strived to become like the man whose courage and skill he admired. Young Halad, who now felt the obligation to prove himself to his mentor despite his lack of battle experience and the fact that not far away, his wife feared for his life as their child grew within her. Though frightened by the prospect of facing the nightmarish creatures of which the warriors had spoken, Halad had kept his composure while they had worked all afternoon in their preparations for the fight. �omer was convinced that he had only succeeded at it because the young man could not yet imagine the horror awaiting him. He would learn a hard lesson tonight.

'Oh Freya,� �omer thought with the sudden bitter taste of despair in his mouth, the tear-streaked faces of the leaving women and the sound of their suppressed sobbing assaulting his mind with new force from the vault of his memories. �You understood too late that your wish to defend your farm might result in the loss of your brother and husband. How will you live with yourself if you return and find them slaughtered and your possessions saved? I know that your farm is important in the feeding of our people, but this price is too high.� He refused to continue the thought all the way to its consequent end, which was the death of them all, including him and his three saviours.

With a sharp exhale, the Rohir turned on his good side, involuntarily grimacing against the pain caused by the movement. Reluctantly, �omer had heeded Aragorn�s advice to rest for the remaining hours of daylight which the others used to build barricades of ice and heavy logs as their defence position in front of the barn. While the smoke of their signal fire formed an impressive dark column in an otherwise clear winter sky, the men prepared their weapons for the battle, oppressive silence between them.

Upon waking, �omer had found that night had already fallen. No �ored had arrived to aid them in their plight, and after a light meal, Aragorn had helped him dress his wounds as tightly as he could bear, the bandages lending support to the severed muscle of his thigh and his injured side. Under the ranger�s sceptical scrutiny, he had then made a few tentative steps and known at once that in a close quarter�s battle, he would stand no chance against the ferocity of a Uruk-hai. In his feverish hunt for a way to be of use in the upcoming fray and not another obligation, it was then when the idea had struck him, the result of which was that instead of the warm main house, he was now sharing the shed with the Dun�dan, waiting.

Aragorn�s features had been sceptical when �omer had first made the suggestion of splitting their already small numbers in favour of a strategy that would allow them to attack the orcs from two sides. While Legolas would reduce their foes with the deadly accuracy of his bow long before they would reach the barricade, Aragorn and he would spring their trap by assaulting the host from behind on horseback with arrows as well, thus hopefully creating enough confusion among the enemy to kill many of them before close quarters� battle would ensue.

It was a good strategy, the ranger had at last admitted, but one that depended on the wounded Rohir to stay in the saddle for the battle. With more confidence than he had actually felt, �omere had assured him that he would find it easier to fight this way rather than on the ground, as most of the work would be done by his experienced war-horse. The question of where they would get the additional bow was quickly settled when Halad had produced the weapon he had built under �omer�s supervision years ago for hunting and defence. While it was not as powerful as those of the ranger or the elf, it would suffice to weaken the enemy, especially since the young farmer had then � with a weak smile � handed his mentor the flask �omer had gifted the family together with their swords and almost forgotten about. It contained a thick, dark-green syrup; a potent poison which, once it entered the bloodstream through a wound, slowly paralysed the victim until it could conveniently be killed. After the warg-attack on the family he had witnessed in that fell winter of his youth, �omer had long mused over an efficient and easily used weapon to give them to substitute Freya�s rusty hayfork. He had found it in the form of the poison which would change even simple wooden spears into weapons that would kill with the first wound inflicted with them. With the tips of their arrows prepared this way, each hit would fell one of the beasts. Aye, it was the best strategy under the given conditions, and still, �omer felt horrified by the prospect of the fight.

Another distant grumble of the likes they had heard several times in the course of the afternoon woke him from his brooding. Osred had explained it to them as the sound of wet snow tumbling down the steep slopes as its weight became too heavy due to the rising temperatures. That fact had been hard to miss the way the snow had turned to mush underneath their boots during their work and the water had dropped onto their heads from the roofs of the buildings, and still �omer could not help wondering whether the avalanche he was listening to now had caused by the vibrations of marching feet.

�It is another avalanche,� Aragorn�s low voice reached him from the window where the ranger gazed intently through the small gap of the shutters. With a hiss, the Rohir pushed himself into a sitting position. There would be no more sleep for him tonight; too much was racing through his head. With a brief glance at their horses in the back of the shed, which were likewise listening intently to the strange noise, �omer turned his attention to his brother-in-arms.

�Aye. I figured as much. But I couldn�t help thinking��

��that it was them who caused it?� Aragorn raised a brow, and his gaze again swept over their treacherously calm surroundings. �We will know soon enough; it didn�t sound too far away. It would be bad though, because I did not see Legolas return yet.� And with a brief glance at the pale moon, which hung in an otherwise inken sky like an ill omen, he added: �The time would be about right. If they hurried, it could be them� but perhaps, the snow has taken them to their cold, wet grave.�

�I wish I share your optimism,� �omer gave back with a heavy breath. �But I do not believe that Uruk-hai can be killed by the snow. No, they are still out there, coming for us and hungry for our blood.� Involuntarily, his fingers clenched around the hilt of Freya�s sword. It fit his much larger hand less than perfect, but it would have to suffice as there was no other weapon available. It was a good sword though, �omer knew, after all he had ordered it together with the blades for the rest of the family and closely supervised the procedure of their forging himself. The weapon was well-balanced and sharp to the point where it could cut a falling leaf in two; in any case, it was infinitely preferable to the little wooden axe with which he had fought the Uruk-hai in the caves.

�How do you feel?� Aragorn spoke into his thoughts, one eye upon him. �Will you be strong enough to ride? Did you find enough rest during the afternoon to replenish at least part of your strength?�

�I would worry if I had to fight on foot, but my horse is very skilled at this way of doing battle. It is our most efficient strategy against the Dark Lord�s brood, and I would even go as far as saying that Firefoot must be the best at it in all of Rohan. Those of my �ored who have seen him evading the orc�s bows call him Arrowdancer. He sees those skirmishes as a welcome opportunity to prove his skill to everyone looking.� With a proud, loving smile, �omer�s gaze wandered over to the grey shape in the back of the shed. �You love to show off, don�t you, Grey One?�

The stallion snorted indignantly, and, having come to the conclusion that that the strange noise he had heard outside meant no immediate danger, took the few steps over to his master�s cot to lower his head in expectation of a caress. He was not disappointed.

Feeling the older man�s amused attention upon himself as he affectionately massaged the silken softness of Firefoot�s nose, �omer looked up, suddenly remembering something the ranger had mentioned earlier that day, and his brow creased in thought.

�This morning, you told me that you were in Rohan before, a long time ago� and that you knew my father. May I ask� may I ask how you met him?�

�I rode with your people for a while,� Aragorn explained, registering �omer�s surprise and at the same time, sensing the young man�s growing suspicion. �Since my youth, I have been travelling through many countries to learn about the different peoples and their ways. It appears that in these dark times, this kind of knowledge is becoming ever more important in understanding our foes.� He fell silent and his gaze turned distant with memories both fond and fell. �I was not in your father�s �ored, but we went to battle together more than once. Although still very young when we met, he was already an extraordinarily skilled warrior and greatly respected by the riders, and I was grieved when I heard of his death.� He smiled as he returned to reality. �I see a lot of him in your appearance and your demeanour: the same pride, the same love for your people and the same determination and unyielding will, and on the plains, I saw the same love and respect for you in the faces of your riders that his men held for him. Marshal �omund would be proud to see what kind of man his son has become.� He could not be certain in the darkness of the shed, but it seemed to him as if the Rohir�s complexion had darkened in reaction to his words.

It took �omer a moment to recover from the older man�s high praise, and his voice still sounded strange when he said: �I do what I can. Whatever is in my power to save the Mark from the abyss that is yawning at us, I will do, but whether it will be enough to defeat our enemies I cannot say.�

�If you do not find a way, than nobody will,� Aragorn answered, feeling compassion for the young rider who had been raised under the pressure of having to follow in the footsteps of a great man and who had ultimately risen to the challenge even if he still doubted himself.

�When you rode with our forces,� �omer then inquired further as something dawned to him from the well of the long distant memories of his early youth, ��did our people know you a under different name perhaps than �Aragorn�? I never heard of a stranger with that name riding with our warriors, but often, my father would tell us about the deeds of a Captain of the �oreds not born in the Mark, a man from a far-off land and with dark hair. A man who was unusually skilled at battle and shrewd at reading people although he was much respected for his kindness also.�

�You want to know whether I am Thorongil?� Aragorn asked calmly, his gaze meeting the Rohir�s as he gave him the little nod �omer had obviously awaited. �Aye. I was known under that name here once.�

Breathless beats of silence passed between the two warriors, the atmosphere suddenly changed. For a moment at a loss for words even if once he had followed his thought, he had unconsciously already guessed the result of his interrogation, �omer�s smile suddenly broadened, and a new expression of awe and wonder suddenly lit up his features.

�And so at last, the mighty �Eagle of the Star� returns to aid Rohan in its darkest hour. It appears as if B�ma has at last heard our prayers. Now there is hope indeed for the Sons of �orl to brave even this fiercest of storms in the history of the Riddermark.� He stared at the older man, suddenly feeling very young again in the presence of the mighty warrior whose deeds had inspired many of the rousing songs and tales he had grown up with, but before he could continue, the bloodcurdling din of the watchdogs� alarm rose into the night�

Chapter 33 - The Hour of the Wolves

Chapter 33: The Hour of the Wolves

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

In a heartbeat, �omer joined Aragorn at the window, ignoring the bolt of pain shooting up his leg as he strained to peer through the small slit of the closed shutters.

"What do you see?" he whispered, aware that Aragorn’s attention was not directed at the path from where they expected the enemy to come, but at the farm.

"The dogs do not bark at something that is coming from our side," the ranger gave back, all senses strained. "Look, their backs are turned on us." He narrowed his eyes and suddenly, all tension fell from him as he beheld the shape of a pale horse in the distance, almost invisible against the snow-covered surroundings. "It is Legolas." The older man exhaled and turned to �omer, a relieved smile on his face. "It is about time. I began to worry." Again he looked and saw the dark shapes of the others move out of hiding to greet the returning elf.

Following the distant scene with a similar feeling, �omer silently asked himself why he was still feeling timid if the din had been caused by the return of their comrade, and why, all of a sudden, he found it almost impossible to breathe. It was almost as if the air in the little shed had grown too thick; as if something other than the bandage around his ribs were pressing his lungs together. The atmosphere had changed, shudder after shudder raced down his spine, and even if he had no name for the feeling that had befallen him with frightening intensity, �omer knew the sensation all too well. His stomach turned into a solid block of ice.

"�omer?" Puzzled by the young man’s silence, Aragorn shifted his gaze from the scene outside to his comrade – and froze as he stared into wide, dark eyes; the sensation of the abysmal dread he read in the other’s face assaulting him now as well. With all distinctiveness, he felt the short hairs on his neck and forearms rise, and the chill air that slowly filled his lungs suddenly gained the metallic taste of danger as a low sound rose from the back of the shed.

Already knowing what they would see, the two warriors turned toward their horses. �omer had heard that particular warning uncountable times in his life, and never once had Firefoot been wrong: he didn’t have to see the stallion’s rolling eyes or his flared nostrils sucking in the air in sharp bursts to understand that the enemy was close.

"Sssshh..." he soothed, with a quick step by his steed’s side to lay his hands onto the muscled shoulder. The grey trembled hard. "Giet, Firefoot." His fingers slid down the powerful body just in time to prevent his horse from stomping his hoof and thus alarming the enemy. "Not a sound..." Now he heard or rather felt it, too: the faintest echo of a marching sound, the movement of many heavy bodies in perfect unison; distant but quickly rising in volume. The crunching of the harsh snow that had thawed in the sun and frozen again with the beginning of night underneath their foes’ feet.

Next to him, Aragorn had likewise succeeded in calming Hasufel to the point where he felt confident that the chestnut would not betray their whereabouts with a frightened noise at the wrong time. Both horses were experienced in the art of war and had participated in numerous ambushes. In countless skirmishes, they had learned to unconditionally trust their riders, and though Hasufel had lost his first master not long ago, he had learned to trust Aragorn in the few days he had been carrying the ranger. Convinced that their steeds would remain quiet despite the orcs’ proximity, the D�nadan and the Rohir turned back toward the window .

"They heard it, too." Aragorn pointed over to where their comrades sought cover behind the barricade they had built, his words but a breath. In �omer’s gaze and the way that the young man’s gloved hands clenched around the hilt of his sheathed sword, he read the same anxiety over sitting trapped in the small building that he felt himself. They had discussed the details of their stakeout during the afternoon and agreed that with the wind carrying their scent up the mountains behind them, away from the orcs, the risk seemed not exceedingly high. It was time to remember it now.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn forced himself to calm down. No, their plan was sound. Although the Necromancer’s brood would pass them close by, their attention and powerful senses would be steered away from the shed by the scent of Osred, Halad, Gimli and Legolas – and of �omer’s blood and sweat-stained old garments they had deposited in the middle of the valley where no cover was to be had and the orcs would make excellent targets for their bows. Involuntarily, he clenched his fingers. Not much longer to wait.

The sound of marching feet was now supplying the background for the guttural grunting of beasts out for blood. The orc-stench preceding the host had grown thick to the point where it no longer took a dog’s or horse’s finer senses to know that the enemy was upon them; a vile cloud in the otherwise clear winter air. Inhaling the putrid reek through his nose in a deep breath, �omer closed his eyes. This was the moment he knew so well: it separated the warrior from the commoner, and the marshal from the simple rider. Where the frightened man would flee or freeze; the warrior came to life.

The pounding of his heart thunder in his ears, the rush of blood in his veins so loud that it drowned out all other noises, �omer felt battle-readiness flood his body like hundreds of times before: it was an unstoppable, hot wave saturating his muscles and preparing them for the challenge ahead, while at the same time his mind was overtaken by a great calm and clarity. It did not matter that he had almost died the night before; it did not matter that he was not at his usual strength. When �omer opened his eyes again, all fear and hesitation had been swept away and been replaced with the cunning and strategic skill of the warrior who had risen to the rank of a marshal faster than any man before him safe Eorl the Young himself.

Through the small gap between two logs he saw them coming; the Uruk-hais’ dark deformed shapes despoiling the perfect whiteness of the snow as they flooded into the valley in single file to came to a halt right in front of the shed. The lazy trail of his frozen breath rose into the air, and out of habit, �omer waved it away, not even aware of the movement. To his left, Aragorn imitated his gesture, his keen grey eyes surveying the happenings outside, ready to act.

No more than a few steps away, the host of nightmarish creatures huffed and snorted while their luminous yellow eyes swept the narrow valley and the buildings before them; their broad chests rising and falling with each of their deep breaths as they probed the air for signs of the enemy. From the farm, the dogs’ furious barking announced their presence, yet still they bided their time, mistrustful of the otherwise perfect silence. This was not their first raid of a human settlement; experience told them that usually, the farm’s inhabitants exited the buildings to investigate the disturbance, and yet nothing moved. Had the man-things somehow learned of their approach and fled, leaving their stock and even their dogs at the mercy of the fighting Uruk-hai?

The host’s leader, an enormous creature with bulging muscles and a particularly gruesome armour made of human skin and bones, lifted his clawed hand with a sharp grunt; ending the noise. His army now stood as one, a silent, deadly, dark silhouette waiting for the attack signal. With a soundless, fluid movement, Aragorn had an arrow fitted to the string of his bow with the sharp tip pointing through the small gap in the shutters toward the Uruk’s neck.

‘These are more than twenty-five Uruk-hai!' �omer thought with sudden realisation, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Aragorn’s lips move in a silent curse. Somewhere along the way, another group of Uruk-hai had joined their attackers, and instead of roughly two dozen of these beasts, it appeared as if they were faced with more than forty enemies now, crushing their already slim chances of victory. Even before �omer could truly fathom the meaning of this discovery for their plan, the lead Uruk suddenly turned his head and stared right at them.

The Rohir froze as gleaming amber eyes met his, neither daring to breathe nor blink. He knew that the orc would be dead upon his first step in their direction, and yet the knowledge did not soothe him. He had seen several crossbows among the creature’s brethren; even if Aragorn killed their leader, they would die in a hail of iron bolts only a moment later. The thin wooden walls could not provide protection against these deadly weapons:

‘Does he know we are here? Can he sense us?’

They were still hidden in the darkness of the shed, but what if the creature smelled them?

‘He cannot. He is just cautious.’

Although he did not turn his head to see how their horses were taking the challenge, �omer felt tension mount to the breaking point within their hideout. He could not tell how, but their steeds sensed that the Uruk-hai’s attention was focused upon them, and while battle-experience told them to remain still, it was an uncommon situation for Firefoot and Hasufel to find themselves trapped in a crammed building with no way to flee. It was a violation against a horse’s very nature, and just as �omer braced for the panicked shriek with which his stallion would bolt and jump against the thin wooden wall that blocked his escape, the great orc outside turned back toward his host, and a clawed finger pointed at the silently waiting farm as he ordered the attack with a bloodcurdling roar. A black avalanche of death, the Uruk-hai descended upon the farm.

------------------

The wave of relief surging through his body was almost painful, and with a sharp breath, �omer closed his eyes.

"That was close," Aragorn voiced his thoughts as he lowered the bow. "I must compliment you on your horses’ training. I have known for a long time that the horses of Rohan have no equal in Middle Earth, but to remain silent under the enemy’s scrutiny while their escape way is blocked is something even I would not have expected from them."

"Their trust in us is strong," was all �omer said, not deeming it important to mention that it would have ended differently had the orc waited for a moment longer. Aragorn probably knew it himself, and right now, they had more pressing things to do. With a last quick glance through the shutter, he turned to Firefoot and grasped the bridle. "It is time."

Ignoring the older man’s sceptical gaze as he limped toward the exit, �omer stepped out into the chill night air, for once glad to escape the narrow confines of the shed that could have easily turned into a trap for themselves. From below, the din of the dogs’ alarm and the orcs’ war-cries pierced the night as he climbed into the saddle without his usual grace, mechanically readying his bow as he became a predator himself, ready to deal death.

"�omer?" Aragorn held out his hand as he directed his own horse alongside Firefoot, and �omer took it. Their eyes met, and in the ranger’s gaze he read the determination to emerge victorious from this battle despite their lessened chances. "Good hunting, brother!"

"And for you, brother! We’ll teach them to avoid this valley for all times." He pressed Aragorn’s hand, and - feeling infected by the ranger’s show of confidence – burst into a grim smile as he threw his steed around. Together, the two warriors charged down the slope in a white cloud of snow; a different kind of avalanche, but just as deadly...

Chapter 34 - The Heart of Darkness

Chapter 34: The Heart of Darkness

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

�It is Legolas!� Despite the torturous tension which had held him in its clutches ever since their guests had returned with the ill news of the likely attack, a heartfelt smile briefly brightened Halad�s features as he beheld the approaching figure on the white horse. Never had he seen a more welcome sight. He made a first step out from behind their shelter, but was beat by Gimli, who stormed toward his brother-in-arms first.

�It is about time, Master Elf!� the dwarf huffed in feigned exasperation, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his relief as he watched his friend dismount. �I was beginning to ask myself whether you really wanted to leave the honour of killing all of that orc-scum solely to me. I should have known you would never be so generous.�

The corners of the elf�s mouth twitched in reaction to the dwarf�s loutish remark, but his gaze already swept the opposite side of the narrow valley. He felt something. And the dogs seemed to sense it, too, for they had stopped barking and stared intently in the same direction, their thick neck-fur rising.

�Are Freya and the others safe?� Osred asked from behind, anxiety colouring his deep voice. Legolas nodded and sent his mount away with a sharp clap on the muscular hindquarters, trusting that the stallion would be intelligent enough to escape the fray. He would not be needed tonight. �Aye, Osred, they are, fear not. They are at your neighbour�s farm as we discussed. We encountered no problems along the way, yet alas, we also saw no signs of a nearby �ored. We must assume that we will have to brave this storm by ourselves.� The expressions around him darkened as last hopes were crushed.

�But that there is no need to despair,� Gimli roared defiantly, and his big hand landed forcefully on Halad�s back and making the young man flinch. �Like I said before, on our way here, my friends and I killed a lot more than twenty-five Uruks, and we can certainly repeat this deed tonight. These stinking beasts stand no chance against the Son of Gl�in and the mighty Prince of Mirkwood� not to forget the Heir of Elendil! If they knew whom they were up against, they�d turn back right now and--�

�Where is he?� Legolas interrupted his tirade, his brow furrowed as he looked around. �Where is Aragorn? And I don�t see �omer, either.�

�They are in the fodder-shed over there,� Osred informed him, pointing in the direction. �They thought it would be a good idea to divide our forces... what little there is of it.� He shrugged, and not for the first time, looked back to where the path led further into the mountains. Surely it was not too late to flee yet. Now that the night began to grow old around them, his initial decision to stay and defend their possessions felt increasingly ridiculous to the farmer, all the more as he could not name his reason for partaking in this madness. What did he hope to achieve with this? To win his wife�s respect? By dying? Snorting, he shook his head. No, he had been foolish to stay, but it could not be helped now.

�Aragorn wants you to shoot as many of them as possible before they reach us, while he and �omer will attack the orcs from behind on horseback divide their forces and confuse them; perhaps even rout them so that we will have to battle fewer of them on foot.� Gimli squared his jaw and winked at Halad, who looked far too pale for his liking. �Not that it matters. Whatever orc reaches us, dies. Right, young master? You know how to slaughter a beast, do you not?�

�Uh...� In search for a suitably enthusiastic response to the dwarf�s optimism, Halad searched for a way to squeeze his voice through his dangerously tightened throat, yet his effort was ruined by the sudden sound of low growling behind them. His insides froze as his head shot around toward the valley entrance. There could be no question that his dogs had picked up the scent of the enemy.

�We will find out very soon,� Legolas said, his voice strangely detached as he followed the young man�s gaze. �Here they come. I can already hear them!�

�Quickly, get let us get the dogs! They are easy targets in their paddock, and we might need their sharp teeth behind the barricade.� Osred motioned his brother-in-law to help him, and together, the two men hurried to retrieve the big wolfhounds, sceptically watched by Gimli.

�I just hope they do not attack us! It�s not as if these dogs would know us from an orc, right? We are as much strangers to them as those beasts. If there is something I cannot afford in this fight, it is a wild thing gnawing at my calf while I�m in the middle of separating orc-heads from the necks they are attached to.�

�I�m sure they can control them.� Legolas said confidently, but his gaze was clouded with concern as his gaze came to rest upon the small building near the valley entrance. �The wind is on our side, but if Aragorn and �omer are detected while they are trapped in the shed, it will be their doom. I can only hope that their plan works, because we will not be able to help them from here.� His attention shifting back to his dwarfish friend, he unslung his bow. �Come, my friend. Time to get into position. Our advantage of surprise will be ruined if they see us here.� With a quick glance back to where the two farmers had gathered their hounds by the collars and hurried toward them, the elf stepped through the narrow opening between the barn and the ice-wall and knelt next to the small hole from where he would target their attackers, laying his quiver down. A moment later, Gimli, Osred and Halad followed his example and crouched behind the thick wall of ice and wood as they drew their weapons. As Osred�s command silenced the dogs, the world suddenly became very quiet.

All senses strained, men, dwarf and elf listened into the night.

�There they are�� Legolas breathed, and as the others gathered around the small hole to catch a glimpse of the enemy, they, too, beheld the dark crest of the hill opposite their position. At first, it was only a shadow and they had to strain to make out movement, but now the breeze carried the low grunting of the creatures over to them as well as a cloud of putrid stench. Anxiety threating to overwhelm him, Halad turned brusquely away from the sight and squeeze his eyes shut; his hands trembling so violently that he almost dropped his sword.

�Oh B�ma�� he gasped, only now realising with frightening clarity what he had himself gotten into by agreeing to stay. Brave words were one thing; brave deeds something altogether different. It was not like in the dreams of his youth, where the monsters he had often dreamt of as a child disappeared once he opened his eyes. These beasts were real, and they would not hesitate to bite off his head if he failed. With a long, trembling breath, Halad realised that it was too late to change his decision; he would have to try his best and hope to survive the night�a brave thought that was ruined by the blood-curdling screams the wind suddenly carried toward them as the foul creatures stormed down the path toward them. Beside him, the elf uttered a word he did not understand, but the forceful pronunciation left no doubt that the ancient being had cursed. It did nothing to improve his mood.

�They are more than twenty-five!� Legolas exclaimed. �Many more! They must have met with another group since we left them.� The first arrow fitted to the string, Legolas took aim. His quiver held twenty arrows, and if they wanted to retain half a chance of surviving, he�d have to make each of them count.

�It will not help them!� Gimli growled, patting his axe in obvious anticipation. Again he winked at Halad and Osred, who both looked frightened beyond belief and silently wondered whether the dwarf was not, in fact, stark raving mad to look forward to the slaughtering. �Come on, lads, we will give them a good beating! Have courage!� Over the tip of Legolas arrow, he caught sight of the ferocious dark flood coming toward them with the force of a rock slide and swallowed. �Well, at least there are enough for all of us.� The sharp sound of the arrow being released interrupted him, and a heartbeat later, an anguished roar pierced the night as the first Uruk fell.

His hands moving almost too fast for the eye to follow, Legolas repeated the move, and another orc stumbled and did not stand up again, but despite the success, the elf shook his head in frustration as he speedily fitted another arrow to the string.

�They are advancing too fast! Be prepared, they will be upon us soon!�

-----------------

The cold air bit into the naked skin of �omer�s face and the wind roared in his ears as Firefoot charged down the slope like a grey demon. Forgotten was the instinctive fear that had gripped the stallion in the confines of the crammed shed; now he was a war-horse once again; bred and trained to intercept the enemy at all costs, and with each of his widening leaps the distance to the band of orcs dwindled. To his left on the other side of the path, Hasufel and Aragorn charged toward the enemy in a parallel line, and the ranger already reached for the first arrow while the Uruk-hai stormed unsuspectingly toward the farm. They had not been detected yet, the army�s onslaught was too loud to make out the hoof-beats of only two horses on the dampening snow.

Advantage was still on their side, even if the Uruks moved fast. With a much-practised gesture that had long become second nature to him, �omer reached over his back. For a moment, he feared to let go of the reins. It would be a challenge to remain in the saddle only with the strength of his thighs despite his injury once Firefoot started his evasive manoeuvres while he aimed at the enemy, but with a vigorous effort, he shoved his doubts aside. He had no other choice.

Enraged roar rose into the night as the first Uruk fell under Legolas� assault, but the rest stormed on unperturbed, already having covered more than half the distance that separated them from the barricade from where they were being attacked. The second one fell, again without slowing the enemy down. Gods, they were moving too fast! How were they supposed to diminish the enemy�s numbers significantly before they reached the elf and the others? Swinging Firefoot around with a slight shift of his body weight, �omer took aim and sent his first arrow into the swirling dark crowd of beasts. A furious growl rewarded him, and then another Uruk stumbled when its neck was pierced by Aragorn�s shot.

�Forth �orlingas!� The cry had left �omer�s throat before he could stop it, and even as he reached for the next arrow, he could see the effect on the enemy as their charge came to an abrupt halt.

�Riders!� a guttural voice grunted, barely understandable. �Riders from behind! Watch out!� Simultaneously, two more orcs collapsed from hits to the chest and neck while a third one roared in pain when its shoulder was pierced.

�Run!� the leader bellowed, motioning furiously. �Do not stand still! Crossbows, to me!�

�There are only two riders, no host! Kill them!�

Kicking his heels into Firefoot�s flanks, �omer held on as the grey jumped into action. They had been spotted; now the real fight began. �Do your dance, my friend,� he mumbled under his breath, already aiming at the first Uruk which raised its weapon toward him. Setting his trust in his horse, �omer gave the stallion his head. �Hiya!�

He loosened the arrow and then held on tightly as Firefoot broke to the left, a bolt passing by his ear so close that he felt the rush of air. Not lingering to see the damage he had inflicted, �omer reached for the next just as the first wave of Uruk-hai surged against the barricade.

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�Baruk Khaz�d. Khaz�d ai-m�nu!� With a war-cry, Gimli swung his axe against the first claw reaching over the wall, severing it with a spurt of black blood even as with a crunching noise, the two-tipped blade of a crude long-sword embedded itself in the ice before his face. Beside him, Legolas loosened his last arrow at the enemy and then unsheathed his White Knives to enter the fray as well. From all sides now, their shelter was assaulted, and already the first Uruk fought to squeeze its massive frame through the narrow gap between barn and barricade. It was intercepted by Fang and Ossa, as the two wolfhounds shook off Halad�s grip and sank their teeth into the fleshy leg intruding their territory.

Roaring, the orc lashed out at its attackers with a clawed hand, brushing aside the first hound and flinging it back as if it were no more than a wet cloth, but suddenly its eyes bulged as a wooden spear was thrust through its unarmoured middle, and a flood of black spilled from its gaping mouth.

�Die, filth!� Osred shouted as he drove the spear further in with his entire body weight; his chest feeling as if it would explode from the violent beating of his heart. The horrible fire in the creature�s eyes flickered and then died as the orc collapsed and cleared the way for the next one behind it, which had already lifted its crossbow.

�Down, Osred!� Halad yelled, now likewise on his feet and slashing furiously at the arm grasping for him over the wall, and the next moment, the thick iron bolt disappeared in the piled logs on the other side of their shelter. Not bothering to reload as it would take too long, the orc cleared the opening with a quick movement and swung his sword. By reflex, the young farmer caught it with his own blade, deflecting it, but the sheer power of the strike knocked the hilt from his hand and him back into the barricade with the Uruk charging after him. �Gimli!�

But the dwarf was already on his way, his battle-axe scything in a deadly half-circle through the air and knocking the Uruk�s sword to the side. Faster to recover from the clash of arms, Gimli pivoted, and his strike found the big orc unprepared and cut a deep gash across its middle. Its anguished roar was cut short by the thrust of a sword deep into its gaping maw. More surprised than anything else, yellow eyes stared at Halad as the young farmer retracted the blade, stunned by his violent deed.

�Very well, young Master!� Gimli laughed, already lashing out at the next foe. �For you to have been so afraid only moments ago, you show remarkable talent with the blade! Come, let�s teach the scum some manners!�

-----------------------

Firefoot was in his element, dancing on the slippery white surface with a surefootedness that knew no equal in the Land of Horses. Again and again he evaded the bolts that were shot at them, anticipating the enemy�s every move with his head held high and his tail flowing on the wind, mocking his foes. Yet the time had come for an even more dangerous game, �omer thought grimly as he loosened his last arrow into the group of Uruks that had started toward him in an attempt to cut off his path. Not as fast as horses, the big orcs were nonetheless faster than any human and skilled at the particular hunting method they employed now. A brief glance over their heads established that another group had also fanned out to encircle Aragorn, and Hasufel, an experienced war-horse himself but in no way as skilled as Firefoot, slipped precariously as he tried to evade them. They were chasing him further and further up the steep hill, and it was only a question of time until he would lose his footing upon the ice.

His lips a grim line, �omer dropped his now useless bow and unsheathed his sword, trying to ignore its unfamiliar light weight as he raced toward the creature to his far left which had a small advantage on its brethren in the pursuit. Upon his command, his stallion stretched beneath him, hooves hammering the ground as they raced toward the Uruk who drew its long blade back over the shoulder in anticipation, not seeing itself at a disadvantage.

�Come, manling!� it roared, yellow eyes sparkling with infernal fire as it lashed out. Yet just before the blade could cut through the horse�s flesh, Firefoot rammed his legs into the ground and reared. Unbalanced by his miss, the orc stumbled and with a sickening noise, the stallion�s hooves landed on the creature�s head, shattering it. Then, without pausing, the grey jumped into a gallop again without transition, just in time to evade another sword strike from behind as their enemies closed in on them. Wild triumph in his voice, he broke through the almost closed circle and once again gained an advantage on their pursuers.

�Well done, Grey One,� �omer praised, briefly bending over to pat the upper part of Firefoot�s neck in acknowledgment before he looked over to the other side of the valley. �Aragorn!�

It appeared that his brother-in-arms was likewise in danger of being trapped by the cleverly moving Uruk-hai, and unlike Firefoot, who revelled in a fight once it had begun, Hasufel was less sure of himself and by now close to panicking, his rear hooves slipping and sliding on the icy slope onto which he had been chased. Aragorn, too, seemed to experience increasing problems in keeping his enemies at bay. His sword was too long for the fighting from horseback, and he had to hold back if he did not want to accidentally decapitate his stallion with one of his strikes. When at last, the ring around him closed, the ranger slid from his steed�s back to continue the fight on foot. His first violent hit felled the enemy closest to him, and yet �omer could see that even considering the considerable skill the D�nadan displayed in the battle, the ranger would be hard-pressed to repel by himself the onslaught of the eight creatures still surrounding him.

Viciously, the Rohir kicked his heels into his horse�s flanks, and what he had almost deemed impossible happened: Firefoot accelerated. Like a snowstorm, he flew over the ground in a white cloud of whirling snow, diminishing the distance with each of his mighty leaps.

�Hold out, Aragorn!� �omer yelled. �I am coming!�

Upon his cry, several orc-heads turned in his direction, and another creature was felled when the Heir of Elendil used the deadly mistake for a surprising lunge. Furiously, they turned back, undecided whom to give their full attention, and the moment of hesitation cost them dearly as Aragorn lashed out just when his nearest foes shrank back from the onslaught of the approaching rider. Caught between the hammer and the anvil, three more of Saruman�s brood fell in the coordinated attack of the two human warriors, and the rest turned on their tails and fled head over heals toward the main body of their army.

With a shift of his weight, �omer turned Firefoot around and brought him to a halt before the heavily breathing ranger. The ranger gave him a grateful nod as he looked up.

�I thank you, brother. That was close. Hasufel is a good horse, but he does not like these conditions.� Having spotted the skittish chestnut further behind, he clicked his tongue. �omer followed his gaze and saw that � despite the just made frightening experience � the stallion was willing to return by himself. He turned back to Aragorn.

�Alas, I fear you are right. I remember now that Garulf, his former master, once complained about his uncertainty on snow. I am sorry for not having a better horse for you.� He lifted his head, his brow creasing as he beheld the dark wave of bodies assaulting the barrier behind which the others had taken cover, and cursed. �We killed so many of them, and yet their strength seems hardly affected by it. Do you have any arrows left?�

�None.� Quickly, Aragorn swung into the saddle again. �The rest will have to be done by sword, even if Anduril is not suited for the fighting on horseback. Come, let�s help our friends before it is too late.�

They spurred their steeds, but as the two warriors raced toward the hostile army once again, their hope shifted into doubt�

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�Gimli! Gimli, help! I cannot hold them any longer! Quick!�

�Down, lad!� With a bright sound, the dwarf�s axe intercepted the blade descending on Halad. Sparks flew, and yet as the young man crawled back, half-numbed by a blow of a huge fist to the head, he saw two more orcs bearing down on the valiant little warrior, and another strike hit the dwarf square on the chest. �Gimli!�

He struggled to regain his feet and came to a shaky stand just as Gloin�s son stumbled back with a grunt, closely followed by the three creatures who had assaulted him. Their precious wall of ice and wood had been hacked to pieces and effectively torn down to the point where almost no further protection was to be had from it, and everywhere Halad looked gleaming yellow eyes and glistening fangs jumped toward them. They were losing this battle.

Instinctively, he lashed out at another hand grasping for him, but then stumbled over the body of a dead orc and dropped his sword while his attacker jumped with a triumphant roar over the remainders of their barricade.

�Back, Halad!� he suddenly heard a breathless voice next to him, and a heartbeat later, he was pushed aside as Legolas intercepted the beast with whirling blades. Another orc was felled, but what good was it when their number seemed hardly diminished yet and all of his comrades were already bleeding? A crunching noise behind him made him spin around just in time to see that two of the large blocks their wall had consisted of were torn away by another group of orcs, the breach now wide enough for the creatures to come at them in greater numbers.

Strangely, he felt no more fear. It had been clear from the beginning that their chances of survival were slim, and now that they were in the process of being overtaken, acceptance of his fate filled the young farmer even as he stooped to pick up the last of their wooden spears. He had done what he could; he had fought as bravely as could be expected of him, and he hoped that his father would welcome him with pride in the next realm. Together with Osred, he thrust the spear at the first orc, skewering it through the gut, but its place was quickly taken by two more of its brethren.

�Out! Out! Seek shelter in the buildings; we cannot stay here! Stay together!� A violent push sent Halad reeling, and suddenly, he found himself outside the barricade.

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�Ai Elbereth!� To his left, Aragorn�s voice cut through the pounding of his heart as �omer ducked on Firefoot�s back, and with a brief glance, the Roh�r saw the ranger jump from his steed�s back to attack the foes who had gathered around a gap in the barricade to assault the desperately fighting men within. Two collapsed in headless heaps before the Uruk-hai had registered that they were being attacked from behind, but �omer could not follow his brother�s charge because he was now within reach of the enemy himself. Although by now feeling drained of most of his strength, he lashed out and half-separated an ugly, black head from its neck, while Firefoot�s shoulder rammed the hapless beast to the ground.

A wild cry of defiance broke from �omer, a war-cry that turned the heads of the enemies before him and successfully diverted their attention from the outmatched warriors behind the broken barricade. Yet it appeared that his strategy had been too successful: even in his stallion�s abrupt break to the side, a vicious claw raked over Firefoot�s shoulder, unbalancing the stallion, and with a scream, the grey crashed to the ground. Years of practise sent �omer into a controlled fall clearing his horse�s bulk before he could be buried underneath it, but whereas his skill would normally have him landing on his feet, his injured leg gave way. With a pained grunt, he fell back even as the first orcs stormed toward him, the pain in his thigh and his side so severe it robbed him of his breath.

�Kill him! Kill the strawhead!�

�He is the one! Kill him!�

Fighting the wave of nausea that assaulted him, �omer propped his hands against the ground, and his gaze darted frantically over the ground. Where was his sword? From the corner of his eye, he saw the nearest Uruk raise his crossbow at him with a gleeful snarl and froze. It was over.

Chapter 35 - Aftermath

Chapter 35: Aftermath

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

For a moment, �omer saw over the raised crossbow the promise of his own death in the eyes of the beast, and his lungs expanded with the last breath he knew he would ever take, the air bittersweet with the taste of farewell� and then he flinched at the sharp sound of the bolt being released. His eyes closed, he waited for the punch to his chest or head, but it was the Uruk who fell as he looked up again, the fire in its eyes extinguished. With surreal clarity, �omer saw it grasp for the arrow-shaft that suddenly protruded from the pit of its throat, dropping its own weapon. The impact of the crossbow on the ground loosed the bolt, which dug itself into the ground, then the creature�s knees buckled and it collapsed with a gargling sound, dead before it hit the snow. Unable to comprehend what had happened, �omer turned his head to see an innumerable number of riders race toward them. Before him, the remaining Uruk-hai paused.

�Riders! Watch out!�

The thunder of the charging �ored drowned out the dismayed shouts, and from one moment to the next, the Uruk-hai realised that the tables had abruptly turned.

�Run! Run! Flee as fast as you can! Up the hills!�

Relentless attack abruptly shifted into a panicked rout as the great orcs stormed toward the ice-covered slopes in hope to make it to safety, but the Rohirrim bore down upon them with the crushing force of a rockslide. More than half of the Uruk-hai perished in the hail of spears and arrows of the first attack, and their anguished roars echoed from the mountains. The wounded were ridden down without mercy, and as the riders turned like a flock of birds in a big half circle to return and finish their work, it was clear to all that that the nightly assault on the farm had failed. Once more, the thunder of the Rohirrim came upon the orcs, and then all noise died down when the last foe had been slain.

Still on the ground, �omer watched as the riders� leader directed his horse over to him, and he tensed despite better knowledge. The Armed Forces were under orders to kill him if they found him still within the Mark. What would they do now, and who was leading those men? Was it Elfhelm? Somehow, even though he felt that it would make no difference, �omer was determined to throw in his full authority as an ex-marshal of the Mark, and as such, it would not do to encounter those riders in a diminished position. With the last reserve of his will and strength, he made it to his feet, although he could hardly put any weight upon his injured leg. A brief gaze confirmed that Firefoot was likewise on his legs again, even if he was heavily favouring his left foreleg, and behind the barricade which had been hacked to bits, he saw the fair head of Legolas, and behind him, Aragorn. The others �omer could not see, but now there was no more time left to see how Osred, Halad and the dwarf were faring, because the leading rider had reached him and reined in his horse not even three steps away.

�omer recognised the sleek, black stallion immediately, but the tension still refused to leave him as he looked up at the Half-Dunlending in the saddle, involuntarily squaring his shoulders.

�I am relieved to see you, Thor. You came just in time, as always. The battle was just about to turn ill for us.�

�We would have been here hours ago had we not been delayed by an avalanche,� the young man said, his expression guarded. �We were already hard on the orcs� tracks, so I suppose that the snow slide was their doing.� His gaze travelled over the still bodies oozing blackness into the snow, and a disdainful expression crept into his features. �It did not help them. But I still wish we could have spared you entirely from their attack.� He eyed �omer closer, and his brow creased with concern before he slid from the saddle. �It is a great relief for us to have found you alive, Lord �omer. We had been searching for you for the last two days, and were beginning to fear the worst.� He nodded. �Tolgor will tend your wounds. How serious are they?�

�Not too serious. They were already tended by someone who knows his craft,� �omer replied, his eyes briefly wandering over where he had last seen Aragorn. �I may not be able to walk too well, but I will live.� And at last, his knees surrendered under the combined attack of relief and fatigue as all tension left him, and he landed unceremoniously on his behind in the snow. So his riders were still with him. Finally he had confirmation of what Th�odred had been so confident about. But then again, Th�odred has only been in his head. �But I don�t know about my friends.� He lifted his chin to look past the kneeling Halfblood before him. �Halad? Osred? Where are you? Gimli?�

�They are here!� Aragorn�s voice rang out from behind their improvised ice-wall. �Halad and Gimli are well, but Osred is wounded.� His words sent a bolt of alarm through �omer.

�Is it serious?� He tried to push himself up again and was helped to his feet by Thor and another rider.

�Lord �omer, you are wounded yourself,� the young scout said with a frown as he beheld the blood on �omer�s face and leg. �Should we not help you into the house and--�

�All that could be done about it has already been done,� �omer dismissed him and took a first, tentative step, hissing at the silver bolt shooting up his leg. �A little pain won�t kill me. I need to know how the others are faring before I can rest.� He looked at the Halfblood. �But I fear that I�ll need your help.� His former brother-in-arms looked bewildered at his former commander�s almost begging tone. Apparently, �omer still did not view their loyalty as a given. Did the son of �omund still doubt them?

�You have it, of course. And please, Marshal, believe me when I say this on behalf of my entire �ored, and even more, for all the riders under Captain Elfhelm�s command: you are still our commander and the man we will follow until the end; whether it may be good or bad, and no matter what the orders from Edoras say. We know where they are coming from these days. It is you in whom our people trust, my Lord. The Eastmark stands behind you. I just want you to know that.� Blushing from his own words, the usually shy and quiet young man cast down his gaze as he saw the moved expression in his commander�s eyes. It could not be that the proud, wilful Marshal �omer of Aldburg was close to tears just because of he had said, could it?

And yet, as �omer�s hand landed heavily on his shoulder and the man gave him a silent, appreciative nod, Thor could see that it was so, and that �omer�s thanks were given in this silent manner because he did not know how to fit his voice through the lump that had formed in his throat. Embarrassed to have caught his commander in such an emotional state, the Halfblood shifted his attention to his own men instead: �Dismount. Pile the carcasses and burn them, but do it a good distance away from the buildings. We do not need for the poor people to have the remains of that filth on their doorstep.�

�Aye, Captain!� several voices answered him, and the riders immediately busied themselves with tying ropes to the bodies of the slaughtered Uruk-hai and dragging them to a place on the far side of the valley.

No longer paying them attention, �omer limped over to where Aragorn had disappeared, first stopping where his stallion stood with hanging head, his left foreleg raised. From the hoof, dark drops had already discoloured the snow, and �omer�s stomach dropped as he reached for the horse�s head, carefully asking his animal ally to turn so that he could see the damage done.

�Ssshh, Big One,� he soothed, gently caressing the horse�s brow as his concerned gaze found the three parallel gashes in Firefoot�s muscular shoulder. �It is all right. It�s over. We made it.� He reached out to touch the bloodied hide next to the wound, and the stallion�s skin twitched underneath his fingers. �It is still bleeding, but hopefully, it is only a flesh wound,� �omer mumbled to no one particular, rubbing the horse�s cheek. It pained him to see his stallion in such a state, but it could not be helped, Firefoot would have to wait. �I�ll be right back.� He hated to leave the creature which had insured his survival so many times over the last few days, but there was someone even more important now he had to look after. Squeezing himself through the broadened gap in the barricade, �omer finally discovered Aragorn kneeling next to Osred, who sat against the barn wall and looked deadly pale even in the darkness. The ranger looked up, and the expression of his grey eyes was concerned.

�How bad is it?� Summoning what was left of his strength, �omer limped over. Please, not Osred. If Freya�s husband died or would be permanently crippled because of his decision to seek shelter here, he would never forgive himself.

�It�s a deep cut on his shoulder and chest,� the D�nadan said quietly, his hands with which he kept pressure on the wound slick with blood. �I do not think any organs were damaged, but we need to get him into the house at once.�

�He saved me,� a very anxious Gimli added from the other side. �I was in a melee with three orcs, and another one I had not noticed had sneaked up on me from behind. Osred intercepted him and took the strike himself.� The dwarf swallowed and shook his head as he looked down upon the wounded man. �That was a very brave thing to do, Master Osred, and yet I wish you didn�t do it... at least not for me. We were here to help you, not the other way round.�

The farmer�s eyes were squeezed closed against the pain, but now he opened them to look at the son of Gloin.

�You are the better fighter. Without you, we would have had no chance. I was nowhere near as important.� He hissed and grimaced, and in his eyes, �omer read the continuation of his thought, even if the farmer did not speak it. �Not even my wife cares whether I live or die.�

�You should not speak so,� �omer said more forcefully than he had intended, simultaneously dismayed and angered by the older man�s self-disdain. �You fought as bravely and as well as the others, or there wouldn�t be so many dead orcs lying around. Even if our �ored had not arrived, those orcs were paying a high price for their boldness, and that is your merit just as well as everybody else�s.� Osred�s hate-filled gaze pierced him without warning, and while usually �omer never shrank away from a challenge, the sudden hostility in the farmer�s pained eyes silenced him. What had he done to deserve such reaction? It had not been his idea to remain here; nor had he ordered Osred to stay. Was he being held responsible for the man�s injury now?

Noticing the sudden tension between the two Rohirrim but refraining from commentating on it, Aragorn looked at his elven friend: �He is losing too much blood. Legolas, help you please help me to carry him to the house?�

�I want to help, too!� Gimli stepped forward. �After all, it was my life he saved with his brave foolishness!� And he hurried to help the farmer to his feet. Together, man, elf and dwarf supported Osred on the way to the main house, and with a last questioning glance at the young Rohir, Aragorn turned away. It became very quiet. His head reeling with the memory of the farmer�s hostile gaze, �omer turned to Thor. He needed to keep a clear head, all the more as he slowly felt his own reserves wane. There were still so many things to think of, so many things to organise before he could even begin to consider getting any rest himself. Somehow, it felt as if this night would never end.

�Is Tolgor riding with you?�

�Aye. Do you want him to assist your friend? But what about you? You look as if you could use his help, too.�

�I can wait. Send him over to the house, they will need him there.� Unwilling to say more, �omer shifted his attention back to the only other remaining witness of the nightly attack, and his frown deepened even more. �Halad�� His insides twisted into a painful knot as he met eyes with Freya�s little brother, seeing behind the shape of the young man in front of him the face of the little lad who had turned to him in that fateful night of the war-attack. Sitting in the snow before the barn, huddled and hugging himself, Halad�s thin body shook so violently that �omer felt a sudden strong bout of self-loathing for ever having directed his steps toward the farm. He had brought those poor people nothing but misery, and if things went ill, his selfish search for refuge would leave the woman he cared for widowed, and her brother shocked for life. Once again he turned back to Thor, who still waited patiently behind him.

�Thor, could you please bring Firefoot into the barn? It is still chained, but Osred should have the key for the lock. And tell someone to boil water; his wounds need to be cleaned.�

�Aye. I�ll do that at once.� It was clear to the young Half-Dunlending that his commander wanted to be left alone with the terrified young man, and so he followed his order without further question. Grateful for the scout�s decency, �omer stepped forward, feeling awful as he looked into the tear-streaked face of Freya�s brother. �Halad, please� it is over. We made it. All of us.� How to get down with just one good leg? He managed it less than gracefully by unceremoniously dropping into the snow, hissing at the pain and laying an arm round the younger man in a brotherly gesture. Pulling him closer. �Osred will recover; I promise you that.� He asked himself how he could make such a promise if he did not even know about the seriousness of the farmer�s wound, but it was clear that Halad needed something more than comfort now. �Aragorn healed me, and he will heal Osred as well. He will not let him die.� But he knew that this was only part of the problem.

�I know.� Halad nodded, averting his eyes. But what he saw to his right did nothing to calm him down, and he hid his face behind a trembling hand. Following his gaze, �omer saw the mutilated remains of the family�s wolfhounds, and he shook his head. He knew how much Halad loved all his animals. Silently, he pulled the young man closer against his shoulder.

�I am so sorry, Halad��

With a pitiful cross between a sob and a laugh, Freya�s brother lifted his head: �No. No, it is I who is sorry. B�ma, what a sorry excuse for a warrior I am! All these years when you taught me swordplay, I filled your ears about wanting to fight, and now that I finally had the opportunity, I behave like an old woman!� He laughed unhappily while the tears streamed over his face. Although it pained him, �omer looked him straight in the eye, indicating to the young man that he meant every word.

�No, Halad. I am proud of you. You fought bravely. Most would have fled long before those orcs would have arrived.�

�What does it matter?� Halad sniffled, unable to look at the warrior he had always regarded as his brother; as the man he wanted to prove himself to. �Perhaps I did, but look at me now! This is not what a warrior should behave like after the battle. I have never seen a rider weep, or shiver with fright. I am a disgrace.�

�And you would be wrong, for I have seen both, and repeatedly so,� �omer objected forcefully. �And I do not speak only of young, inexperienced riders. During the fight, we may be brave, and we may be hard against our enemies, but once the slaughter is over, we have to pay the price for our deeds, too. We weep for our fallen friends, and for the horses we lost, and we fear for the injured. We are not beyond compassion or fear, Halad. These are the very emotions which make us human, after all. Without them, we would be like them; mindless beasts. Orcs.� He nodded at the bodies strewn around them and fell silent. The lad was still trembling. �Do you want to know what I did after my first fight?�

His eyes still glistening with wetness, Halad looked at him questioningly, as if he could not believe that the man he had thought of as invincible and unshakeable could be any different than his imagination had always painted him.

�I retched.� A wry grin tugged at �omer�s mouth as he remembered. Years ago, there had been nothing comical about the situation, at least not to him. But perhaps its recapitulation helped in lightening up the shivering bundle of misery in his arms.

�No. You are just saying this.�

�Have I ever lied to you?� �omer paused, and when Halad remained silent, continued: �Most of the young riders do it upon their first kill. Years back, our �ored had planned an ambush on a host of orcs in rocky terrain. �othain and I were deemed too young to fight, so we were ordered to stay behind to guard the horses. Unfortunately, on the way there we had caught the attention of three orcs ourselves, and when the others left, they came to steal them. They had not seen us among the horses.�

Halad�s eyes widened.

�And the two of you defeated them?�

��othain killed one of them from a distance, and then we had to fight the other two at close quarters. I gutted mine.� �omer grimaced as he remembered the spill of blackness onto his garments, the creature�s shriek and the terrible stench. �Even though I should have been proud over my first kill, trust me when I tell you that it was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I was green and still spilling my breakfast and all the meals I had had that week when the others returned.� A sarcastic twitch pulled the corner of his mouth upward. �Having the entire �ored laugh at me did not make it better, but at least it helped to calm my stomach. I did not want to be their object of ridicule for longer than absolutely necessary, so I stopped. But I did it again after the next fight � and then I had learned to control it. But I never liked the killing. It is but a necessary evil we cannot avoid if we want to prevail.�

Encouragingly, �omer patted Halad�s shoulder, noticing that his little diversion had been successful. A little colour had returned to the young man�s face. �I do not know how many of them you killed, but you were very, very brave, Halad. Fl�adwyn and your sisters will not believe their ears when I tell them how bravely you fought. You have all the makings of a great warrior, but I am glad that you did not choose that path. One pays for it, one way or another.� He did not elaborate even when he felt another questioning glance upon himself, and then sagged against the barn wall when all strength suddenly left him. For a moment, the world turned before his eyes.

��omer?� Now it was Halad�s turn to look concerned. With a weak smile, �omer gestured that there was nothing to be worried.

�I am just tired.� He looked up into the sky and found that the moon had wandered a good distance over the horizon since last he had looked. �It is hardly a wonder. It cannot be long until dawn anymore. I firmly believe that it is time for the two of us to get some rest� but there is something left to do, first.� With a last squeeze, he took his hand from the young man�s shoulder. �Better?� He was rewarded with a tentative nod, and his heart flowed over with love and respect for the courageous lad. �I know I have asked much of you already tonight, but will you do me one more favour, please? Only if you are not too exhausted yourself, but you are the only one who could help me with this, and I would greatly appreciate it.�

�See after Firefoot?� The request brightened Halad�s gaunt features. �Aye, of course. I do not believe he will let anyone else handle him.�

�I will do it myself, but I will need your help. He did more for me these past days than I can ever repay. I owe him that.� Turning his head, �omer tried to see through the gaps in the ice-wall where Thor had disappeared to. �Now all I need is someone to help me get up��

Chapter 36 - Interlude

Chapter 36: Interlude

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EDORAS

Elfhelm had no way of knowing how late it was. Since they had been thrown into the eternal darkness of the mountain, his sense of time had suffered a quick death, and the only indication of the time he had spent chained up against the wall were his growing thirst and hunger. He assumed that the night had passed, but that it would still take a few more long hours until the Worm and his henchmen would return to resume their torment of them. Elfhelm felt angered by the discovery that deep down inside, he was waiting for them to come back with water and food, even if he knew that he would not get any of it if �owyn heeded his words. He wished her to, and on the other hand, especially the thirst was getting increasingly harder to ignore. His throat hurt, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the pounding headache had even worsened in the course of the long hours he had spent without nourishment. Dying of thirst was an ugly death and he did not look forward to it, but still it would be better to triumph in death than see �omer’s sister humiliated because of him.

Involuntarily, Elfhelm straightened from the slumped position he had hung in for the better part of the night, momentarily succeeding in taking the strain off his hurting shoulders. The iron bands around his wrists had cut into the flesh, and his arms – outstretched in a most unnatural position above his head– had gone from excruciating pain to numbness hours ago. It was a state he preferred to the previous, but the sensation ended at his shoulders which throbbed under the enormous strain of having to hold his entire body weight, as his legs had likewise given out. From time to time, Elfhelm tried to force some feeling back into his feet, but his efforts had been to no avail. Again, the moment of relief was short-lived when his strength deserted the warrior, and he dropped back into his former agonising position, groaning as he did so. ‘And this is only the beginning!’ he thought. ‘Stop wailing like an old woman!’ It would get much worse than he felt now, and he prayed that he would be able to hide the true extent of his suffering from the King’s niece for as long as possible:

�owyn... that she should have to witness the horrors of the dungeon was without question the most terrible aspect of the Worm’s plan. Narrowing his eyes as he lifted his head to squint past the flickering light of the torch into the darkness of the opposite cell, Elfhelm cursed at their adversary’s deviousness. While Wormtongue had decided to let Gamling and C�orl suffer in the dark, he had been adamant to keep the torches in their corridor lit at all times, and it was easy to see the purpose behind his order: He wanted �owyn to witness all stages of her protector’s deteriorating state in order to break her more easily. So, if he wanted to avoid causing yet more anguish to �omer’s sister than she already felt in the wake of the last evil events, Elfhelm knew that he could not afford to relinquish control even for a single moment for as long as the White Lady was awake. The effort was draining, and though possessed of a fierce will, the warrior feared that his strength would not suffice to stay in control for much longer. And yet he would sooner kill himself than be the reason for �owyn’s surrender.

With a low moan, Elfhelm’s head sank onto his chest again. Who did he think he was fooling? Certainly not Marshal �omund’s smart daughter. As his weary gaze found back to the lithe figure on the bare wooden cot, his insides clenched into a tight knot at the sight of her restless shifting. However tight her control on her emotions was while �owyn was awake, in sleep there was no escape from the demons that hunted her, and her choked, anguished sobs and the trail of glistening tears on her face made Elfhelm feel his absolute powerlessness more distinctly than ever before. What hope was there left for them? Or for their entire people, for that matter? If the army Wormtongue had announced was really as vast as he had led them to believe, it would crush their weakened and reduced kinsmen underneath their feet, and without warning… what could they do? The defence of the city was by now left in �othain’s hands, and while the son of C�orl was an able leader of the Armed Forces, Elfhelm feared that not even �omer’s unlikely return would result in victory.

�omer… Not wanting to imagine what evil fate had befallen the wilful young man he had taken underneath his wing and helped on the path of becoming one of the Mark’s most valiant warriors ever, Elfhelm shut his eyes. It would be foolish to deny any longer that everything was falling to pieces around them. Perhaps it was time to spend the last hours of his life thinking of something positive for a change; of someone kind and beautiful, someone giving and warm. Someone who would be waiting once again in vain for her Loved One to return. The sudden realisation of what his death would mean to Freela destroyed the comforting feeling her image had evoked in Elfhelm, and instead of the loving expression he had envisioned upon her freckled, delicately cut face, he now saw the pain in her eyes once she understood that she had lost the second man she had loved, too.

"Oh Freela…" he whispered as desperation finally overwhelmed him. "I am so sorry…" But only the rats heard him.

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EDORAS

The sun had barely begun its ascent into the pale grey sky, and yet already the city was already bursting with activity as all of its inhabitants were eagerly seeing to the various tasks appointed to them. For a fleeting moment, �othain felt a vague flutter of hope as he stood in the market square to supervise their efforts. After a long conversation with his captains, their strategy had emerged and he had summoned the citizens in the market square to instruct them on the measures he meant to take in the light of the last events. To his surprise and pride, there had been next to no protest even if the course of action they had decided upon seemed daring.

Now one the two groups into which they had divided the citizens was eagerly preparing Edoras for an assault, while the other, smaller one turned every stone and leaf in search for the secret tunnel into Meduseld. While �othain watched them, he could not shake the feeling that his kinsmen felt actually relieved that the siege of fear and mistrust Gr�ma Wormtongue had imposed on them had ended and that they were allowed to act against those who tormented them now. Nodding his confirmation to a group of men and women dragging heavy carts with supplies into the upper reaches of the hill where they would not easily become a victim of fires, �othain felt a surge of pride. Yes, the kinsmen were afraid, and yet they had decided not to run. They trusted him to steer them safely through yet another of fate’s hard tests and supported him as best they could with their very own brand of Rohirric pragmatism. While he watched, weapons were stored at strategic places all along the wooden fence that surrounded the city and yet more were being manufactured, and the gates strengthened and fortified. In another few hours, Edoras would be ready for battle.

And yet doubt remained while �othain watched as wooden planks and iron plates were hammered into place. Had he made the right decision, or would they pay a high price for staying here and not make for Dunharrow instead? The stronghold in the mountains was almost impregnable and would offer their people better chances at survival in case of an attack, and yet �othain had dismissed the notion as soon as it had hit him because leaving would mean surrender. It would mean handing over triumph to the Worm without a fight, and it would mean deserting their King and �owyn and his father. How could he leave while there was no certainty that his father was dead? Sooner would he try to sneak into Meduseld through the secret tunnel if they ever found it, and fight his way through all of the Worm’s guards until he had either freed his father or found him killed by Gr�ma’s minions. No, running from the enemy was out of the question, and with relief, �othain had found that their people felt the same. For better or worse, they would make their stand here and either defeat the enemy or perish.

With a deep intake of breath, �othain turned on his heels and looked up to where the stark silhouette of the Golden Hall loomed threateningly against the grey sky. It was strange to no longer regard it as their inner sanctum, but the stronghold of the enemy. Curse the traitor who had despoiled its sanctity! He would avenge it if he could, yet another reason to cut Wormtongue into very thin stripes if fate presented him with the opportunity. A soundless sigh escaping his slightly parted lips, the son of C�orl shifted his attention back to the frantic activity around him.

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

�omer woke to the sound of rustling straw and the smell and noise of shifting animals around him. After years of riding with the Armed Forces, who usually slept in the settlement’s barns when they patrolled the land in the cold season, both sensations were so familiar to him that at first, he did not bother opening his eyes and just lay on his back as he gradually rose to wakefulness. Yet the more he escaped the embrace of sleep, the more realisation seeped into his conscious that the situation was far from normal. He was not on patrol with his riders; he was not even officially a member of them anymore. And they had been assaulted. A brief recapitulation of the nightly events racing through his mind and culminating in the image of the Uruk’s murderously gleaming eyes behind his raised crossbow, �omer shook off the last remainders of sleep. With the mental images of the weeping and trembling Halad in his arms and of Osred’s hate-filled gaze while his bloodied fingers pressed against his wound, the warrior opened his eyes.

Daylight greeted him as �omer stared unmoving at the ceiling, feeling disoriented even though he knew at least that he was still at Freya’s farm, if not in his bed in the children’s room where he had intended to go after finishing with the tending of his horse. Furrows forming on his brow, �omer slightly craned back his neck, and a sleepy smile wandered over his face as he beheld the sight of his grey stallion, who had buried his head in his manger and demonstrated remarkably good appetite despite of the fact that he had been wounded during the night. Clicking his tongue, �omer watched as Firefoot turned one ear in his direction, and for a moment, the grey head turned and one of the big dark eyes looked at him, but at last, the delicacies in the manger won the competition for the stallion’s attention and the horse resumed emptying it with obvious delight. The wound on his shoulder, as far as �omer could see, looked good, and Firefoot’s appetite was a good sign. With a relieved sigh, the Rohir turned back and lifted his head to see what else was going on around him when he heard the sound of approaching steps.

He knew the man who entered his vision now with a pleased expression on his face over finding him awake, and still, as he pushed his stiff body up into a sitting position, �omer involuntarily tensed. Only a few hours ago Thor had assured him that his riders still saw him as their leader, and yet last night’s events night still had an unreal quality which made �omer question himself whether the Orc-attack and all that had followed had not been another one of his fevered dreams. Still, the straw underneath his palms felt remarkably real as he watched their healer Tolgor approach.

"Marshal! How very good it is to see you awake! We feared the worst when we heard of the Worm’s verdict against you. B�ma be praised, it seemed that we arrived just in time last night." His gaze travelled over �omer’s frame with all the experience of a seasoned healer. "You look much better than a few hours ago. The rest has done wonders."

"Aye," �omer confirmed to him, not entirely convinced of it himself since his body felt bruised and stiff as a wooden puppet, even if the bone-deep exhaustion that had felled him the night before had vanished. "You chose the right moment to appear. The battle had turned ill on us, and had you arrived only a little later, there would have been nobody left to save for you." He looked around and registered that except for the two of them, the barn was empty. "Where are the others?"

"Cleaning up," Tolgor said with a twitch of his lips. "We could hardly leave these poor people with four dozen orc-carcasses to dispose of, could we?" His gaze intensified. "What happened to you after you left Edoras? Those must have been some long, lonely days out there in the wilderness... not to mention dangerous. Your friend told us that you encountered a group of orcs and just barely survived?" �omer nodded. "I assume the orcs didn’t?"

"You assume rightly." Almost in afterthought, �omer lifted his injured hand and found the swelling even more reduced and the colour back to normal. Cautiously, he flexed his fingers while Tolgor shook his head in amused disbelief and squatted down next to him, a proud expression suddenly lighting up his eyes. "Those beasts should have known that it takes more of them to kill a Marshal of the Mark. They just don’t learn." He noticed �omer’s gaze, and his smile widened. "I looked after your injuries last night together with your friend after you had fallen asleep." The smile developed into a grin. "Or rather, after you passed out. We moved you around from one side to the other and even disinfected the wounds once again, but you didn’t seem to notice. I wish I could sleep like this for a change!"

"Go and wrestle some orcs all by yourself, and your wish might be granted," �omer grumbled, still too sleepy to react to Tolgor’s good-natured bantering, and then wondered: "I do not remember falling asleep."

"After you tended Firefoot, you said to Halad that you were too exhausted to walk over to the main house by yourself, and that you would need help, but when he returned with your dark-haired friend, you had already fallen into a sleep so deep, not even a stampede of all the horses ever born in the Mark would have woken you, so they decided to leave you here with us, and only gave you some blankets." The healer’s smile was replaced by a questioning glance. "Halad said that you were half-dead when those strangers brought you here, but you look much better today. Your friend seems to happen to know a thing or two about healing... and he is very skilled with the blade. Who is he, and how did you meet him?"

�omer inhaled deeply as his mind returned to the little shed he had shared with Aragorn while they had waited for the enemy. He still felt awed by the thought of what he had learned from their conversation. "Have you heard of Thorongil, the stranger who rode with our forces in Thengel’s time and accomplished many deeds worthy of song?"

Tolgor’s glance grew sceptical, as if he did not understand what one thing had to do with the other.

"Of course I have heard of Thorongil. Every child in the Mark grows up with the tales of that warrior. But…" The furrows on his brow deepened. "You mean… that he is Thorongil? But--" His gaze went over to the barn door.

"He appears to be too young to be the ‘Eagle of the Star’?" �omer finished for him, following his gaze. "Aye, it would appear so. And yet Thorongil was no ordinary man. My father said once that he was rumoured to be of N�menorian descent. That would explain it." He shook his head. "Anyway, I believe him. I met him once before on the plains, and although I did not know him then, I could already tell that there was something special about him. Anyway, he is on our side and has come to aid us, and that is all I need to know." Grimacing, �omer shifted his weight and his brow creased as he looked at the little window high above them through which sunlight filtered into the barn. "How late is it?"

"It is a little after midday. We decided to let you rest, as you seemed to need it." The healer ignored his commander’s dismayed expression. "And of course, we appreciated the rest, too, since we combed the mountains in search for you from dawn till dusk for days. And when we saw the smoke yesterday, we hurried even more to get here, so the break was indeed not only welcome, but necessary." He studied �omer’s expression and felt a sudden quiver of nervousness. "Something is troubling you."

�omer’s frown deepened as he scrambled to his feet, helped by his fellow rider.

"We are losing too much time. The enemy is ready to strike." Standing, he stared at Tolgor, suddenly all marshal again. "Where is Elfhelm? Did he not ride with you?"

"Elfhelm sent us out to search for you. He himself rode to Edoras when he learned of your banishment. I assume that he wanted to make sure that �owyn was safe. They should both be waiting for us in Aldburg when we return."

�owyn! He had not thought of her for a long time, but the mention of her name brought back the memory of the terrible night when he had just barely escaped the Worm’s trap. Gr�ma had known about their secret hiding place, and there was only one source where he could have learned of it. Had Elfhelm been fast enough to save his sister? Grinding his teeth in frustration, �omer bid his stallion a good morning with a clap on Firefoot’s muscular hindquarters and then turned to leave. How much he wanted to ride back to Edoras or Aldburg to confirm that his sister was still alive and well, and yet he remembered Th�odred’s warning, and Aragorn’s words. They had to concern themselves with Saruman, first, even if it meant to possibly sacrifice the only family member left to him. The Gods were cruel:

"We will not return to Aldburg," he muttered darkly, not looking at Tolgor. "At least not yet." ‘And perhaps never again.‘ His gaze grew urgent. "I need to talk to Thor!"

"I will find him for you." The healer opened the barn-door for his limping commander and then slipped out himself, wondering what �omer had meant. The Marshal’s anxiety troubled him, but he refrained from asking, assuming that they would learn about the source of it soon enough. Who was the enemy he was speaking of? Saruman? And how could he know that Saruman was ready to strike?

Bright sunlight greeted the two warriors, but the scene it shed its golden light on could hardly be less idyllic: the snow had turned to mush under the rising temperatures and last night’s assault, but the great black stains the Uruks had bled onto it were still visible, as were the trails of blackness leading to the dark piles burning in the distance. The powerful stench of the burning flesh assaulted �omer’s senses before he could steel himself for it, and his stomach gave a disgusted twitch.

"�omer!" At the sound of Aragorn’s by now well-known voice, the Rohir shifted his attention back at the main house in front him, where the ranger sat on the bench and cleaned his sword only to rise to his feet now and quickly make his way over with a big, honest smile on his face. Hardly noticed by �omer, Tolgor slipped away in search for his captain when the ranger came to a halt of his Rohirric brother-in-arms. His keen grey eyes briefly travelling over the younger man in a quick but thorough evaluation, the D�nadan laid a hand upon �omer’s shoulder. "You look much better."

"I feel much better, too. Thanks to you. Even if you should have woken me. We are losing too much time." Inwardly tensing, �omer hesitantly asked. "How is Osred faring?" B�ma, he had meant to be at the farmer’s side while Aragorn tended his wounds. He had meant to look after him. He had done neither. The man hated him already, and now he had even given him a real reason. Aragorn eyed him observantly and then calmly pointed his chin at the door.

"He is still asleep, but his life is not in danger. Fear not, �omer. He will survive it, and I do not think that any permanent damage has been done, although he will need some time to heal. Once the pain has passed, he will be proud of what he did… and his family, too." Those perceptive eyes meet with �omer’s again. "I told him that you had passed out. That you were worried for him and that you had meant to be by his side, but that your own strength had deserted you. He understands, �omer. After all, it has only been one day since we brought you here."

"It is no excuse," the Rohir muttered, the words meant for himself rather than the ranger, and then shook his head as he fell silent and turned around to look at the members of his former �ored, who were still wrestling heavy corpses into the fires. Osred was alive and he would recover. Good. For the moment, this was enough for him, but sooner or later, he would have to talk to the farmer, and he did not look forward to the conversation. When Thor emerged from the distant group of men to make his way over them, �omer was almost grateful..

"So, what will you do now?" Aragorn spoke into his thoughts, like he following the Halfblood’s approach. "Assemble the �oreds and ride to Isengard?"

"It is what I must do to save the Mark, isn’t it?" �omer sighed, evading the ranger’s questioning glance. "So I will do it."

"Although you would rather make for Edoras and free your uncle."

"I have no hope left for my uncle. He has become Wormtongue’s chief minion in the undoing of the Mark, nothing less. It is not him I worry about; it is my sister. I do not want to imagine what Wormtongue will do to her if he doesn’t get his way… and she will never bend to his will. She will sooner kill herself then let him touch her." �omer fell silent. The thought had struck him suddenly, and it felt like the cold, hard truth. If �owyn saw no other way of escaping Gr�ma’s clutches, she would seek death… which made it even harder to ride in the other direction, away from her. He closed his eyes, his lips a thin line as he lowered his head. His own kin was in mortal peril, and he did not ride to her aid? He felt like a traitor. To his relief, Aragorn remained silent, common sense telling him that any words of comfort he could utter would be empty of meaning.

Grateful for the opportunity to distract himself from his fears for his sister with some strategic planning, �omer turned to Thor, who had reached them and nodded his acknowledgement at Aragorn, as he turned to his commander.

"It is a relief to see you on your feet again, my lord. I was worried when I saw you last night."

"I was exhausted, nothing more." �omer was tired of talking about himself. He nodded in the direction of the distant men. "You are almost done with them?"

"The orcs? Aye." Thor followed his gaze and shrugged. "Once the snow has melted, nothing will be left of them."

"Did you send someone back to Aldburg yet?"

"No. I was assuming that you would be riding with us when we returned?" He saw the answer in �omer’s face and lifted a dark brow. "We will not ride back to Aldburg?"

"No. We must make for Isengard, before the traitor there can attack us. We will not be able to stop him if we come too late, and we will need all our forces to repel him… and not only repel him, but annihilate his armies and kill him, too, this time. Don’t ask me how I know that, but I do." �omer waited for a question, but the scout seemed too stunned to even think of one as he stared at him. So he continued. "I want you to send an errand rider to Aldburg, and another one further into the Eastmark. All settlements are to deploy their �oreds immediately for the Westfold, except for a few riders for their own protection. When they travel West, they must use the mountain paths and not the road, even if it is more dangerous and probably slower. If they travel past Edoras, the Worm will know that something is up."

"So you do not want for the Edoras’ �ored to be alarmed?" Thor asked sceptically. "But what about �othain? Can we spare him and his men when we attack the White Wizard?"

"We need him indeed, but the risk is too great. If Wormtongue learns of our plans, Saruman will know that we are coming for him. We must attack the wolf while it still sleeps in its den." He cut a glance at Aragorn, who stood silently by his side and nodded. "Also, I want two more riders sent to Erkenbrand’s stronghold and alert him of our coming and that of the �oreds. It would be good if he has already summoned his forces when we arrive, for there will not be much time left until we must ride."

Thor nodded, his dark eyes looking even more concerned than usually as he exchanged a worried glance with the ranger next to his commander:

"I will tell the men immediately, but my lord…."

"Wait," �omer interrupted him, one hand raised. "We will do it differently: It would be better if you sent half of your �ored ahead to Erkenbrand in addition to the two dispatch riders, together with your best scouts. I want them to clear the way for us, and to hunt down and kill each and every single orc they can find along the path. We must make sure that no word of our plan gets to Saruman!"

"There has been a lot of orc-activity in the mountains lately. It will take them a while." Thor hesitated. "I understood that time was of the utmost importance?"

"It is, but it is even more important that we retain the advantage we have in the element of surprise. Send those two riders ahead to alert Erkenbrand, and the others shall follow as fast as they can." The Halfblood nodded.

"Aye, my Lord. May I ask when you plan to leave?" His question was greeted by silence, and from the brief, wordless exchange between the two warriors before him, Thor understood that the marshal’s impatience would rather drive him to leave the farm this very instant, but that he also knew his limits. Limits which the stranger by his side didn’t even have to mention aloud, although his glance was a clear indication of his opinion. Finally, �omer shifted his attention back at his captain.

"Tell the men to be ready tomorrow by first light. Until then, I want them to rest. The next days will be hard enough." He nodded, having said everything that had been on his mind, and Thor inclined his head and turned, understanding that he had been dismissed. As Aragorn and �omer watched him leave, the Rohir shook his head, not looking at the man by his side. "And so it begins, the last great offence of the Rohirrim. I wonder whether I am not sending them all to their death."

"If you do not send them, death will come and catch them unprepared." Aragorn waited until he had caught the younger man’s eye. "This is the one chance at survival you might still have. You are doing the right thing, Son of �omund. Do not the Gods favour the courageous?"

"My people have always been courageous, and yet they are on the brink of extinction," �omer said darkly. "And many who only sought to protect their kin gave their lives. No one came to save them, or to reward their courage. I do not know who can honestly claim to have the Gods’ favour in these times, but one thing is certain: it is not the sons of �orl." With dark glance, he turned to the main house and took a deep breath. Here waited another duty for him which he could not postpone. "I must speak with Osred."

Chapter 37 - The Farmer and the Warrior

Chapter 37: The Farmer and the Warrior

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

It took �omer a hard mental push to open the door to Osred�s and Freya�s room. For the longest time he had stood before it, pondering his options and staring against the irregular pattern of the wood. Uncertain what he was supposed to tell the man who had decided to regard him as his enemy and rival, he felt angered over the injustice of having to defend himself against untrue accusations or to apologise for a crime he had not committed. It had not been his idea to stay behind and defend the farm against the orcs, and neither had he forced Osred to join them, so the farmer could hardly blame him for having been wounded in the fight. That he had even travelled in the direction of the farm had been born out of plight, not of choice, and helping friends in need had � so far � always been an unquestionable duty to any self-respecting inhabitant of the Mark. As much as �omer regretted his decision for he had unsuspectingly led the enemy to the family�s home, he had not been at freedom to handle things differently, not least of all since he had been unconscious when Aragorn and his friends had found him.

Deciding that the whole unfortunate business would only get more uncomfortable the longer he waited, the rider rapped his knuckles softly against the door with a low sigh and then slowly opened it. The image he was granted was heart-warming enough to put an involuntary smile upon his lips despite his troubled and bothered state of mind: on the chair to the right side of the bed, young Halad sat slumped with closed eyes, which he opened now with great effort to blink tiredly at his visitor like an owl caught in the daylight. On the left side, a quite comatose dwarf hung even more precariously in his seat in danger of falling, and his impressive snore left no question that Gloin�s son was indeed roaming the land of dreams. As was Osred, amazing as it was considering the noise originating from the dwarf. While �omer still regarded the occupants of the room with silent amusement, he felt the tension drain from him. More than willing to postpone the confrontation with the wounded farmer, he nodded at the lad who struggled to his feet and forced an utterly exhausted smile upon his gaunt face upon the sight of the man he regarded as his older brother.

��omer!� Halad whispered and laid his hand onto the other man�s arm. �How do you feel? Could you sleep? You must excuse us for not carrying you over into your room last night, but we thought--�

Soothingly, �omer raised his hand: �I am well enough, Halad. Don�t worry about me. I must have spent more nights of my life on the floor of a barn than in a real bed, so it was something I am quite accustomed to.� He nodded with his chin at the sleeping Osred. �But how about your brother-in-law? Aragorn says that his wound is not life-threatening, and yet I saw that it was much more than just a scratch.�

Halad followed his gaze with tired eyes.

�Aye. It is a deep cut, and it took your friend a while to staunch the bleeding and sew it shut. But I suppose he is as well as can be expected, because he slept all night. It is probably best this way, because he will not feel the pain� at least I hope so.�

Nodding in agreement, �omer could not help creasing his brow at the sight of Halad�s haunted expression and the deep shadows underneath the young man�s eyes. Quite obviously Freya�s brother had not been able to follow Osred�s example after the horrors of the past night. Remembering clearly how his first battle had shaken him, �omer imitated the farmer�s comforting gesture and offered: �I will take over here, Halad. It is time for you to lie down and get some rest yourself now.� His tone indicated that he would not tolerate objection. Halad attempted it nonetheless.

�But--� He gestured vaguely in the direction of the prone shape on the bed. �How can I rest while he is--�

�There is nothing you can do for Osred right now, Halad. What he needs most to heal is sleep, and it would be best for you to do the same, because you look ready to collapse. I will not have Freya angry with me because I drove the two most important men in her life to the brink of utter exhaustion. She will soon be here, and if you greet her looking like this, she will have my hide.�

Defeated by the older man�s undeniably correct observation, Halad hung his head, not daring to look his mentor in the eye as he nodded wearily and ran a hand through his matted hair. For a moment, the faintest ghost of a smile travelled over his face at the thought of his sister reprimanding a proud marshal of the Rohirrim, but a heartbeat later, it had faded to non-existence.

�I am tired,� he admitted finally in a low, beat voice that caused �omer�s heart to ache in compassion for the brave young man. �But I am afraid of going to sleep. They�ll wait there for me in my dreams, and I don�t know...� He fell silent and swallowed, his throat tightening at the thought. He looked up in search for understanding in the experienced warrior�s eyes and found it.

�I know that it is hard at first, but sooner or later, you will have to confront these dreams, Halad; you cannot escape them forever. Yet trust me when I tell you that the sooner you face them, the sooner they will fade away. It is important to remember that you defeated those things. They are dead, and you are alive. Take this thought with you when you lie down, and no dream can harm you. Take it as advice from someone who knows of what he speaks.� �omer patted the young man on the shoulder, never having felt more brotherly toward the lad, and then watched Halad leave until he closed the door behind him. Sighing to himself, the warrior turned back toward the bed� and tensed. While the dwarf was still very much asleep and gave no sign that he would hear if another band of orcs tore down the house around him, Osred�s eyes were open and regarding him with an unreadable expression that brought ants to �omer�s stomach before the farmer averted his gaze to stare at the opposite wall.

Unwilling to betray his nervousness to the other man and thus strangling the life out of the unwelcome notion, the Rohir approached the bed with careful steps. Osred looked weary and very pale in addition to still being obviously very much in pain despite Aragorn�s generous administration of most of the family�s supply of poppy seed juice. The older man was covered up to his chin in a thick blanket, which spared �omer the aggravating view of his heavily bandaged chest, and still the son of �omund could well imagine his agony, of which only a minor part stemmed from his physical wound. What did he have to say that could possibly make Osred feel better? What the man had heard from his wife had been devastating enough to prompt the farmer into staying behind and face an attack of murderous creatures although he had been the one who had initially voted most fervently for evading the battle. Why had he done it? �omer mused while he regarded the farmer in the thick silence of the crammed room. To impress his wife? To impress him, and prove that although he was no warrior, he could well hold his own if it was needed? He feared that it was something altogether different, a rather hopeless reason, and with a heavy breath, the rider lowered himself into the empty chair.

His eyes closed in an attempt to deliberately ignore him, Osred said in an unfriendly voice: �What do you want?�

�omer sighed.

�Believe it or not, Osred, but I want to see how you are faring. I meant to be here last night, but you heard what happened. I am concerned for you and I am sorry that you were wounded and that my decision to come here endangered your family. You were very brave last night, even if I am not sure about your reasons for staying, and you fought well, but I suppose that this is not what you want to hear from me, even if I cannot imagine what I may have done to incur your anger.�

The farmer stared with even greater concentration against the wall, his lips a drawn line and a crease forming between his eyes which bespoke his contempt without words.

�You cannot? That surprises me because while you were still Third Marshal, you were famed for your ability to read people. But then again, perhaps I shouldn�t be surprised, for this is only the way the nobles have always taken what they wanted without a care of whom it might belong to.�

�I beg your pardon?� Stunned by the sheer audacity of the farmer�s accusation, �omer stared at Osred. Had he heard right? At last the older man turned his head, and the intense resentment in his features was a punch to the rider�s gut.

�Oh, as if you wouldn�t know of what I am speaking! Wherever the �oreds appear, order falls apart. The nobles take whatever they want, whoever they want; and we farmers have to accept it. You always say that you give your blood for your people, but your protection comes at a high price; it has always been and will always stay this way. It was just the same in my village: every time the riders came, the womenfolk got excited and fought for their attention, and the men had to stand back and let themselves be humiliated. Aye, such is life, I understand, and we commoners cannot even begin to compete with the blood of the kings. And still, it is not fair! You can have almost every woman in the Mark; you could have chosen a woman without family. Why has it to be my wife?�

Although he felt his own temper stir at the incredible accusation, �omer forced himself to remain calm. It would not help if he lost control.

�I do not know what you experienced to give you such a lowly opinion of our riders, but it is certainly not I who stands between Freya and you, Osred; you should understand this much if you carefully listened to our conversation like you claimed. Instead of taking a good, hard look at yourself and examine whether there could be some truth to your wife�s words, you choose to blame me for your problems. It is a very easy way of seeing things, and it will not solve them!�

�Why should I even listen to you when you abuse my hospitality in the most loathsome way? Leave me alone!�

�I am not your rival, Osred, get it in your head! I have known Freya for much longer than you have, and had we meant to be together, it would have happened years before she met you. But she denied me, and for all the right reasons. Since then, my feelings for your wife have changed from love to friendship and although I care for her deeply, I would not act on it even if she were still alone, for we know both that it could not work. I have my commitment, and I take it seriously; just as you have yours and are no less dedicated to it. The things that make us content are very different, Osred, and alone for this reason, we are not a match. Freya understands this, even if she may be very confused right now. It will pass, but you must talk with each other!�

�Deny it all you like,� Osred pressed, and then hissed against the pain his exaggerated breathing caused in his wounded chest. �I know what I saw, and if you lie to me, you make it even worse!�

�And what exactly is it that you saw? What forbidden thing was it that you caught us at?� Ah, yes, the infuriatingly stubborn sons of �orl! �omer could not shake the feeling that he was sitting before one of the most mule-headed examples of them all, but perhaps, that came from Osred being a farmer. The next heartbeat, he berated himself for the mocking thought.

�You two holding hands when I looked into the room, and both of you wearing an expression on your faces exceeding everything that could be explained with the word �friendship�! Do you dare to deny it?�

�I do indeed!� �omer gave back with half a glance on the still slumped shape of Gimli. It was unbelievable, but the dwarf seemed to sleep right through their heated argument. He turned back to his adversary. �What about the word �concern�? And what about �relief� and �gratitude� that a friend, or someone one regards almost as kin survived a serious injury? Would such an experience not lead one to show perhaps more affection toward that friend than one would under normal circumstances?�

Osred just glowered at him, obviously still not willing to believe a word. His elbows resting on his knees, �omer bent forward, and his voice grew even more intense. �I will not argue that your wife is confused right now, Osred, I am not denying that. Despite her practicality and rationality, Freya has always been capable of very strong emotions, and perhaps the intensity of these last days caused her to confuse care with love. I am sure that she has no intentions toward me, and that her outburst was only prompted by that unusual surge of emotions.�

Osred snorted.

�So you would regard it as excusable if your wife poured out her heart to a stranger and scorned her husband in his presence?�

�She does not scorn you, Osred. If you overheard our conversation like you said you did, you would do well to remember all of it, especially the point when she said how much cared about you.� He could see that he was not reaching the other man.

�She cares for me, aye. Like she cares for her animals! To her, I am only another part of the farm, like our plough horse or a tool for the hard work, and that she lies beside me at night is only one of her duties and not something she would wish for.� For a moment, bitterness replaced anger in the farmer�s weathered features. �What meaning has my life now that I have been shown my place in my wife�s heart?�

As angered as his former words had left �omer, he could not help feeling a twinge of compassion for the man.

�It is not over yet between you, Osred. But you need to set things right. You heard what Freya longs for, and what she misses in your marriage. Think about it, and think whether there is not something more you can gift her with which you haven�t given her so far. Freya has no intentions to leave you, but it takes no mind-reading to see that she is not content. Do you not wish to make her happy? Wouldn�t that be a goal you would be proud to achieve?�

A scorching glance burned him despite his well-meaning advice.

�If you talk about all those strange things and fairy tales she has in her head: do you expect me to indulge in them the way she does? I may have my dreams and hopes, too, but dreaming will not get us over the winter! Life is not all play; I thought she understood that when I married her. I had believed her to be more practical.�

�omer decided that he could not let this stand.

�Freya grew up in this valley and practically raised her brother and her sisters alone. She worked on this farm since her early childhood days, so I am sure that she understands better than most of us what it takes to survive in this part of the Mark. And while I agree with you to a certain point, I will always say that dreams have their place in life, too, and that they are just as important elements of life as practicality and realism. If you cannot sense the dawn following a sinister night, you might not live to see it at all. Dreams are what replenish your strength after a hard day; they are the very foundation of hope itself. If you cannot dream of better days, what point would there be in fighting for survival? You might as well lie down and die, for it would certainly be easier than all this strife!�

�omer waited for a response, but Osred remained silent and stared onto his blanket with a still grim expression. �Let me tell you one thing, Osred, and that is the plain truth, whether you believe me or not: to achieve higher goals in life, you need to envision them first. If you never stand on the tips of your toes to reach for the impossible, you will never get ahead. You will never get a taste of the extraordinary.�

The farmer narrowed his eyes.

�The �extraordinary�?� he sneered. �And what would the �extraordinary� be out here in the wilderness? This is not Edoras, where with the snap of your finger, you can have something extraordinary if you are wealthy enough to pay for it. The �extraordinary� is reserved for you nobles only.�

�Who says that it has to be a material thing? Everyone has a different idea about it, and it can be something as simple as a special moment one shares with each other. � Did the man not understand him, or was he just not willing to see his point?

�If you are one of the mighty lords of the land, then of course you will have no problems in attaining them,� Osred rebuked mockingly. �I have seen the womenfolk beat each other up over the right to spend the night with the brave captains of our �oreds, while we simple men must take what is available. I have been foolish to think that it could be different for me.�

Now �omer narrowed his eyes as a thought began to form behind his brow.

�May I ask you something, Osred? Something of a very personal nature?�

�What could possibly be more personal than what we are already discussing?� But he did not evade the rider�s probing glance.

�Why did you marry Freya? What was it that you hoped to gain with this union?� The other man looked at him dumbfounded.

�Why would you ask me that?�

�You accuse Freya of having married you only to work on her farm. And yet it is one of the chief considerations when couples meet and get together in these isolated parts of our land. How could it be different? The distances between settlements are too great to travel them often, especially in these dangerous times. Children are either promised to each other, or you meet your future husband or wife only once before marrying. Freya did not know you well when she agreed to become your wife, and neither did you know her. She hoped that with time, you would grow to love each other. What did you hope for?�

�The same of course,� Osred said bitterly, and he sounded honest. �And I thought that we shared that feeling� until I saw her with you when your �ored visited us for the first time, and I suddenly understood the difference between duty and love. I am the man she married, so naturally, she lies with me at night. But I am not in her heart; it belongs to a man I cannot compete with.�

�Has it ever crossed your mind that you might not need to compete with me?� �omer asked. �That it might be something entirely different Freya expects of your union?� The confused gaze in Osred�s grey eyes told �omer that he had lost the farmer.

�Did you not hear what Freya said? Did you not hear what it is that she found lacking in your marriage? It is not wealth, nor does she long for a fancy life at Edoras, and neither is it the strength and skill of a warrior she seeks in a man. She says that you are a good father, and that your children adore you, so obviously, you are able to act differently when you are with them. Why not extend the same courtesy to your wife? Fight for her! Show her that you care for her concerns and wishes and that you are willing to try. If I can tell you one thing about love, it is that I have rarely seen it happen from one moment to the next. Lust, yes, and affection perhaps, but love requires work. It requires knowing each other, and the willingness to change or improve on certain aspects of oneself to make the other person content. It is an endless battle for balance. If you are not willing to fight for your wife, then perhaps the feeling is not strong enough in you, and it is simply not meant to be. But then I have one last question for you, and I would be very interested to hear your answer: why did you stay here with us? If you have given up on your wife, then why did you stay behind to do her bidding?�

From outside, the sound of excited shouts reached their ears and announced the return of the women. It distracted both men from their argument for a moment, but when they faced each other again, the tension between the farmer and the warrior had not lifted.

�Why do you ask?�

�Because the answer might tell me the way you are headed. If you stayed to prove yourself to Freya or to me, there may be yet some hope left if you are willing to fight for her. Yet if you did it solely to let yourself be killed and burden your wife with guilt as a �vengeance� for her words�� omer shook his head �� then I must admit that I do not see how the two of you will be able to continue living together.� He waited while the voices outside came closer, but Osred remained silent. �I understand. You do not want to tell me.� It was a statement, not a question.

�This is alone for me to know,� the farmer said at length, and he closed his eyes as he sank back into his cushion, looking wearied by their argument. It was clear that he considered the discussion over and his rival dismissed, and so �omer stood up and, slowly nodding to himself, limped over to the door to slip out of the room before Freya would burst in and make the scene even more awkward, not knowing whether he had achieved anything at all except that Osred seemed to hate him even more now. Only time would show.

Chapter 38 - Duty and Privilege

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

In search for solitude, �omer turned away from the excited shouts and chatter that leaked to him from outside and headed for the main room instead. He did not find himself alone there, either, but the picture of the still shape of Halad who slept on the thick sheep rug in front of the fireplace brought a little, almost parental smile to his lips. So the lad had indeed heeded his words, but had decided to stay close to his brother-in-law just in case. His drawn features gave the impression of utter exhaustion, and �omer hoped that he would be allowed to stay for a while in the deep realms of sleep where no dream could reach him. He knew from own experience what an event like last night�s did to a young person�s soul.

Running a hand over his face in a vain attempt to chase away the weariness he felt after the intense planning and heated discussion, �omer stepped closer. He had not been awake for long, and yet felt exhausted enough again to fall asleep on the spot; a reminder of his still greatly weakened condition he knew he should not ignore given his plans for the next days. If he wanted to stay in a saddle for the journey to the Westfold and still reserve his strength to convince the sceptical and independent Erkenbrand of the need to attack their western enemy, only to ride into battle against the greatest army the Rohirrim had faced in their entire history, he needed to listen to the signs his body was giving him.

With another quick look at Halad, �omer picked up the neatly folded blanket from one of the chairs and spread it over the sleeping shape while behind him, the voices grew louder and the sound of the opening door reached his ears.

�Osred? Halad? Are you--�

Bracing himself, �omer turned around just in time to see Freya storm into the room, her eyes wide and great anxiety written all over her pale features, and he pressed his finger against his lips as he pointed out the sleeping young man to his sister. Freya followed his gaze, and her drawn look briefly melted into an expression of a relief too great to be put into words. She offered no resistance when �omer laid an arm around her shoulders and led her out.

�Legolas already said that Halad was not harmed, but I feared for him nonetheless. He is such a gentle soul.� Looking back, she inhaled deeply. �How is he?�

�Your brother is well, Freya. A little shaken, of course, but I am certain that he will soon overcome this. He fought bravely, and the way he carried himself even after the assault earned him not only my respect, but that of the Riders. You can be proud of him. All Halad needs is a little rest now, and he will be as good as new.�

She nodded at that, and now looked at him taxingly, silently asking how he had survived the night when he had barely escaped death�s cold hands a night earlier. Their mark was still visible in the exhausted hollowness of �omer�s gaze and the blood-encrusted scratches on his brow and the side of his head, and the very sight of his weariness choked Freya. It was her fault that he had been forced to fight in his weakened condition. How easily he could have been killed! And yet when she extended her hand to touch his cheek in an affectionate gesture, �omer caught her wrist and gently eased down her arm. She stared at him in bewilderment. �And what about you, �omer? You had barely recovered from what these things did to you, but because of my decision, you had to fight again even though you can still barely stand! Are you well? Nothing happened to you?�

�I am fine, Freya. Don�t blame yourself for what happened,� he said, pretending not to notice. �If it is anyone�s fault, then it is mine for leading them here. You were right when you said that your farm is too important for the feeding of our people; we cannot allow Saruman to simply destroy our means of sustaining ourselves without a fight. If we fled each time we were faced with such a decision, we would have expired long ago� and not to forget: all of you would be left without a home now. There are too many people in the Mark already who suffered this fate.�

She look unconvinced as she remembered the dark glances her brother�s wife had given her on their ride to their neighbours� farm and back. And even her sisters had been tellingly quiet for the duration of their stay, and the memory of their silent looks hurt even worse. B�ma, what had she done? She had never meant to endanger her family. In a hollow voice, Freya said:

�Fl�adwyn hates me. She accused me of valuing my possessions more than the lives of my family. But that is not true, �omer! I never expected you to stay behind and fight my fight while you sent us away. I always defended my home, and I was prepared to do it this time, too.�

�I know,� he said softly. �But this time, you would have lost. It was a small army that attacked your home, not a random pack of hungry wargs. They would have killed you in the wink of an eye. There was no way we could allow that.�

�It was not my right to ask this of you. I-I didn�t think it through. I didn�t understand that you would regard it as your duty to stay and risk your lives, too, if I stayed. And now�� her voice sounded increasingly strangled �� Osred was wounded because of my stubbornness, and my own brother nearly died because he wanted to impress you. Always from when he was little, Halad talked about how he wanted to make you proud of him one day and prove that all the lessons you taught him had been well-learned. He always thought of battle as an adventure.� Swallowing, she looked at the sleeping shape behind them and sadly shook her head. �I hope that last night cured him of this idea.�

�I am certain of that. He is a smart lad. Slaughter, no matter whether of people or those creatures, is never to be regarded as an �adventure�. There is no glory in the spilling of blood, whether it may be red or black; no matter what the reason. It can never be more than a necessity. I, too, had to learn this lesson in my youth. I had wanted to avenge my father for as long as I could think, and yet when I killed my first orc, I felt sick to my stomach.� He reached out and touched her arm, lowering his voice to a reassuring tone. �Halad will recover from this, Freya, I am certain of this. Your brother is stronger than you think; he will put this behind him quickly.�

�I can only hope for the best, or I will never be able to forgive myself.� Her eyes travelled hesitantly to the door behind which she knew her husband to be, and with a deep breath, Freya confessed. �I am afraid to face Osred, �omer. I caused him so much pain, and now he is even wounded because of my stubbornness. Had I not insisted to defend the farm, he would not have stayed. Last night, I could not forget what he said. That he works so hard to please me, and yet that I do not respect him for who he is because I have only eyes for you. He thinks that I don�t love him, and yet he stayed to defend our home because I wanted it.� She took a deep breath and looked at him guiltily. ��omer��

He did not correct her, did not mention his own assumption of Osred�s motif which made him fight, because it would have gutted the already devastated woman in front of him. He could not help her with her problem and told her so with a mere glance. She had to come clear about these things with herself, first, before she would be able to make any chances. And yet, when she looked at him, �omer had an inkling that Freya was beginning to see the path she wanted to travel, and he lifted his chin in expectation of her words.

��omer I hope you know that I will always care about you. You will always be in my heart, but�� she looked at the door again and pressed her lips together. When her gaze back to him, she almost pleaded. �� he is my husband. We exchanged our vows, and I want to honour my promise. I meant it when I spoke it, and Osred has done nothing to deserve the way I have been treating him. He is a good man, and from now on, I will do what I can to be a good wife to him. I have much to make up for.� �Please, don�t hate me for it!� her eyes pleaded silently, but to her surprise, �omer smiled.

�I am glad to hear this, Freya,� he said softly, squeezing her arm affectionately. �And I am convinced that the two of you will come to terms with what happened. You will overcome this and your bond will be much stronger than before.�

�So you are not� angered by my decision? �

�How could I be? He is the father of your children.� He shook his head and inhaled, feeling as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted off his back. �Didn�t we two agree a long time ago to be friends, and nothing else? It is for the best, and I stand by that.� �And despite, when I leave you tomorrow, the chances are good that I and every man I take along will never return.� He didn�t say it as he nodded in the direction of the door. �Now go in and tell him this yourself.�

She seemed still hesitant.

�What if he rejects me? He has every right.�

�I do not believe that he will. He really loves you, Freya; his jealousy is an unmistakable sign of it. Now speak with him and tell him that he has nothing to fear from me. Tell him that you regret what happened yesterday, and tell him that you worried for him all night. He should be able to see it in your expression, but let him hear it as well. It is not too late yet for the two of you.� Extending an arm, he opened the door for her, and then suddenly remembered. �Wait for me here. I will be quick.� And without so much as another glance, he turned toward the door and cautiously opened it. Osred seemed to have fallen asleep again in the wake of their heated dispute, and the dwarf in the chair beside him showed no change in his condition, so �omer entered the room and walked up to him. �Gimli?�

He hesitated to touch the dwarf. As a warrior who was likewise possessed of strong reflexes, he knew firsthand about the danger of waking an armed comrade, especially after a fight. When he had just joined the �oreds, �omer had been sent to wake their captain and committed the almost deadly mistake of touching Elfhelm�s shoulder. The dagger that had been thrust against his chest would have killed him if the older man had not stopped himself virtually at the last moment, leaving a thoroughly rattled young man to ponder the foolishness of his deed for the rest of the day.

�Gimli?� A little louder, but just as vain as the first attempt. Bracing himself, �omer balanced on his good leg and carefully tapped against the dwarf�s shin with his foot instead of bending over and bringing his chest within reach of the warrior�s battleaxe. At first, he received no reaction either, but at last his effort was granted success when he repeated it more forcefully. Between the bushy red eyebrows and the mighty red-brown beard, a small slit opened and Gimli�s unwilling glance went up toward his face.

�Hrrmmm?� the dwarf grumbled, still half asleep. �omer could not help grinning at the dwarf�s deteriorated condition.

�Master Dwarf, I hope you can forgive me for waking you, but you are needed outside.�

�Oh?� With dirty, still blood-encrusted hands Gimli wiped the sockets of his eyes and then, suddenly remembering why he sat in the chair, turned his head to look at the wounded farmer, who had likewise woken from the disturbance but was doing his best to ignore them. �How is he doing?� the son of Gloin whispered urgently, his broad, weathered face � or what could be seen of it through the hair � displaying such concern that �omer felt touched. A strange creature, that dwarf. On one hand, he was fearsome warrior who seemed to enjoy the bloodshed, and yet at the same time, he seemed to be possessed of an extraordinarily great heart. It would be interesting to find out more about his kind if time for a conversation was granted to them on the way westward.

�He will recover, but he needs rest,� �omer hinted less than subtly and offered his hand to help the groaning dwarf to his feet. �Come, let us look for something to eat.� It had just dawned on him that he felt hungry, and as he had learned in one of his conversatios with Aragorn, there was no better way of catching a dwarf�s attention than the mention of food. And really, Gimli�s eyes lit up at the thought as he followed him out of the room.

�Aye. That sounds to me like the best plan I have heard in a long time! I am starving, now that you mention it.� From out of nowhere, an impressive grumble resounded from the middle of his body, which he then patted affectionately. �Quiet, He hesitated only a moment to look back. �But who will sit with him?�

�His wife.� Now the hint could no longer be called subtle, and even the drowsy dwarf understood. His eyebrows going up, he nodded. �Ah. Very well then. Let�s go and eat! What a splendid idea! � Well, hello, Mistress Freya. We taught those orcs to make a big detour around your farm in the future.� He inclined his head in greeting, thus answering her little thankful nod, and with a hearty slap on �omer�s sore back forced a wince from the Rohir as they left the room. Briefly pausing to let the dwarf get ahead, �omer laid a hand upon Freya�s arm. �Don�t be afraid, Freya. He will listen to you, and he will understand. I know it.�

She nodded and then swallowed when anxiety rose in her again. Large blue eyes silently asked �omer whether he would be all right all by himself, and he gave her the little reassuring smile she had hoped to see before he turned away and left her to her hard task.

In the wake of all the intense discussions he had led since he had entered this house, the sudden silence felt oppressive to �omer as he walked toward the kitchen, which made the din of voices from outside seem all the louder, but somehow what was going on there in the snow felt strangely disconnected from his own world. He was a small island onto himself, separated from the riders and the family by his most detailed knowledge of the great peril for his land and his kin. None of them had witnessed his trial, they only heard of the Worm�s power, but to them, it was an abstract thing, and although Gr�ma�s scheming had been going on for a long time, it seemed that each new act of evilness still surprised them. Staring at the scene outside with unseeing eyes, �omer arrived at the stunning realisation that outside of Edoras, he was the only one who had fathomed yet the full depth of the black hole that was Gr�ma Wormtongue�s soul.

With a deep sigh from the very bottom of his heart, �omer reached for the door when it suddenly opened by itself, almost hitting his head, and the frail shape of Halad�s young wife stood before him, startled by his unexpected presence.

�Fl�adwyn!� he greeted her, at once noticing the hollow look in her eyes and the dark shadows underneath which bespoke her anxiety despite Legolas� reassurance that her husband had not been harmed in the fray. As she stood before him, her head barely reaching up to his chest and a hand protectively cradling her slightly rounded stomach, she looked very young to him, almost like a child.

��omer!� Impulsively, she embraced him, and he responded by taking her in his arms. �B�ma be praised, you are well. Where is Halad? And Osred? Legolas told me that he was wounded in the fight?�

�Osred is in the bedroom, but since Freya is with him right now, it would be best if you waited before you see him. Halad is sleeping before the fireplace, but I don�t think he would mind if you joined him there.� With a little reassuring smile, he released her and turned back to the outside scene. Freya�s sisters and her children stood in front of the dog hut where Halad had laid their dead hounds until the ground thawed out far enough to bury them. As he looked on, little Lo�gar knelt down in the wet snow to touch the stiff fur, and although �omer could only see his back, he knew that the lad was crying. The shadow on his face deepened. The family had endured much, but at least they had each other.

�owyn, on the other hand, was alone, provided that she was still alive. If Elfhelm had not succeeded in freeing her which �omer doubted because his sister�s treason had been uncovered even before the Captain of Aldburg had left his domain; she sat now trapped in Edoras at the mercy of the man who had greedily followed her every footstep since her youth. Forced to powerlessly witness Gr�ma Wormtongue�s ascent to Lordship over the Golden Hall while she believed her brother dead and at the same time, having to watch how their uncle fell deeper and deeper into shadow. How could she endure such torment? And instead of riding to her aid, he sat here in the wilderness and summoned their armies against an enemy of overwhelming power who was likely to crush them with the heel of his boot. He knew that �owyn would have wanted it that way, that she would have wished for him to save their people instead of endangering everyone to come to her aid instead, and still the bitterness of the decision he had been forced to make would not vanish. So Osred thought he was leading a privileged life? Was it such a privilege to be forced to abandon his kin for the call of duty?

His expression darker than ever before, �omer forcefully closed the door and turned back toward the kitchen where he could hear the dwarf rummage around in search for something with which to fill his stomach. Even if his contemplations had ruined his appetite, common sense dictated that he did everything in his power to recover his strength. The never-sleeping voice in the back of his mind asked what he would do if he succeeded in saving Rohan only to arrive in Edoras too late to do the same for his sister�

Chapter 39 - Cat and Mouse

EDORAS

She had feared to hear the sound of the accursed footsteps, and yet at the same time, somewhere deep within herself, �owyn had also longed for something to break the oppressive silence and distract her from the darkness and hopeless thoughts that assaulted her in her prison even at the price of more torment. She could also no longer deny that she was hungry and thirsty, ravenous in fact, and as the first wave of a delicious scent wafted into her cell, the daughter of �omund of Aldburg felt to her dismay her mouth beginning to water and her stomach contracting into a painful, demanding ball of hunger. Pressing a fist against it to prevent that her body would give away her condition to her captor, �owyn looked at Elfhelm to see how he responded to the prospects of another encounter with the Worm.

It had not escaped her attention that the warrior�s condition had greatly deteriorated since the previous day. Especially over the course of the last few hours, �owyn had been forced to helplessly witness with increasing anxiety how the warrior descended deeper and deeper into a semi-conscious state; a state which revealed the true extend of his suffering although Elfhelm had been quick to assure her during his lucid moments that he felt not as horrible as it might appear to her. Even in the flickering semi-darkness of the torches, there was no question that her protector was running a fever. Whenever the Captain of Aldburg undertook the considerable effort to lift his head while he talked to her, the tale-tell shine in his eyes and the beads of sweat running down his face in tiny rivulets betrayed his crumbling state. At last, when Elfhelm had begun to experience trouble in speaking and finally lost most of his coherence due to the serious lack of water, �owyn had understood just what was at stake: if her protector was denied drinking and sustenance for yet another day, he would not live to see the next morning. Not that they were able to see its light deep down here within the bowels of the lonely hill.

The tantalising scent of roasted meat and steamed vegetables crept into �owyn�s nostrils and slid down her throat, then doing unbelievable things to her stomach although it was still more than questionable whether she would actually see any of it. Or would she? Would she be able to contain the hatred she felt for the Worm and keep her sharp tongue in check to insure that Elfhelm would not be denied the urgently needed liquid? Would she be able to swallow her pride and� beg? For Elfhelm�s sake?

�owyn closed her eyes in a doomed attempt to calm down. Somehow, she would have to succeed in reining in her temper, even if Elfhelm had been adamant that she should not surrender to the enemy. But this meant that he would die, and addition to the devastating guilt she would feel over her responsibility for the warrior�s death, it would furthermore mean that she would be left all by herself in this dark, lonely corridor, a thought that was too frightening to contemplate further. �owyn was certain that she would lose her mind if she were forced to remain in this cell with no living soul to talk to or to comfort her. It seemed that she had to choose between two evils. Which was the lesser one? Abandoning her pride and admitting defeat to her arch enemy to be allowed the continuing comfort of Elfhelm�s presence� or the conservation of her mental integrity at the price of his death?

Caught between the two contradicting choices, �owyn�s gaze slid down to the almost empty bowl in front of her cell. It had been the rats who had enjoyed an unexpected feast last night; she had not touched any of it. Would Wormtongue see the difference? Would he know that she had not yet submitted? �So what if he does?� the warrior inside of her, the side of her which had spoken too rarely during these endless black hours, sneered. �At least he will not be able to shove the rat-touched food down my throat!� �But he can do other things,� the fearful voice in the back of her mind, which had held the upper hand of her conscious for a while now, insisted anxiously. �Worse things than force-feeding me. Much worse things!�

It took an enormous effort to suppress the disquieting thought and calm down enough to mould her expression into the imperturbable mask of cool superiority she had reserved for the crooked minion of evil all her life. Sitting on her bare cot with her back to the wall with as much dignity as she could muster after more than a day of imprisonment, �owyn braced for the confrontation just when the group of four came to a halt in front of her cell.

�Lady �owyn,� her chief tormentor�s voice trickled into her ears, smooth like poisoned honey. She lifted her chin, succeeding in looking down upon the man even from her seat like royalty upon the lowliest servant, and not like the captive at her captor. �I am delighted to see that you apparently heeded my yesterday�s words�� Wormtongue regarded the bowl at his feet for a moment as if it were the most interesting item in the world, then his lips curved into an unpleasant, knowing smile. �Or did you leave the food to the rats? I cannot help thinking that it might not have been you who ate the stew.� The smirk broadened at something he seemed to see in her eyes. Fear, perhaps, for betraying the truth? The moment stretched until at last, Gr�ma averted his gaze in the seemingly most casual way. �And yet since I am in a forgiving mood, I will not dive deeper into this, my Lady. But look what I have here! Your meal� and the Captain�s, if you allow him to have it today.� With his eyebrows raised expectantly, he turned toward the warrior who hung in his chains and seemed to have barely enough strength left to lift his head.

Her insides clenching into a painful knot, �owyn followed Gr�ma�s gaze�and looked Elfhelm straight in the eye. He was pleading with her, silently, to remember her promise. Fevered, pained and as weak as he was, he did not want her to succumb to their enemy�s evil scheme, but how could she just let him die? How could he expect that of her? �owyn�s throat tightened dangerously, and she had to avert her eyes in order to collect herself.

�Yes,� she then said lowly as she turned to her waiting adversary, hating the sound of her own defeated voice even as she spoke. So, even if Elfhelm regarded her as a traitor, she could not do it. She could not cause a dear friend�s death and then endure the oppressive silence and darkness of the dungeon all alone. With growing certainty over her decision, �owyn lifted her head and summoned all that was left of her dignity as she met the silently amused gaze of which she was the focus. �Please, give it to him. He needs it.� The counsellor�s brows rose even higher. The surprise on his face seemed genuine and shamed her greatly. So even her tormentor had expected more resistance from the White Lady of Rohan than she had left within herself. Perhaps he would lose interest in her now. And yet she didn�t believe it. Gr�ma was too satisfied with himself to not reap what he had sown years ago. He revelled in his triumph and would enjoy every little aspect of it.

�Did I hear you right, my Lady?� Wormtongue asked her again, thus confirming her assumption. �Are you actually asking me to give this to the Captain?� His eyebrows twitched. �Would you beg me for it, too?� A brief gesture pointed at the tray in his henchman�s hands. �owyn took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. What use was resistance in her situation? She had not much strength left in her and had to pick her battles carefully. Rising to his teasing was definitely not worth wasting any energy over.

�If that is what it takes, then yes, I beg you.� She inhaled deeply and then added calmly, with as much dignity as she could muster: �You have won, Gr�ma Wormtongue, at least for now. I am not so foolish to deny it. Whether you will be victorious in the end remains yet to be seen, but for now, power is yours. Like the power to let him live...� She nodded at Elfhelm �...when I know that it is me you want. It would be useless to torture him further, for there is one thing about me that you must understand: if you kill him, I will never be yours.� An expression of utter intrigue crept into Wormtongue�s features.

�You want to set conditions? Even though you are behind bars?� Her audacity greatly delighted Gr�ma. So she had not given up at all! In the wake of what had happened, she had been shocked and stunned as was only natural considered the violent change of power in Meduseld, but now she had recovered, and she was still the brave shield-maiden he had admired for so many years. What a glorious woman she was! Scratching his chin as he feigned having to contemplate her words first, the new Lord of the Golden Hall turned on his heels to cast a long, pensive look into the other cell, where Elfhelm looked dismayed over the last developments. With a smug smile, he then shifted his attention turned back at �owyn.

�You want to barter, you say. Fine, let�s barter. This is my proposal: your friend gets both food and water, and you will have your evening meal, too - if you agree to have in my chambers, together with me.� Ah, this she had not expected! After all these years, his skill to unsettle the haughty young woman was still as powerful as ever. And yet Gr�ma had to admit though that his female opponent and object of desire regained her composure remarkably fast. With an apologetic glance at Elfhelm, �owyn nodded.

�Provided that it is I who will give it to him, and that you allow me to treat his wounds!�

Ah, such pride! Wormtongue knew that it was ridiculous, but he felt proud of the woman he had loved ever since he had first set eyes upon her. Even under the grimmest of circumstances, she refused to give up her dignity. Well, perhaps it was the key to her acceptance if he allowed her to keep it intact. Surprising himself with this sudden benevolent thought, Gr�ma inclined his head just the slightest bit to indicate that her proposal met with his agreement.

�Very well, my Lady, I accept. I will let you feed and tend the Captain afterward, but only if your behaviour during the meal leaves nothing to be desired, that much must be clear. Even the faintest escape or assault-attempt, and poor Elfhelm of Aldburg will have to sleep with an empty stomach yet again.� With a meaningful glance at the warrior, Wormtongue lifted an eyebrow. �It is your decision, my Lady.�

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She had walked up the stairs on legs that felt like two wooden sticks after the long time she spent in the draughty coldness of her cell, the memory of the despair in Elfhelm�s eyes as they took her away a pain as sharp as a wound inflicted with a sword. �owyn had tried to lay it all into her gaze when she left: that she would be back. That yes, she was doing this for him, but just as much for herself, too, as she would go mad if she�d be forced to spend the days in this black pit alone. That she simply could not let her pride be more important than his life, the life of the last friend and protector she had left in this world. She saw the understanding in his gaze before she turned around, and yet the expression of defeat in Elfhelm�s fevered eyes was unbearable. The Captain of Aldburg, her brother�s mentor who had always believed in their victory even under the worst circumstances, had given up hope.

As she approached the door to the Hall, �owyn involuntarily straightened. What would she find once she entered? The pride of the �orlingas brimming with Dunlendings desecrating its ancient sanctity and all members of the Royal Household killed? She steeled herself for one of the most unsettling experiences yet, determined to keep the mask of indifference on her face for as long as a single enemy was around to see it. Even if they were defeated, the Gods forbade that she would grant their enemy the satisfaction of seeing her despair. No matter what Gr�ma Wormtongue would conceive to get to her, she would be at a place he could never reach.

Upon the Counsellor�s call, the door was opened and she stepped into the hall and into the first daylight she had seen in two days. It was muted as it filtered through the high windows into the vast room, and obviously the sun�s last greeting as it went down for the night, and still it felt like balsam on her scorched soul, only for a brief moment but immeasurably precious because it lifted the shadow from her heart.

Then she saw them. Staring at her and greeting her with mocking shouts in their hard, strange language, Wormtongue�s Dunlending brethren sat, lay and stood around in the ancient throne room wherever there was space. In between their lairs of blankets and sheets and ancient rugs they had gathered from the other rooms, �owyn noticed stacks of boxes and sacks and vessels, and she understood at once that the enemy had barricaded Meduseld against the citizens of Edoras to wait� for the White Wizard�s army. So it he expected it soon. The revelation of what it meant was a punch to her gut and robbed her of her breath. When would they be here? Where they already on the way? Were kinsmen right now slaughtered by the hundreds in the Westfold? Her knees shaking, �owyn stumbled on as Felrod prodded her toward Gr�ma�s private chambers.

�Oh look at her! Isn�t she a price indeed?� a deep voice rumbled, then exploded in laughter. �Now I understand why he has done it!�

�It was I who led you undetected all the way through the Mark,� the man next to him, a short but heavy-set and hairy brute said. �I think that I earned a reward for that deed! Perhaps the Counsellor will allow me a night with her when I ask him.� More laughter.

�Ah, but you would break her with your clumsy hands,� the first man retorted. �The Counsellor doesn�t like his possessions damaged. Better take one of the kitchen wenches instead, or he will be mad at you!�

The banter went on while �owyn concentrated on not listening to their horrible suggestions. Her heart pounding like a trapped animal against the walls of its cage, she barely heard Gr�ma when he hastened to open the door of his chambers for her.

�Here, my Lady. Please enter!� He looked at Felrod, who seemed delighted by his appointed task to steer �owyn inside. �Seat her in one of the chairs by the window while I�ll have the table prepared! And watch her closely!� And with a glance which could not have been more serious, Wormtongue left to instruct the kitchen for the meal that would mark his victory.

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�So, you see that I am not so evil after all. I hope you enjoy that meal. Is it to your taste, my Lady?� Wormtongue took another sip of the King�s best wine which he had ordered to celebrate this special occasion and kept it in his mouth for a prolonged moment to savour its exquisite taste before he swallowed. All the while his eyes feasted, too, on the most beautiful woman he had ever been granted the grace to met no matter where his journeys had taken him in his youth. The woman who now sat on the other side of at the table now and shared the evening meal with him, something of which he would not have dared to dream only days ago. All was happening so fast now, his triumph was so complete tat she still seemed to him an apparition rather than of flesh and blood, and the urge to touch her and determine whether she was real was almost overpowering, but Gr�ma reined himself him. This was only the very first, hesitant step toward the highest goal he had in life. Defeating the Rohirrim on their own turf and handing over the Mark to his true master was nothing compared to winning the woman he had longed for ever since he had first laid eyes upon her seemingly an age ago. He did not want to ruin with impatience what he now had.

And what exactly was it that he had, Gr�ma mused while he observed �owyn as casually as he could, still revelling in her beauty and grace even after two days spent in the dungeon. They were alone in the room and dining together, yes, but only a fool would ignore the fact that she was not here of her own, free will, and that underneath the table, her feet were tied to the heavy chair on which she sat. She ate with a spoon, for he had not yet dared to give her knife and fork, knowing exactly what he had to expect if he granted her anything she could even remotely use for a weapon. The meal had been accordingly adjusted to a plate that held bite-sized pieces of roasted meat, two slices of freshly baked bread together with an assortment of cheese and a few slices of last autumn�s apples and pears. The cup in front of her held the best wine the Mark had to offer. Compared to what people usually had to eat in the cold season, it was a feast, but of course �omund�s daughter cared little for the precious food under the given conditions. She was here because she wanted to help Elfhelm. Gr�ma understood. And still �owyn�s rigid bearing and the way she ignored him by concentrating on her plate bothered him too much to remain silent.

�Look at me!� he demanded as he sat down his cup with more force than necessary, and the next moment, those unbelievably deep blue eyes were directed at him, their expression void. �I asked you a question. Wouldn�t you deem it polite to provide me with an answer, my Lady?�

Her face a bland mask, �owyn said tonelessly, discarding all snide remarks that danced on her tongue for a heartbeat: �Yes, it is to my taste, my Lord.� �Elfhelm! You are doing it for Elfhelm!� she reminded herself forcefully. �You have come so far, now do not ruin it!� Once more she lowered her gaze as she helped herself to another piece of bread to gather the remains of the spicy meat sauce. Only why did she suddenly see �omer�s angered face in front of her inner eye?

�What are you doing, �owyn? You are taking your meal with the man who ordered Th�odred�s and my death? You break bread with the man who betrayed our trust to wipe out our entire people?�

She swallowed and felt her eyes beginning to burn and heat flushing her cheeks in a scorching bout of shame, the emotion so strong that she had to put down the bread and lower her head in hope that the curtain of her tangled hair would hide her distress. Just to do something that would not prompt her host to proceed with his conversation, she picked up the cup and took a sip of the wine. And the entire time, she felt Wormtongue�s attention focused upon herself. At first, he had tried to only occasionally look at her, but now he was staring at her like a hawk at the mouse the moment before he folded his wings together to drop from the sky.

�I do realise that it is hard for you to sit here under the given circumstances, Lady �owyn� her adversary now began, as if he had looked inside her head and read her thoughts, and his voice sounded disgustingly compassionate and did not fit to his intense stare. The last thing she wanted was the Worm�s pity, whether feigned or genuine. �You are only here because you want to help the poor Captain of Aldburg, and not because you want to be here. Do not believe that I do not understand you. And yet I am wondering whether it is really such an unbearable thing to have your meal together with me.� Her eyes met his fleetingly before she resumed staring at the mysteries on her plate, and behind her fa�ade of feigned detachedness, Gr�ma saw disbelief at his question. He dismissed it with a gesture. �Don�t be afraid, I do not expect an answer, as I know that your tongue has been tied by the circumstances. I do not want to pressure you into saying something you would regret later. But think about it when you are back in your cell. It doesn�t have to be this way. You don�t have to suffer in the darkness. It is not my wish to lock you up, any more than it is yours, but so far, you left me little choice.�

She knew what he was steering at, but remained silent. Gr�ma would view it as encouragement if she participated in his � so far � one-way conversation, and answering him would endanger her goal of helping Elfhelm. It was easier to remain still than to watch her words, and the way frustration, shame and rage boiled within her over being forced to this parody of a meal among friends, made it foreseeable where an attempt to enter into a conversation with Gr�ma would end. With a last bite of bread, �owyn laid her hand upon the table to indicate that she was finished, and looked up.

�I fulfilled my part of the bargain. Will you honour yours now, my Lord?� Her heart sang at the sight of Wormtongue�s disappointment.

�So you do indeed prefer your cell to my company, my Lady?� He took a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed. For a moment, �owyn feared that she had angered him after all, but then he nodded and slid back with his chair. �Very well, have it your way. I know that Captain Elfhelm is waiting for you to return, even if it was not his wish that you shamed yourself like this.� He came to his feet and slowly wandered around the table to her side. She tensed. �Think about it, �owyn.� His mouth was now close to her ear in a confidential whisper, saying her name without the title for the first time ever, and the next moment, she felt his fingers glide through her hair. She shut her eyes, clenched them shut, in a desperate attempt to endure his touch. It was almost over; she could not ruin it now at the last moment! And he knew it, and was taking advantage of that fact! Curse him!

�All that I ask for is your presence, my dear, and nothing else. We could take all our meals together from now on. And perhaps, if things go well, I will even allow you to stay in your chambers instead of your cell, how would that be?� It sounded like Heaven, except� it would leave Elfhelm suffering alone in the dark. She could not do that. Again his fingers glided through her golden tresses in an awkward, gentle caress that sickened her.

�Please, let me tend the Captain now,� she forced herself to say, her voice husky, and the next moment, his hand was gone.

�As you wish, my Lady. Felrod?� All suggestive play, all confidentiality suddenly vanished from Gr�ma�s voice as he turned around to face his henchman when he entered the room upon his master�s shout. �Take the White Lady back to the dungeon. I will send someone after you with healing supplies for the Captain. Watch her while she tends and feeds him.� He looked down at her. �Oh, and just to make myself clear: Elfhelm remains chained at all times. I do not trust him. It would be just like him to play the weak, wounded warrior only to do something stupid once he sees a weapon within reach. I would hate having to kill him, and I am sure, the Lady �owyn would hate it as well.� With a last meaningful glance, he turned away from her, not bothering to look as the Halfblood untied the King�s daughter from her chair and led her out.

Chapter 40 - Farewells

Chapter 40: Farewells

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

It was still dark when �omer stepped out into the chill air, but behind the transparent vapour of his breath he could already see the stark contours of the surrounding mountains against the slowly brightening sky. Dawn was on its way, and they had to leave. Despite his still weakened condition, he was glad to move on. Too much time had he lost here in this valley, forced to inactivity while the Kingdom was threatened and �owyn in deadly peril. There was another reason for his brightened mood this morning: he was looking forward to riding with his men again and to feel their deeply embedded loyalty after days of loneliness and doubt. Forced to choose between their King and their Marshal, they had decided to trust in him, not caring that their choice turned them into outcasts themselves. The gratitude he felt was too great for words, and he hoped that his expression told the warriors its true extent when his gaze wandered over their smiling faces.

And yet at the same time, the warm feeling around �omer�s heart was chilled by a sense of foreboding that assaulting him anew at the sight of his selfless brothers-in-arms. Would he lead them to their death? Would any of these brave men survive and return to their families? This was more than an ordinary skirmish they were headed for; this battle would decide the fate of the Mark. For a moment, the Rohir felt too stunned by the realisation of his responsibility to move on, his legs literally glued to the ground. It was only when he heard Aragorn call out for him from behind that he woke from his mesmerised state, and as �omer turned around, he saw his saviour emerge from their hosts� bedroom and head straight for him with long strides.

��omer?� Questioning eyes mustered him as Aragorn came closer. �omer did not even try to hide his discomfort, knowing that the perceptive ranger had already sensed it. Yet to his relief, the older man did not comment on it, but tried in fact his best to brighten his spirits. �I looked after Osred again. His wound is clean, and it should heal without complications provided that he rests. Freya knows enough about healing to ensure that he will recover completely from this injury. Do not worry.� Thankful for the information and glad that the other man left it at that and did not ask for the true reason for his uneasiness, �omer nodded. The keen grey eyes glided over him now. �And what about you? Do you feel that you will be able to stay in the saddle for an entire day? Or for two days even, as I have heard?��

�I will have to,� �omer said tonelessly, dreading the prospect of the long ride to Erkenbrand�s domain even though he chafed to be on the way. He turned his back to the waiting warriors of his �ored, adamant to show no weakness. The Rohirrim needed a strong leader if they wanted to defeat the White Wizard; they could not afford to doubt. �Saruman will not wait until I am ready to meet him. If we come too late, it will be the Mark�s doom.� And �owyn�s...� With a small nod, he acknowledged Thor�s presence as the Halfblood walked up to them with a tall white horse on the reins. �Yes, Thor?�

�My Lord �omer, I can report that your �ored is ready to leave.� The Half-Dunlending inclined his head and then pointed his chin at the horse. �This is Dral�on; he is Gunthard�s steed. Gunthard agreed to share the saddle with Aldor so that you may ride his horse. I thought since Firefoot is wounded, it would do him good to be spared at least some of the effort of the journey, as you will surely need his full strength again once we give battle.� He saw �omer�s gaze travel over the stallion. �Oh, and I also managed to get a sword for you. It is Tolgor�s. He says that he is better with the bow anyway, so you could have his blade until we reach Captain Erkenbrand�s domain. Unfortunately, we do not have any spare mail for you, but I am certain that the Captain will be able to help you out with that� as well as with any additional armour and weapons you might need then.� He extended his hand with the scabbard, and �omer accepted it with a thankful nod. Drawing the sword to test its handling, he was satisfied to find that it lay much better in his hand than Freya�s the night before. It would do for the task at hand. He laid a hand onto the Halfblood�s shoulder.

�I thank you, Thor. As always, you thought of everything. I am glad to count you among my �ored.� Shifting his attention to the waiting riders, �omer felt a sudden impulse and raised his voice: �And I thank you, too, each and every on of you! When I was expelled from Edoras, I thought I was left with nothing, and although I should have known better, I was uncertain whether you, my brothers-in-arms, would not accept the verdict. After all, it came from your King, even if all of us know by now that although it was his mouth that uttered those words, their origin was Gr�ma Wormtongue. The filth first killed the Prince, and then he rid himself of me... or so he thought. He thinks that our soldiers are simpletons who have no mind of their own and will never question the King' words or be interested in the truth behind them. In the case that the henchmen and orcs he sent to finish me off failed, he counted on you to do his bidding.� He inhaled deeply and raised his chin. �But your loyalty runs deeper than the enemy ever anticipated, and you proved him wrong! No matter how intricately that filth may spin his nets, Gr�ma Wormtongue will never be able to drive a spike between us �orlingas, and that makes me proud!�

�Forth �orlingas!� over three dozen voices answered him, and a sudden rush of heat flooded �omer�s veins. He had not intended to hold a speech, but the words wanted out now, his emotions so powerful that it was impossible to hold them back.

�The intention behind the Worm�s actions was to leave Rohan unprotected for the time when his true master sends his army. He probably thinks that he has achieved this aim, and his haughtiness will be our advantage! While Saruman still waits for the perfect time to launch his assault on us, we will assault him instead and meet him unprepared! We will kill the wolf while it still sleeps in its den. Will you ride with me and rid the Mark of this plague once and for all, my brothers?�

�Aye!�

�Death to the traitor!�

�Death to the Worm!�

Roused by his own speech and encouraged by the determination in the warriors� features, �omer raised his sword.

�For the Mark!� A many-voiced war-cry answered him and in the twilight, deadly steel glistened as the swords� owners held them up against the sky. The Rohirrims� declaration of resistance rang out into the dawn, and for the first time, �omer felt the first spark of hope he had felt in a long time stir inside of him. These men were eager to fight to end for their cause, and it would be no different with the rest of their forces they�d meet in the Westfold. Their soldiers had suffered through the hardest times and had seen many of their kin and friends slaughtered; they would tear themselves in two to bring the offenders to justice. So what if Saruman�s army outnumbered them vastly; his men had a noble cause to fight for, which was more than the orcs could ever claim. They were killing machines without a home to defend, and it would make all the difference. No enemy had ever defeated their fully assembled �ohere, and once the thunder of ten-thousand horses would be unleashed against the foul brood, the only choice left to them would be whether they wanted to vanish underneath the horses� hoofs or flee. Once again �omer�s proud gaze swept the ranks of his riders before he lowered his arm with a deep breath and sheathed his sword. �Let us ride!�

He took the reins from Thor, who regarded him with a strange mixture of awe... and something else. �omer understood.

�Saruman will not only have orcs in his service. It is very likely that you will have to fight against your kinsmen.�

The younger man regarded him silently for a moment longer, and a shadow wandered over his face. Then his gaze hardened.

�I made my choice years ago, Marshal. This is my side now, and I stand by my decision. You will not have to worry about me.�

�I know, and I did not mean it this way. I trust you, Thor. You have long proven your worth. To me, you are no less Roh�r than any of these men, and I know for a fact that they feel the same about you. � �omer looked the man fully in the face to prove the honesty of his statement, and in response, the dark-haired man lowered his gaze while his face turned a dark shade of crimson.

�I thank you, my Lord. It means much to me to be accepted among the riders. Many of them suffered because of the deeds of my people, and I do not take their trust and respect for granted. I never will.� He cleared his throat and his gaze went over �omer�s shoulder. With a little nod, he turned and left. Already knowing that it had to be Freya and her sisters who had emerged from the main building to bid them farewell, �omer turned around, briefly seeing Aragorn�s encouraging expression from the corner of his eye before the Ranger likewise went over to where his steed patiently waited for him.

�So, it is good-bye again,� Freya said quietly, her voice unhappy. �I wish you could stay fore at least another day. You do not look fit for that long ride yet, �omer.� She stroked his cheek and he caught her hand to press it in affirmation that he was.

�It cannot be helped. And I have ridden in worse condition, so do not worry about me. It takes more to defeat me.� Why did he suddenly feel so awkward around her, with half of his brain occupied with the question whether he should embrace her or not?

�Will I see you again?� Large, grey-blue eyes met his in an anxious question whether he would be all right. �Will you return here after the battle?�

�With B�ma�s grace, yes.� No need to tell her about their chances against the Necromancer�s army. �Provided you want me to return. Perhaps it would be better if I stayed away for some time� until Osred and you have decided what it is that you want.�

She nodded.

�Aye, you are right. Perhaps it would be better at first. We have much to speak about, and much to learn about each other which apparently, we did not know before. But don�t stay away for too long, because you will be missed, �omer, and not only by me.� She cast a meaningful glance over to the other house where Halad and Fl�adwyn just exited with her children in their arms. Following her gaze, �omer pressed his lips together. Would the lad be all right in the wake of what he had experienced? Would he be able to put the gruesome incidents of that night behind him and live with them? He prayed to the Gods to bestow that mercy upon Freya�s brother. It would not be fair to have a gentle soul like Halad punished for his decision to turn to the family for help.

�If you mean that, I will be glad to return.� He extended his arm and laid a hand upon her shoulder blade, hesitantly at first, waiting for her reaction first. But when she looked at him and he saw the fear in her eyes, fear for him, he could no longer hold back and pulled her into his embrace and kissed her brow. After all, the chances were that this was their final farewell.

Tears brimming in her eyes which she tried hard to hold back, Freya pressed him against her, for a moment unable to let go of him� until at last, reason prevailed, and she forced herself to step back.

�May the Gods protect you, �omer� you and your men� and us.� She swallowed, weighed down by the fear that all those riders before her were riding toward their death. �If you cannot defeat our enemies, there will be nobody left to stop them.� Only a heartbeat later, she hated herself for uttering these words. The burden �omer carried was already heavy enough. He was a Marshal, yes, and warrior with a fierce reputation� and yet he was still a young man himself, two years younger even than she. He was a young man who had been deserted by his kin and who had looked into a bottomless abyss himself only days ago. What business had she reminding him of what would happen if he failed? �Forgive me. I had no business--�

With a faint smile upon his lips, �omer shook his head.

�You don�t have to apologise, Freya. Not to me, and not ever. Just look after your family for me while I�m gone. See that Osred gets back on his feet again.� He looked over her shoulder in the direction of the corridor, and for a moment, his brow furrowed. �Do you think I should� bid him farewell, too?�

She shook her head.

�He is asleep, and I would deem it best not to wake him up. I will tell him, �omer. Don�t worry. We will be all right.�

Satisfied with her affirmation, he turned toward the twins and kissed them good-bye as well.

�Willa, Wyndra� I�m indebted to you. Aragorn told me how much you did for me that night, too, and I will never forget. Do me a favour and look after your sister and your brother for me, will you?�

The two young women gave him a faint smile.

�We will. But you must promise us to return victorious� and unharmed. It was a great shock when we saw you half-dead.� Willa bit her lips, and her eyes looked big in her thin, pale face.

�omer�s smile deepened, but it was a smile in which his eyes did not participate.

�I wish I could do that, but I�m afraid that it is not in my hands. I will try my best though.� With a grave nod, he turned away to face Halad and Fl�adwyn who had walked over to join the rest of the family, still carrying the little ones in their arms. He ruffled the children�s hair. �Watch your parents for me while I�m away, will you? Keep them from doing foolish things.� Lo�gar nodded bravely while Edilda stared at him with large, sad eyes.

�Our dogs are dead,� she said then, apropos of nothing as only a child could do. �omer met her gaze.

�Yes, but they defended your uncle and your father bravely. And I promise you, when I return-� �If I return�� he corrected himself mentally, ��I will bring you new dogs, and you will teach them, and you will love them as much as you loved Ossa and Fang.� A little spark of hope lit up the girl�s eyes, even if their brightness still mainly resulted from brimming tears.

�Really?�

�Really.� Again, he ran his hand to the lasses� hair, and then turned his attention to Fl�adwyn, who met him with open arms and brushed a fleeting kiss upon his cheek.

�Be careful, �omer. We want to see you again in our valley in better days.�

�And I will be glad to return, Fl�adwyn.� He nodded at her rounded stomach. �Take good care of yourself, too. I want to see the new family member when I return.�

She smiled and looked down, gently caressing her unborn babe.

�He still has three months. I hope to see you before then.�

�omer did not think so, but he remained silent as he turned at last to Halad. Somehow, saying his farewell to the young man was even harder than to all the others. Perhaps it was because after the battle, Halad understood best of them all how slim their chances were for a reunion; he saw it in the lad�s eyes as they embraced.

�Take good care of your family for me, Halad. You are their protector now, and a very capable one, too. I count on you to look after them.� The voice that answered him sounded thin with emotion and insecurity.

�I will.�

�I know you will.� Straightening, the warrior gave the young farmer an encouraging look from his superior height, then lowered his voice: �Will you be all right, Halad?�

�Aye.� It did not sound convincing, but �omer loved the young man for his brave attempt to appear content. �I will do what you told me. You are right, after all: they are dead, and I am alive. We are alive. I will have to remember this.�

�And I am sure that you will succeed with this task, as well. You have proven a remarkably skilled pupil. You made me proud, Halad. You will always remain like a brother to me, don�t forget this.� It sounded horribly final and choked them both, and so, with a final clap on the young man�s shoulder, �omer deemed at last that it was time to leave. A quick glance at the eastern horizon confirmed that the sun was on its way, and he put a foot into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle of his burrowed steed. Firefoot, whose lead had been tied to the pommel of his saddle, looked less than happy over seeing his rider on the back of another steed, and his grumpy expression with the flattened ears painted a quick smile upon �omer�s face as he turned toward his men: �To the Westfold. Thor, you lead.�

Chapter 41 - Westward

Chapter 41: Westward

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EDORAS

�This is what I wanted to avoid: that he uses me to get to you,� Elfhelm said and closed his eyes as he felt an unruly burning welling in them. The last thing he needed was to burst into tears in front of the woman who was in the middle of sacrificing herself for him, even if there was no measure to the depth of the shame he felt. For a while, deafening silence had filled his ears in the wake of Gr�ma�s exit, and before he had felt too desperate to speak when �owyn had cleaned his wounds again and fed him the dry crusts of bread she had been allowed to give him. But with each moment that had passed after the echoing steps of their tormentors had vanished, the urge to speak up had grown more powerful, until at last, Elfhelm had felt that he could no longer remain silent. Did �owyn know what her consent to sharing her meals with the treacherous Worm would inevitably lead to? She was too bright not to understand; King Th�oden�s niece was an intelligent woman and well-acquainted with their captor�s obsession with her. She could not accept defeat and shame just to buy life for her failed protector, Elfhelm thought desperately. Why did she not understand that by consenting to their tormentor�s evil game, she destroyed what will of resistance was left in him? As the warrior looked up into the semi-darkness of the opposite cell, using up what strength was left in his feverish body, he saw that he had the young woman�s attention, even if she seemed to be reluctant to discuss her decision.

�He asks for nothing unbearable,� �owyn replied in a flat voice that belied the emotion behind it, looking through rather than at him as if she feared that the warrior would see the lie in her eyes. �Of course I would prefer to eat my meals in your presence, or in my chambers even, but for as long as he asks for nothing else, I can well ignore him for the short time it takes to empty my plate and grant him his wish.�

�But it will not remain that way,� Elfhelm stated unhappily. �We both know that. The Worm is cunning and greedy, and he knows that he will get nothing if he makes you uncomfortable around him or even fear him during those first visits. He might behave now, but very soon, he will demand more from you, because he knows by now how desperate you are, and how afraid to end up in these corridors alone. If you ask him to feed me again tomorrow, he will take it further, and even further the day after tomorrow. He will touch you more and more often, perhaps even demand that�� He could not bring himself to say it out loud, but �owyn�s tense expression told him that she understood. �He feels that he has you in his hand already.�

�And perhaps he has,� she agreed, but a sparkle of defiance suddenly lit up her gaze. �But he is wrong if he thinks that he is the only one playing a game. Trust me, my Lord, I had much time to think about this, and I firmly believe that I can use my power over him � which I undeniably have, or he wouldn�t have put so much effort into his plan � to good use.� She rose to her feet and grabbed the bars of her prison, pressing her tired but proud face against the cool iron as her piercing stare met Elfhelm�s. �I had a dream last night, Captain, and it led me to believe that all is not lost yet. I cannot say what will happen, or where my hope stems from, but we are not yet defeated. What proof do we have of what Gr�ma said that happened? Why should I believe that my brother is dead if all that I�ve seen was his bloodied cloak? Perhaps he is still out there, and even now routing the people against our oppressor to put an end to him tomorrow? And if it is not �omer, then someone else will come and free us, and I want to be alive when it happens!� She inhaled deeply, and her voice was ripe with conviction when she added: �And I want you to live as well, Captain. It would be foolish to throw our lives away over a matter of pride. We need to hold on, however hard it may be, for once we are freed, Rohan will still need us. It is our duty to survive.�

Elfhelm regarded her for a long time while her words went through his head. How wonderful it would be to be granted the comfort of hope, or even a faint hint that there would indeed be a new morning following the dark night in which they were trapped, and yet he did not find the conviction in himself. He could not give �owyn what she was asking for and averted his gaze when he answered: �Duty or not, I do not want to be the reason for that bastard to -- � ��spoil your purity�� put his filthy fingers on you. I once promised your brother to protect you should anything ever happen to him; and most certainly I cannot let you protect me instead!�

�But you will not break your oath by supporting my plan,� �owyn insisted. �There are many ways of helping me, and your very presence in this dark hole protects my sanity. �omer could not have asked for more! Trust in me, Elfhelm, I know what I am doing. If I get close enough to the Worm during one of my stays in his chambers, I will kill him! Gr�ma doesn�t trust me yet with anything I could use for a weapon and makes me eat my meals with a spoon, but sooner or later, he is bound to overlook something. If I convince him that he has broken my resistance, he will get more careless, and I will use the first opportunity I am granted to dispose of him. Do not worry about me, Lord Elfhelm. I can look after myself, and I have a goal. With your support, and be it only with your consent, we will not only endure, but emerge victorious.�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

With growing duration of the ride, �omer found his downbeat disposition of the days since his banishment wane, and the relentless assault of the sun that melted the snow was doing its share as was the presence of his �ored. There were reassuringly smiling faces whenever he caught the riders� glances, and each of them seem to think it his personal duty to tell their banished marshal what an honour he deemed it to still serve under his command. Their loyalty and friendship lifted �omer�s spirit and strengthened his determination to lead his brothers-in-arms not to their death, but to victory against the enemy in Isengard. Despite the common knowledge that they were riding into battle, there was much light-hearted banter and laughing among the men and many a heroic song rang out into the clear air of the slowly fading winter. Rising anticipation painted a grim smile onto �omer�s lips: no matter what awaited them on the other side of the river, the Rohirrim were ready to face it!

Shouts briefly claimed his attention as two of the �ored�s scouts who had swarmed out to inspect the surroundings returned from their foray to report that they had found the ashes of more orc-carcasses slaughtered by their yesterday�s advance forces, and �omer nodded with satisfaction as he turned to Thor.

�Your men were thorough. It should be impossible for Saruman to hear of our coming.� And yet he did not fully believe himself. As a wizard of the highest order, their enemy surely had some tricks up his sleeve yet no one would ever be able to anticipate, and it would be foolish to assume that the summoning of their forces would remain hidden from their watchful enemy�s eye. All it took to take away their advantage of surprise was one orc who evaded their forces, and those cursed things were too cunning for their own good, especially when they knew that they were being hunted. From the expression on Thor�s face, �omer concluded that the Halfblood knew it, too.

�I wish that it were so�� And yet the way Thor�s dark eyes swept the surrounding mountains told �omer all he needed to know.

�How many warriors will you be able to summon against him, what do you think?� Aragorn asked as he rode up to him, G�mli and Legolas following closely.

�omer shrugged.

�We did not inform Edoras and those settlements close to it to not alarm the Worm, and in these dangerous times, no settlement can spare all of their men, so it will not be our full �ohere that rides out to meet the traitor. I would be satisfied if eight thousand answered our call.� He cast a wary eye upon the Ranger. �You think that Saruman has many more orcs than eight thousand in his service, don�t you?�

�Alone the group that assaulted us at Amon H�n was over two hundred strong,� Aragorn said. �For a raiding party, it was very big indeed. I do not think that Saruman would have sent so many of them against our small group if he did not have a great number at his disposal.�

�And even if he lost many of his orcs at the Fords of Isen,� Thor added, �he will have replenished their ranks by now. I do not know where he keeps on finding them, but each time we defeat his armies, they are back only a little while later in even greater numbers.�

�He breeds them, just like the Dark Lord.� Aragorn�s features darkened. �The dark magic used to bring these vile things to life is not known to me, but they do not come into the world like other beings. They are manufactured.�

�Well, he can manufacture them as fast as he likes, I will gladly undo them,� G�mli rumbled whole-heartedly from his position behind Legolas and petted his axe affectionately. �Greater numbers did not help them against us the first time, and if your forces prevailed against this stinking filth for so long, they will surely not be defeated now. After all, Master Horse-Lord, you cannot die before we have settled a certain quarrel that we agreed to postpone due to more pressing issues.�

For a moment, �omer stared at the dwarf in bewilderment, but then suddenly remembered their argument on the plains which had almost resulted in bloodshed. He laughed.

�Aye, I agree, Master Dwarf. We need to answer this very important question before I go to my forefathers. And what a glad duty that will be!�

�You have no idea,� G�mli said with a dreamy look that seemed curiously out-of-place on his rugged face. �That Lady� she is like the morning sun, without which everything would wither. She warms your heart and comforts your very soul. She is as glorious as life itself� only kinder. You must fall in love with her on first sight, or--� He sighed, and did not notice the amused glances his friends exchanged before him.

��you will get your axe,� �omer completed the sentence for him. �Aye, I understood you the first time you uttered that threat. We will see about it, but in the meantime, I beg you to remember that I already apologised for my rash words. I did not mean to insult the Lady of the Golden Wood, but merely mentioned what had been murmured about her and her realm for generations. I will be glad to learn better. Our world is surely in need of more good things; for there is more than enough evil roaming it.�

�Well spoken,� the dwarf nodded. �And I will wait with my judgment on you until you have seen her. But to see her, you must first survive this battle, so I will make it my personal duty to ensure that you will.�

Riding before him so that the dwarf could not see his big grin, Aragorn gave his Rohirric brother-in-arms a blink.

�You are a lucky man indeed, �omer son of �omund,� he said. �I doubt that any Roh�r has ever had a better personal guard!�

Biting the insides of his cheeks to not break into a grin himself when the small warrior seemed to take his commitment very serious, �omer inclined his head in a courteous nod.

�Then I will be honoured to fight side by side with you, G�mli son of Gloin. With the skill you already demonstrated two nights ago, you are an enemy the orcs will want to avoid, and together, we will make them run.�

�Aye,� the dwarf beamed. �But only until my axe and your sword find them!�

-------------------

They rode the entire day without interruption, until the sun disappeared behind the mighty mountains peaks and the twilight thickened in the narrow gorge they travelled through. With the last light, they reached the farm that marked their destination for the first day, and with the consent of the owners who had already expected them thanks to the advance group of the previous day, the �ored quickly settled into the barn. They saw to their horses and then indulged in a sparse meal of some thin vegetable broth and bread the farmers gifted them with, and which they enriched with stripes of dried meat from their travelling provisions. After the long day, the men were tired, but not tired enough to not engage in the telling of rousing battle stories to lift their spirits for the grim task awaiting them.

Seated with his back against a sack of dried corn, �omer thoughtfully chewed on the meat while he listened to the conversations and laughter of his men, taking comfort in the rituals he had known since he had first joined their ranks. How wonderful it felt to be in their midst again, respected and cared-for. They were all one great family, a band of brothers who fought for their common cause with the same determination, looked out for each other and helped the one among them in need. Perhaps, Gr�ma had committed his greatest mistake by assuming that the warriors would blindly follow their feeble king�s words; perhaps this serious error of judgment would be his downfall.

A content smile playing around the corners of his mouth at the thought, �omer extended his arm to stroke his horse who stood close by with his head lowered into the well-filled manger, but to his surprise, Firefoot shied away from his touch. As �omer shifted his weight to lean toward him, the big grey stallion casually lifted his sinewy foreleg and shifted a bit to the left, out of his master�s reach without ever interrupting his meal. His strange reaction caused furrows of puzzlement on �omer�s brow, and his hand sank as he stared at his ignorant steed, incredulous.

�Firefoot?� One ear twitched vaguely in his direction, but the stallion�s head remained in the manger. �Firefoot!� No reaction rewarded �omer as he raised his voice in growing anger, except for some of the riders in the back of the barn who cut them a curious glance and then quickly turned back to mumble something intelligible that resulted in gales of laughter. Their merriment did nothing for their Marshal�s mood� in response to the added insult � now also felt his face burn. It could not be that this big mule of his had decided to make him the laughing stock of the �ored because his master had chosen another horse for the ride, could it?

�I wanted to spare you because you are hurt, you stubborn grey demon!� �omer growled when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aragorn approach with curiously cocked eyebrows. The older man�s gaze briefly travelled from the horse to the young Marshal and back before he lowered himself into the straw next to �omer with a bowl of broth and a piece of bread in his hands.

�I have heard about the special bond the Rohirrim share with their horses, but you are not actually having an argument with your steed, are you, �omer?�

�I would, if that big mule talked back,� �omer grumbled with a fierce glance at the grey. �He doesn�t seem to understand that what I did today happened for his own good!�

�He has a lot of character.�

�Well, we could change that.� The Rider raised his voice: �You hear me, M�ara-Mule? I could spare myself a lot of trouble if I made you a gelding! Keep behaving like this, and I might just consider it!� This time, both ears flickered into his direction, and a large, dark eye briefly looked at him as if Firefoot sought to find out whether his master was serious. He even stopped chewing for a moment before he turned away at last with an exasperated huff, stomping one hind leg in protest. Aragorn chuckled.

�I suppose one must indeed travel to Rohan to find a horse that is jealous of having to share its master with another steed.� He smiled at �omer, and at last, the younger man laughed with him.

�Aye. I suppose you are right. It must indeed seem strange to foreigners, the way we talk with our steeds. Their intelligence and consequently, our strong bond comes at a price, but for as long as it is nothing worse than jealousy, I will accept it without complaints.� One last time, he addressed Firefoot: �You hear me, Mule? You are lucky that I am your master! Someone else would have taken a knife and rid himself of this problem with a few well-aimed cuts long ago. You behave worse than a jealous woman!� He settled back against the stall wall, satisfied to have reclaimed authority. His glance swept the cluster of Riders further back, while the heaviness of exhaustion crawled up inside his body. In the wake of the long ride, his whole body ached and if it had not been for a deep-sitting restlessness, he would have fallen asleep on the spot. As �omer stretched his legs underneath his woollen blanket, he became aware of the knowing glance with which the older man regarded him, and he was not surprised. If he looked half as beat as he felt, Aragorn had to be concerned.

�It was a very long day. Will you be able to spend yet more long hours in the saddle tomorrow?�

�omer sighed, not looking forward to the prospect but knowing that there was no way around it.

�But we have already covered more than half the distance. Tomorrow will be a shorter day, and at its end will not be another night spent in a barn, but a warm bed in Captain Erkenbrand�s halls and a good meal. With that to look forward to, I will be able to endure whatever tomorrow may hold for me.�

�And yet you do not have to sleep in the straw tonight,� Aragorn said. �I suppose you do not want to leave your men, even if a warm bed would help in restoring your health. I am sure they would understand.�

�I am used to sleeping in the straw; it is no discomfort for me. If anything, it is even more familiar to me than sleeping in a bed. You should remember this from your time with our people� or were things different then?�

Aragorn shook his head.

�They certainly weren�t, and like you, I always prefer the open skies above my head and the presence of my friends and brothers to any chamber I was offered.� He narrowed his eyes. �But you were wounded and almost died in the cold only recently, and a warm room inside the main house would do you more good than sleeping here in the hay, even if your men might appreciate the gesture.�

�Thanks to your healing skills, I feel much better already,� �omer dismissed his concern. �There is no need to worry for me.� He slipped further down, now only resting his head on the sack he had leaned against and waiting for exhaustion to claim him. For a while, the two men sat together in silence and listening to the other riders� conversations which slowly died down as the men went to sleep. Not able yet to find sleep himself, �omer spoke at last.

�May I ask you something?

�Certainly.� In the flickering light of the oil lamp behind them, the expression on Aragorn�s face was unreadable in the shadows.

�Why did you leave us?� �omer was not sure why he brought the subject up, and as he saw lines form on the older man�s brow as if Aragorn did not know what to make of his question, he feared that he had angered the man. �From what my father told me and the tales I grew up with, Thorongil was much beloved by our people, and the main source of their hope in those dark days. The orcs diminished while you rode with our forces, and they feared the Rohirrim like never before. The years you spent here provided the Mark with some much-needed respite, but then you suddenly went away. What happened that made you leave?�

Aragorn�s expression grew solemn, and he sighed.

�It was not that I did not want to stay. Indeed I felt a great kinship with your people, �omer, and loved them for their straightforwardness and generosity, but the time had come for me to resume the voyages which would further prepare me for my task. It was not my destiny to stay in Rohan.�

�No,� �omer said to himself, shaking his head as he remembered their conversations at Freya�s farm. �You told me. You were born to oppose the Dark Lord.� He inhaled deeply. �I cannot begin to imagine the burden this destiny must have been; growing up with the knowledge that one day, you would be the one who had to unite the free people against Mordor. It must have been frightening.�

�My fate was only told to me when I was ready for it� or what they considered ready. Of course you are never entirely prepared to face such great responsibility. Not even today do I know whether I am ready to lead our people and face Sauron in that final battle which looms above our heads; I can only say that I will do my best to apply all the knowledge I gathered on my voyages to the good of us all. Whether it will be enough is impossible to tell.�

�omer nodded.

�It is hard riding into this battle knowing that even if we win, strive will continue. I cannot tell that to my men just now, you must understand. It would shatter their will and perhaps cause them to despair. We will need all our strength and all our skill, not to mention the favour of the Gods to defeat Saruman before we will be able to concern ourselves with the fate of realms other than Rohan. Our relations with Gondor have been difficult for a long time now, and not many of our riders will see the necessity to aid them in their fight if they didn�t aid us in ours. Since Gondor is reigned by Denethor, its� people�s attitude toward us has changed. They look down upon us and think of us as peasants and simple people who can neither help them nor are worthy of being helped. It seems that the glorious days of Cirion and �orl have been all but forgotten.�

�And yet our fate is closely tied together. One people cannot survive without the other�s help, and all quarrels among us must be laid aside where the greater good is concerned. It is unfortunate that the strong bond between Rohan and Gondor has withered for so many years, but we must and we will revive it, or all will be vain. To accomplish this, I will need your help, �omer: convince your people for me, and I will see that Gondor welcomes you the way it should have been for all these years. If we do not stand together, darkness will devour us.�

Chapter 42 - A Strange Discovery

Chapter 42: A Strange Discovery

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EDORAS

�Lord �othain! Lord �othain! We found something! Come quickly!�

The two lads were seriously out of breath as they ground to a halt in front of the astonished young Captain of Edoras. �othain raised his hand.

�Slowly, slowly! One thing after the other. What have you found?�

�The tunnel!� Giselhere, the older of the two brothers, could only barely hold back not to grab the rider�s arm and pull him along. �At the back of the hill! We did not go in, but it seemed to be deep. I am sure that it is the one we were trying to find.�

From one heartbeat to the next, �othain�s heart pounded against his ribs in excitement. Could it really be? He turned to Aedwulf.

�I will go with them. Get me five men quickly and meet us there, but tell them to remain quiet about it. No word to anyone! I think that we found most of the Worm�s spies by now, but we cannot afford to take the chance that Gr�ma finds out what we are up to. Also tell them not to run when you follow us, in case that the enemy observes us from the windows. Everything must look normal to them.�

�Aye. But be careful. If it is indeed the tunnel we are looking for, it may be swarming with Dunlendings, and they will not welcome you kindly.�

�othain nodded.

�Don�t worry, my friend, I will not enter it alone. Now quickly, get me those men!� He turned to the lads. �Show me what you found.�

------------------

�Well?� The boys had stopped, and yet as �othain�s gaze glided over the rugged terrain at the back of the hill, he saw nothing that hinted toward a secret tunnel. �Where is it?� His expression darkened. �You are not just having your fun with me, are you? For we can truly not��

�But my Lord, of course not!� Giselhere looked insulted, and his brother scowled at him too. They pointed at a spot toward �othain�s feet. �You are standing right next to it. It is protected by magic, I think, for I have never seen anything like this. Look!� And with those words, he squatted and reached for the ground, apparently to grab a handful of the mushy snow�but in response to his action all of a sudden a black hole yawned at them in stark contrast to its surroundings. �othain blinked in irritation. What devilry was this? Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He bent over to inspect the dark narrows and had to agree with the boy: this was more than a little cave.

�What did you do?�

�It is because of this here! It was used to cover the entrance. We put it back in place because we were afraid that someone inside might notice if we removed it.� Giselhere extended his hand as if to give him something, but all that �othain could see was a strange ripple in the air, like a small wave. Reflexively, he held out his hand� and felt the sensation of soft fabric on his palm. Unable to understand, he closed his fingers around it� and saw the thing shimmer in the colours of the ground beneath his feet where it touched his skin as if he could see right through his hand.

�I fell into the hole when I stepped on it,� the younger boy explained. �I did not see it either. What is it, my Lord?�

�I do not know.� Fascinated, �othain searched for the fabric�s end and when he had found it, turned it this way and that while he observed how the colour changed depending whether he held it against the sky or the ground. He suddenly heard the boys gasp and looked up. �What is it?�

�My lord, you are� invisible!� Giselhere stuttered, pointing at him. �othain looked down and suddenly saw it himself: where the blanket hung from his hands, a big hole seemed to gap between his shoulders and his legs. �B�ma�s Beard�!�

He was still staring at the phenomenon when the sound of footsteps called him back into the reality of the early afternoon. He turned around.

�And have you found� it?� Aedwulf fell silent, and his eyes widened as he stared at the seemingly detached upper body of his brother-in-arms. The men behind him gasped in shock. �What in �orl�s name is this?�

�I do not know, but it appears to be the reason why that tunnel was never found. I wonder whether it is a thing Gr�ma conceived or if the builders put it there. But where did they get such a magical thing?� Not wanting to distract his comrades further when he needed them to think, �othain folded the garment together. He nodded at the hole in the ground. �It will help me to remain unseen when I go in tonight to see what the situation is in Meduseld.�

Aedwulf�s eyes widened even further.

�All by yourself?�

�We only have one blanket. And I will only take a first look. Once we know where Wormtongue keeps the captives, we will return and free them� and kill all who oppose us.�

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

It was the middle of the afternoon when the �ored passed over the last ridge that separated them from the plains and their destination for the day. Already they could see the mighty wall of stone and wood which encircled the stronghold of Captain Erkenbrand, the Westfold�s valiant protector and one of the Mark�s most esteemed warriors. The settlement was smaller than Edoras or Aldburg, and yet its inhabitants were renowned for their ferocity in battle and fierce loyalty to their commander who had kept them alive for all these years despite the fact that they were living in the most endangered part of the Kingdom, only separated from the enemy by the fast-flowing waters of the Isen. The price for their continued survival had been great and many lives had been lost in the constant fight against the White Wizard�s raiding parties, and while strangers were regarded warily throughout the Riddermark, it was here where a traveller�s life was most at stake because the watchful riders would sooner kill him if they were not sure of his intentions than let him pass in good faith. �omer could not help but feel a distinct twinge of unease as he directed his steed onto the path leading to the gates.

The alarm of a bell rang out into the air and echoed from the nearby mountains, and the wind carried the faint echoes of excited shouts toward the riders. They had been seen. With a little kick, Aragorn directed Hasufel alongside the young Marshal of the Rohirrim, and his keen eyes surveyed the proceedings before them as the gate was opened and a group of riders � numerous and fully armoured � exited the fastness. His eyebrows drawn together, he turned toward �omer�s tense shape.

�And you are still certain that you can trust your Captain?�

�I honestly cannot tell,� �omer said lowly, equally disliking what he saw. Riders were still pouring out of the gate, and from the sudden silence around him it was easy to conclude that his men were likewise bewildered by their brothers� unexpected show of strength. Why were they greeted by a battle-ready �ored when they were coming as friends? He inhaled. �Erkenbrand never had any love for Gr�ma Wormtongue and his counsels, but it has been a while since I was in the Westfold and I do not know what might have happened here in the meantime. Everything is possible, even that he, too, fell prey to the filth�s rotten schemes and was replaced. We must be careful.� He turned to his men. �Stay alert! Something strange is obviously at work here, and I am not sure whether we will be welcomed as friends. I do not believe that we will have to fight against our kinsmen, but keep your hands on the hefts of your swords nonetheless.� With another glance at the riders� uncertain expressions, he turned back and urged his steed on.

Meanwhile, the settlement�s warriors� had formed a half-circle to the left and right of the opened gates; their weapons ready and their bearing rigid as if they dared the new arrivals to come closer.

�This does not look to me as if they are happy to see us,� G�mli observed from his place behind Legolas, and even the elf�s expression was concerned.

�I see two riders in their middle, still behind the gates. One of them rides a great white steed whose right ear misses the tip, and he is clad in a brown and green leather cuirass with the shape of a dragon on his breastplate. He carries a red shield, and from his helm, a crest of black horse-hair flows.�

�This is Erkenbrand,� �omer said, squinting to see what the elf had seen and yet only barely managing to make out the indistinct shapes of the two riders at all. �So at least he was not replaced. The other one must be Grimbold then.� He took a deep breath, and then turned to Aragorn and Thor. �Follow me, but stop just outside of that �ored�s reach, just in case. It is my presence that disturbs them, and my task to explain myself. If all they heard came from Gr�ma Wormtongue, then they need to hear my account of the real events before they will support us.�

�But then you will be unprotected,� Aragorn replied. �If all they heard came from the enemy, then they deem you a traitor, and your men as well. Are you certain that you want to take that risk?�

�They will not shoot me before they have heard me out,� �omer said with conviction, his gaze fixed upon the two riders who came to a halt in front of the gates and awaited him. �I have known Erkenbrand for many years. He is fierce but just, and he will not come to a verdict before he has heard all the facts. He must know that the Worm�s accusations are false.� A side-glance showed him Aragorn�s sceptically raised eyebrows, and next to him, Thor looked equally concerned. He gave them a curt nod and urged Dr�lion forth, raising his arm to order his �ored to a halt. �I will talk to them. Stay back, and don�t intervene unless it is utterly unavoidable. An armed dispute among our forces would be the end of the Mark.�

In a slow trot, the stallion carried him toward the waiting warriors, and �omer�s stomach turned into a solid block of ice at the sight of their grim expressions. Had it been a mistake to come here? Would this indeed be the first time that Rohirrim slaughtered Rohirrim just because he had committed a serious error of judgment in thinking that they would support him instead of following the King�s verdict? Looking the soldiers he passed straight into the eye to let them know of their error with a mere glance, �omer rode into their midst, the sound of his stallion�s hoof-beats and his breathing too loud in the strained silence. A prickling feeling began crawl up and down his spine to finally nestle between his shoulder blades as he passed the first riders who held their bows in their hands with the arrows fitted to the string. They would not shoot him like a rabid dog from behind� would they?

At last, he was close enough to make out the expressions of the two riders in front of him: Erkenbrand�s strong-boned, weathered face was unreadable, his emotions concealed behind a mask of cool anticipation while his steel-grey eyes observed the intruder with hawk-like intensity. The disposition of the man next to him was easier to determine: Grimbold Lord of Grimslade, an experienced and feared warrior of forty-seven summers who had been Th�odred�s close friend, glared at him like wolf at a sheep the second before it tore out its throat. �omer braced himself for the confrontation with the valiant warrior while he silently cursed the man who had brought him into the situation of having to face these men he regarded as brothers as potential enemies. With a slight tug at the reins, he signalled Dr�lion to halt.

�Westu Erkenbrand h�l,� he said in greeting with a slight inclination of his head before he turned toward the other man. �Westu Grimbold h�l. What need do you see to greet us with readied weapons? We are brothers, not enemies.�

It was Grimbold who urged his horse forth to meet him upon a hidden signal, while the Captain of Westfold stayed behind with his inscrutable expression still in place, saying nothing. Observing him. Irritated by the man�s strange behaviour, �omer shifted his attention to the Lord of Grimslade. At least here he knew what to expect.

�You are not our enemy, you say, �omer son of �omund,� the broadly-built warrior said in a hostile voice befitting his expression and lifted his chin, glowering at the younger man. �And yet I must say that it takes some cheek to show your face here after all that happened. Through your rebellion, or neglect, or whatever it may have been that caused you to disregard Th�odred�s summons, you put the heir to the throne into an early grave! Or was it indeed your plan to let our enemy slaughter the Mark�s best warrior in the time of our greatest need? Are you in fact in league with the traitor in Isengard?�

�You should know better than calling me a traitor, Grimbold!� �omer had been determined to remain calm, but the man�s blunt accusations stirred up his anger. With a hard tug at the reins, Grimbold halted his stallion next to �omer, rage and pain burning in his eyes.

�If you are not, then where were you when Th�odred needed you? He had called for aid days before the enemy�s fatal charge came; he saw it coming. There was enough time for his call to reach Edoras and for you to ride to the Isen and help us stand our ground! Elfhelm answered it instead of you, and I dare say that it was the arrival of his �ored that turned the tide at last and saved us from annihilation, but there was no trace to be discovered on any horizon of our Third Marshal! And still you insist that you did not betray us?�

�You do not know what happened,� �omer pressed through his clenched teeth, finding it increasingly hard to contain his rising anger and not lash out at the rider, even if he knew where the man�s grief and frustration were stemming from. They were all on the same side, he reminded himself, an endless litany in the back of his mind that was in danger of being drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. There was no telling what would happen if he rose to Grimbold�s provocation. The atmosphere was such that even the smallest spark would ignite a violent dispute among their �oreds, which of course was what the Worm had intended all along. �omer was determined not to grant his enemy this victory, and yet the Captain of Grimslade did not make it easy for him when he shouted straight into his face:

�Alas, I do know what happened all too well, traitor, for I was there!� His face flushed with hatred as all restraint left him. And still Erkenbrand did not intervene. Why? Because he wanted to see �omer�s reaction to the accusations? �Your cousin died in my arms! Th�odred�s blood was on my hands while I attempted in vain to staunch the bleeding from his many wounds, and still I failed to save him. Do you want know what he said to me before he died? Do you want to hear your cousin�s last words? He said: �Hold the Fords until �omer comes!� He saw the sudden wet sparkle in �omer�s eyes which betrayed the young man�s pain, but could not bring himself to stop, for he was back in that moment when all hope had left him, his voice choked with emotion. �And we held them. Against all odds and at the price of many lives we held them. But you did not come. Where were you when we needed you the most? Orc-hunting? Obeying the same bloodlust which put your father in his grave and many of his men before him who paid the price for his hot-headedness although they did not ask for it?�

He did not see the strike coming. All of a sudden, a horrible thunder echoed through Grimbold�s head and he found himself on the ground while his horse bolted with a frightened shriek. The fingers he involuntarily pressed against his throbbing brow came away bloodied, and he noticed that his helm was no longer sitting on his head when the white horse before him reared. Frantically crawling backward, the warrior barely evaded its flying hooves and suddenly stared into �omer�s furious eyes when the younger man jumped from the saddle and rammed his sword underneath his adversary�s chin. Stunned by the sensation of the cold steel against his skin and knowing that he would die if he so much as twitched, the warrior froze.

�Don�t shoot!� Erkenbrand�s voice pierced the stunned silence, but �omer hardly heard him or the urgent rush of air indicating that the settlement�s soldiers had raised their bows at him.

�The only reason why I will not kill you for your words, Grimbold of Grimslade, is that you were my cousin�s best friend,� �omer hissed, trembling with barely contained fury and tears burning in his eyes which he stubbornly ignored. �I know that you loved Th�odred like a brother, as did I. We are united in our grief, although you will never know the full depth of mine. Perhaps I would talk like you and lash out were I in your position, and yet I doubt that I would choose to believe in the words of a proven liar instead of those of a man who fought by my side for more than ten years!� A moment longer he held the tip of his sword to the man�s throat, before his arm sank and he turned back to the still observing Captain of Westfold. �Lord Erkenbrand, I have always held you in high esteem and admired your gift of observation and the reading of people. You have known me from the cradle, and you have served together with my father for many years. Look at me now and tell it to my face that you do indeed think me a traitor.�

The hawk-like eyes focussed on him, and yet �omer stood fast and met the warrior�s gaze with openness and honesty, his mind naked under the older man�s inquisitive stare. For a moment, none dared to breathe, until at last Erkenbrand raised his chin and his authoritive voice reached their ears: �Then pray tell, Son of �omund, what the truth is. Our truth is that you did not come when your superior summoned you; that much remains undisputed. Th�oden-King�s counsellor says that you disobeyed your ruler�s direct order to remain in Edoras to go orc-hunting instead, leaving our capital unprotected and thus not being available when our summons came which you knew would only be a matter of time. What good reason did you have for your actions, tell us!�

Sheathing his sword with a last glance at Grimbold who slowly regained his feet and bent over to brush the dirt from his garments with a dark look at his adversary, �omer limped back to where Dr�lion patiently waited for him. He swung into the saddle to lend his argument more weight from the elevated position of the horse�s back. Nothing was won yet, but at least Erkenbrand was willing to listen to him.

�It is true that I left against the King�s orders to hunt down a great group of Uruk-hai which had been seen descending into the Eastfold from the Great Wall. The group was over two hundred strong and was headed for Isengard. My choice was between remaining in Edoras to await your summons and allow them to cross the plains unchallenged where their path would have taken them to several settlements not big enough to repel them, thus taking into account the loss of dozens if not hundreds of lives �� He gaze travelled from rider to rider to make sure that he was understood, �� or to pursue them in hope that we found them and disposed of them quickly enough to ride to your aid afterward, which was the decision I made. I sent word to Elfhelm to already make for the Westfold and help you, and then rode out with my �ored to dispose of the enemy, for I was not willing to sacrifice our farmers without a fight. Yes, my orders were different, but only because Wormtongue wanted those orcs to reach their destination, and he wanted to weaken us further by burning those settlements to the ground. My choice was between the people of my ward and my cousin, and believe me when I say that it was one of the hardest choices I have ever been forced to make.� �Next to abandoning �owyn when she needed me like she never needed me before!� He swallowed in an attempt to collect himself. It seemed that Erkenbrand was listening to him, but not yet entirely convinced.

�We all know who has truly been ruling Edoras for these past years, and it is not the King! It may be his voice which utters the orders which undermine all that we�ve been struggling to uphold, but their true source is the traitor by his side; the traitor calling himself his counsellor when his aim is in fact the undoing of the Mark.� �And possession of my sister�� Th�odred disobeyed him for many years, and so did all of us for the best of Rohan! I did nothing else when I rode against those orcs, but now the Worm�s hold over the King has grown so strong that he can whisper into his ear whatever he likes and Th�oden will believe it� even if it means sentencing his own kin to death.� He looked Erkenbrand in the eye and squared his shoulders as he came to the end. �Kill me if you think you must, but then you will do Saruman�s bidding and not your King�s.�

The moment stretched. For the life of him �omer could not have told what went through the other man�s head as they regarded each other silently. From behind, he felt the attention and anxiety of his own riders, instinctively understanding how hard it was for his men to stand back while their own comrades had raised their spears and bows against their own marshal. Never before had two �oreds faced each other like this, with bloodshed only a false decision or a twitching finger away. If battle erupted between them, it would be the Mark�s end. He waited, aware that his fate rested in the hands of his childhood idol now.

The faintest hint of a smile briefly wandered over Erkenbrand�s expression as he regarded him, but it was a smile in which his eyes did not participate, and the small nod he granted the younger man could hardly be named such when he said: �Very well. I will believe you for now, �omer, Third Marshal of Riddermark.� �omer�s relief was too great for words when he listened to the Captain�s decision, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the surrounding men take a deep breath as well when a weight fell off their shoulders. No one had wanted to fight against their own comrades. Ignoring their sudden low exchange, Erkenbrand continued. �Your reasoning seems sound to me, and I doubt that any of us would have decided differently if faced with the same choice. Alas, there are times when we can only choose between to evils, and abandoning our blood-kin for the greater good may very well be the most horrible thing duty can ask of us.� His words choked �omer and brought up �owyn�s image in front of his inner eye again. �I trust that you found and killed those Uruk-hai?�

�Aye. They are destroyed.� With a quick glance at Grimbold who had remounted and returned to his commander�s side, �omer kicked his heels into Dr�lion�s flanks and brought the stallion up alongside the two men. �And what is more: on the way back to Edoras, I made the acquaintance of three powerful warriors who travelled a long and perilous way to aid us in our fight, one of whom has been known among our people for a long time under the legendary name of Thorongil! He is here now, riding with my �ored.�

�Thorongil!�

�The Eagle of the Star!�

�It cannot be!�

Gasps and surprised shouts emitted from the surrounding warriors and all heads turned toward the group of riders that waited on the path and only began to move now in response to �omer�s gesture. Sceptical lines formed on Erkenbrand�s brow as he observed their approach.

�But this was a long time ago, �omer, it cannot be the real Thorongil. The real Thorongil has to be an old man!�

�He is of N�menorean blood, so it is possible. And I believe him, even if he isn�t travelling under that name anymore. I have seen him fight; I have been under his care, and we have held many conversations which convinced me that he is telling the truth. I felt that he was different even when I first met him on the plains and knew nothing about him, and I would be surprised if you did not feel the same once you get to know him. Here he comes. Aragorn!�

Warily observing the surrounding men although he felt that the tension was at last vanishing, Aragorn directed his horse toward the three commanders and inclining his head in greeting, Legolas and G�mli following close behind. He gave �omer a relieved nod.

�For a moment, I feared the worst. I could barely hold back your men when they wanted to ride to your aid.� He shifted his attention to Erkenbrand without missing the still dark expression of the man by his side. �You made a good decision to listen to him, my lord, for we can allow no quarrel among us if we want to prevail.�

�You are the warrior they called Thorongil?� the Lord of Westfold asked with the usual Rohirric directness. Aragorn knew better than to be insulted by it.

�Aye. I served the Mark under Thengel for a while when my quest led me here. I understand that it may be hard to believe for you, but I have not returned to reap whatever renown may be attached to that name. Yet perhaps it would help your decision to trust me if we found an elder among your people who has seen me before. I served in the Westfold for quite a long time.�

�I am sure that we can find one,� Erkenbrand nodded satisfied, and �omer noted that the Captain seemed to react to the same strange thing he had felt upon meeting Aragorn on the plains. �I must apologise for our rude welcome, but it is hard these days for us to trust strangers. What name may I call you if you say that you do no longer travel under the name of Thorongil?�

�My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and my companions are Legolas of the Mirkwood realm and G�mli, son of Gloin. We have travelled a long way to aid Rohan in your battle against the evil forces of the West and East.�

After the exchange an unreadable glance with Grimbold, the Lord of Westfold extended an arm toward the gate in an inviting gesture. �And we will gladly accept your help, my lords. Be welcomed in the Westfold and please, if you will follow us inside, we can talk some more and share the evening meal as you must be hungry. It seems that a lot has happened that demands our immediate attention.�

Chapter 43 - War Council

Chapter 43: War Council

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EDORAS

Gr�ma was learning quickly, �owyn had to admit as she concentrated on the taste of the measured sip of wine running down her throat. It had a slightly wooden aspect and went quickly to her head which was no wonder given her strained condition and how little she had eaten over the last days. She would have to drink it slowly, lest it would seriously impediment her ability to think, which grew ever more important these days. Right now, her adversary was studying her from the opposite side of the heavily laden table with the undivided attention of a predator stalking its prey. So far Wormtongue had learned that his efforts of keeping up a conversation were not appreciated and only resulted in his guest blocking him out and withdrawing even more into herself, so when he spoke now, he talked of things that needed no response, sometimes even humorous little anecdotes of his travels. He tried hard to make her feel more comfortable in his presence, and the truth was that �owyn did feel less uneasy than the evening before, when she had sat on her chair rigid like a marble statue and just waited for the Worm to assault her. Since then, they had shared the morning and the midday meal and nothing else had happened than Gr�ma filling her plate and cup and behaving like the perfect host. He had not even tried to touch her hair again, apparently having sensed the anxiety caused by his closeness one evening earlier. Like so many times before, �owyn wondered why he had not used one of his potions to break her will, and the obvious answer had surprised her: yes, his craving was as strong as ever, but after all that had happened, Gr�ma Wormtongue apparently still hoped that eventually, she would consent out of her own, free will. What a fool he was.

Avoiding his gaze as she felt an insane bout of laughter well up, �owyn sat down her cup. She had been demonstrated the blackness of Gr�ma Wormtongue�s soul too many times to forget in this lifetime or the next; she had lost her brother and her cousin to his greed, and her uncle was as good as dead. When she had asked her captor to be allowed a brief visit, the Worm had denied her wish and yet had hinted that it was still a possibility if her behaviour toward him remained flawless for at least another day. She had fallen silent again and pressed her lips together, hating the degradation of having to beg and to swallow all signs of her contempt while the filth talked about a future they would not have together. Sooner would she die, but for now, �owyn felt that she was using Gr�ma as much as he was using her. She would have to take it from here.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him cutting the piece of meat on his plate and then laying down the knife next to his right hand, and for a few heartbeats, she could not avert her eyes. It was a sharp knife, she noted, the first object in the room which would make a suitable weapon once she decided to act. But it was still out of the reach of her hands which were tied to the armrests of the chair with just enough length of rope to allow her to move her spoon between plate and mouth. She would have to be patient. With a soundless sigh, �owyn took another mouthful of bread with which she had wiped the sauce from her plate, thankful for the silence. Yet no sooner had the thought crossed her mind when Wormtongue interrupted it.

�I am glad that you finally seem to feel a little more secure around me, my Lady,� he said in a low, confidential voice which made her shudder. The last time he had used it on her, she had almost fallen into a trance, unable to withdraw when her tormentor had put his face close to hers while he had whispered truths into her ear he could impossibly have known. �I meant what I said: we don�t have to be enemies. Things could be very different between us if you only gave up your stubborn resistance.�

�You mean we can be friends?� she forced herself to say before he would get angry at her again for remaining silent. Of course she knew what he really meant, and he knew that she knew. And still Gr�ma chuckled as if her desperate jest amused him greatly.

�Oh, I am sure that we will be very good friends once you have realised that I am not the evil man you picture me to be. I have emotions, too, my Lady. Compassion� and friendship� even love are no strangers to me, whether you believe it or not.� He paused to let the words sink into her mind. She felt slightly sickened by them. �They were buried underneath a mountain of bitterness imposed upon me by the way your kinsmen treated me, but each day now, I feel them grow stronger, and I honestly believe that I am ready to love again. All I ever wanted was to be useful to my people, and to be respected among them for my knowledge and loyalty. Yet all I was granted from the noble descendants of �orl was disdain for no other reason than the colour of my hair. True, my father was a Dunlending, but there are many people of mixed ancestry in the Westfold, and their parents live among them like anyone else, never hurting anyone. And they are treated like dirt by your kind. They are the eternal target of your golden-haired children�s cruel jokes, and when they grow up, it is them who take the blame for everything that goes wrong. Mistrust and contempt follows them wherever they go, until they finally have no other path left to take then over the Isen, where they are welcomed with the same kind of disdain but this time for the Rohirric blood in their veins. You breed your enemies yourself, my Lady, and you can hardly complain about the hatred with which other peoples regard you. It is well-deserved. You were cruel to me, too, but as you see, I am willing to give you a chance.�

This time, �owyn could not help herself; she looked up and her expression hardened.

�A chance? I don�t want to be granted a chance by you, Gr�ma Wormtongue. I hear a lot of self-pity in your words, but no responsibility. You were greeted with open arms by my uncle when you first took up your position. He trusted you � and you betrayed that trust by poisoning him and playing your evil games with us because you could not contain your greed!�

�I had no dealings with Saruman when I came here,� Wormtongue replied icily, and his pale eyes shot daggers at �owyn. �It was you and your family who chased me into his arms with your open mistrust and your secret glances behind my back which you thought I would not see! May I remind you of the way your cousin and your brother treated me when all I wanted was to serve our people?�

Her wine cup fell and spilled its red contents onto the table cloth as �owyn forcefully brought down her fist upon the table. For a moment, she was mesmerized by the redness, but when she looked up again, her eyes narrowed and their blue turned so cold that they looked like a frozen pond.

�Serve our people? You served them fine indeed! The moment that you set foot into Meduseld, you began to weave your nets and to play people against each other for your own advantage! You would not accept that I was not interested in your attention, so you forced me to concern myself with you through your intrigues and evil scheming! For years you tried to drive a spike between �omer and Th�odred, and between �omer and the King, hoping my uncle would expel him so that you could get to me more easily! My brother saw into your heart the first time he looked at you, and he saw a greedy, selfish man who would pass over the corpses of those he had disposed of to satisfy his own craving. And yet here you sit in front of me, daring to wail in self-pity and say that it is all our fault? You only got what you deserved!� She was ruining it. B�ma knew she had tried, but all restraints were suddenly swept away by a boiling red-hot flood of anger. On the opposite side of the table, Gr�ma narrowed his eyes.

�You are right at least in that regard, my Lady: I got what I deserved! I got you, and whether you come to me voluntary or not is no longer of concern to me, for you are mine now!� And with these words he jumped to his feet and rushed toward her. Frantically, �owyn tore at her bonds, but it was to no avail, and as Wormtongue forcefully shoved her chair around so that she had to look at him, she collected all saliva left in her mouth and spit into his face.

�Then I hope you enjoy this, for this is the only thing you will ever get from me!�

�We will see about that,� he sneered as he reached around her head to grab a handful of the glorious golden tresses, tugging at them so hard that she had to lift her face to him with a pained gasp. Before �owyn could draw another breath, Gr�ma pressed his mouth hard onto hers. She pressed her lips together, but it was too late for she could already feel his urging tongue in her mouth. What happened then was a reflex, a panicked reaction in the face of an assault: she bit down hard, and suddenly the thick taste of blood filled her mouth as Gr�ma recoiled with a pained noise. He drew back, but his lower lip was still caught between her teeth and she clamped them down with a feeling of triumph as she felt him twitch in pain. The next moment, something hard connected with the side of her head and the world slipped from her grasp. Plunging into blackness as if thrown into a deep well, the last thing �owyn heard was Gr�ma�s voice yelling for the guard.

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WESTFOLD

Following the former Third Marshal�s arrival, the warriors had first been appointed their rooms and given an opportunity to reast and then invited to the evening meal in the hall. Over a table laden with freshly baked bread, thick potato soup and slices of pork marinated in honey and herbs the men had traded news from all parts of the Mark and � thanks to Aragorn�s presence � even from outside their realm until well after nightfall. Like the Captain of Westfold, Grimbold had listened to �omer�s and Aragorn�s reports with a sinking feeling in his stomach, until at last he felt it impossible to remain quiet.

�But wouldn�t we stand a better chance of defeating them if we drew them to Helm�s Deep instead? Its walls have never been breached, and we could repel even an army of much greater number from their safety. If Saruman�s army is indeed readying itself for the final assault, then we should await it there and make them pay dearly for the attempt!� Furrows formed on his brow as he saw �omer shake his head in response to his outburst. �Why not?�

�Alas, I fear that is not an option, or at least not one that we should consider. Aye, I agree that the odds of defeating Saruman�s forces might be better if we hide in the fastness, but by doing so, we would at the same time invite them to raid our unprotected settlements instead. They would be foolish not to avoid us for as long as we sit in Helm�s Deep, waiting for them and doing nothing. They are not noble, seeking only battle against an armed opponent. If we permitted them to move unchallenged from village to village, they could kill our stock and ruin our fields at their leisure to leave behind burnt earth until only at last, there would be nothing else left for them to destroy and they would come for us. Even if we defeated them in the end, we would quickly perish in the famine afterward. No. Even if it will most likely result in more deaths on our side, we must meet them before they pass the Fords, or Rohan pays for it. And we must ride soon, for I expect them to strike any day now.�

�To attack the enemy while he is still shaking off sleep?� Erkenbrand mused, stroking his beard in an unconscious gesture while he contemplated �omer�s suggestion. Briefly, his gaze found Aragorn who regarded him silently over the rim of his raised cup. �And still Saruman�s teeth will be sharp once he has fully woken. We were already almost defeated by his creatures in the last battle, and he was not even there himself. It can only get worse if we attack him on his own grounds! None of us know the terrain, for it has been too dangerous for scouts on the other side of the Isen for quite a while. For the past weeks, we have seen great columns of smoke rise from the Wizard�s Vale, but we do not know what devilry he has conceived. Perhaps he even is laying a trap there for us, waiting for us to attack. No, I feel very uncomfortable at the thought of riding into his lair blindly.�

�But each day that we wait, his orcs multiply,� �omer said. �The army we will face once he sets them in motion because he deems himself ready will be much greater than the one we would face now.� Erkenbrand leant forward, his elbows on the table, and the intensity of his deep voice filled the room.

�Perhaps that is so, but we would have the advantage of the place if we fought here, and it would be an immeasurable advantage! I doubt that Saruman would accompany his orcs into the Mark, but if we fight at Isengard, we will be within his reach. What could we do against the might of a wizard? Even if he didn�t have an army of giant orcs at his disposal, he can probably kill us all with a snap of his fingers. If Gandalf Greyhame were still alive and joining us in battle, aye, then perhaps I would see a chance, but you said he was killed under the mountains. So what hope do we have left?�

�The hope stemming from the knowledge that the Rohirrim have never been defeated once their united forces stood against an enemy. The hope coming from the knowledge that your people prevailed under the grimmest circumstances for more than five hundred years,� Aragorn answered instead of �omer, in intensity equalling the Lord of Westfold as he put down his cup. �And the knowledge that your enemies still fear your hardiness and determination enough to have first attempted to weaken you from within before they dared to strike. You proved that attempt futile, and now it is time to demonstrate to your enemy that he was indeed right: that you cannot be defeated once Rohan stands united.�

Erkenbrand stared at him, but in his grey eyes uncertainty still lingered instead of conviction.

�But what about the wizard? We never faced a wizard before. How can we hope to defeat him?�

�You underestimate your own strength� the D�nadan replied passionately, his gaze urging. �Yes, Saruman has powers which we cannot begin to comprehend, but even so, he is made of flesh and blood like a man, and he can be killed by an ordinary arrow like everyone else.�

Grimbold snorted. It was getting late, and they were getting nowhere.

�Perhaps that is as you say, Lord Aragorn. I will not doubt it, but don�t Saruman�s powers enable him to kill those presenting a threat to him long before they have advanced far enough to actually become a danger? For everything I know, he could let fire rain from the sky onto our heads once we approach his tower.�

�Everything is possible in battle,� Aragorn said cryptically. �But history is full of fallen warriors who deemed themselves undefeatable� not least of all the Dark Lord himself. In fact it could very well be Saruman�s self-assuredness which presents us with our greatest chance.�

�But even if we don�t know how great Saruman�s powers are--� �omer interrupted forcefully �� I would prefer to die in battle, hewn by the enemy in an attempt to defy him than crawl on my stomach through the smoking ashes of the wasteland I once called my home and perish in the famine that would follow our hollow victory if we followed your suggestion. I don�t know how you feel about it.�

Leaden silence spread in the room; the only noise coming from the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. At last, Erkenbrand nodded.

�How many do you think will answer your call?�

�I don�t know, but we will have to do with those who come. I know that the Westfold forces suffered great losses during the last battles, but I feel confident that the Eastfold�s �oreds are still behind me, and that they are possibly already on the way. If we can summon five thousand spears, we might have a chance.�

�And yet it is a long way from the Eastfold to the Isen. How long will you wait for them? You said earlier that we need to make haste, lest the enemy will be ready for us despite our surprise attack.�

�Aye, and I meant it.� �omer inhaled deeply, and his gaze travelled over the present men. �I will give the �oreds two more days. On the third day, we must ride, no matter how many have come by then. Something is telling me that even this might already be too late, but we will achieve nothing if we ride with only three �oreds. My errand-riders were sent east two days ago and will have delivered their message by now, and the people of your ward were alerted by our advance force yesterday. Tomorrow, we should see the arrival of the first �oreds.� He paused. �Now you know everything, Lord Erkenbrand, and I need to hear whether you will join us in this attack. Will you ride with us?�

----------------

MEDUSELD

��will gladly do this, but what about what you told me?�

�I no longer care. She wants it this way, she gets it, and I will enjoy it in a different way. If we cannot be companions, then we will be master and slave. She brought it about herself.�

Wormtongue�s voice sounded strained and muffled, and for a moment, disorientation was too great to remember what had happened when sensation crept back into �owyn�s body. But when she opened her eyes and found herself still lying on the floor with her hands and feet tied to the overturned chair, she suddenly remembered what had happened and looked up. Her tormentor stood next to the door in discussion with the big Halfblood who had been acting as his right hand, and from his hissing speech and hectic gestures she concluded that he was still raging mad at her. With satisfaction, �owyn watched as Wormtongue pressed an already bloodied handkerchief against his mutilated lip, and the taste of his blood on her tongue brought a faint smile to her face even against the violent throbbing of her head. She had hurt him. For the second time, she had drawn his blood and although it was clear that he would quickly avenge himself it was a comforting thought. At least she had and restored her dignity.

��here in your chambers?� she heard Felrod ask when she shifted her attention back at the two men again. �You saw how dangerous she still is!�

�Tied and gagged she will no longer be a danger to me,� Wormtongue sneered with a quick glance at her, causing an involuntary shiver to race down �owyn�s spine. What was he contemplating? Trying to escape her ties, she frantically moved her hands back and forth and hissed softly as the rope bit into the soft skin of her wrists. Quickly she had to admit that there was no way of freeing herself this way and she sank back, giving up in time to hear her tormentor�s next words. �But first, I want her to witness the effect of her assault. Go and tell your men to meet us in the dungeon. It is about time that our King�s haughty niece sees what pain her stubbornness causes other people!�

�Elfhelm!� All breath left her. �Oh no, B�ma forgive me!�

----------------

The sound of the footsteps was different this time; hard, quick and determined, and their urgency woke Elfhelm from the stupor in which he had spent the past hour since they had taken �owyn upstairs. He knew at once what the sound meant and what was coming at him, and although the prospect of further torture chilled his blood, Elfhelm�s heart suddenly sang in triumph for he knew that �owyn had not yet surrendered to the Worm�s foul game. Her will had not been broken yet, and no matter what would happen to him, that discovery alone was worth any amount of pain the Worm could inflict on hin. Perhaps they could not win against Saruman�s crooked minion, but they could bitter the taste of his victory by defying him even in their death. It was a comforting thought.

When the new Lord of Meduseld and his guards stopped before his cell and the big Halfblood unlocked the door, Elfhelm�s gaze went past his adversary who held in his hands a nine-tailed whip of leather with iron spikes at its ends.

�Get the tunic off him!� Wormtongue growled, and Felrod cut the bloodstained rags off his body with a broad, expectant grin on his face. And still Elfhelm spared him not a single glance. His gaze locked with �owyn�s, he braced himself for the pain, and at the same time, smiled at her in encouragement. �I am proud of you, my Lady�, his gaze said, oblivious to the wet trails of the tears on her cheeks. �You did not yield, not even for my sake. Your pride soothes my pain, and the knowledge that his victory will be hollow allows me to die with a glad heart. He will be denied what he craves the most.� He saw that she understood and felt comforted, until the cracking of the whip plunged him into a realm of pain.

Chapter 44 - The Heirloom of a Great Man

OUTSIDE EDORAS

It was late when the fifty heavily armed men left the sleeping city and made for the back of the hill upon which the Hall of Kings loomed; now the fastness of the enemy in the very heart of their kingdom. They carried no torches as they carefully made their way to the entrance of the tunnel, not taking the chance that they might be seen from above even when the uneven path was hard to walk in the dark.

�othain felt both excited and tense as they approached the hole in the rock. After days of forced apathy and the aggravating feeling of utter helplessness, he was finally allowed to act, and if the Gods were at last willing to look at them with a benevolent eye for a change, they would perhaps succeed in freeing the prisoners before the break of dawn. Would he be in time to save his father? Was C�orl even still alive? With great effort, �othain suppressed his rising anxiety as they reached their destination. Scanning the ground to find out whether the enemy had left his hideout since the afternoon and perhaps found their tracks, �othain saw with satisfaction that the snow had thawed completely in the course of the last hours and left nothing but dry bushes and bare rock behind. The blanket which the lads had carefully put back in place over the hole looked still untouched and shielding the secret passage from unwelcome eyes. Unceremoniously, �othain squatted and picked it up to the surprised gasps from those men who had not accompanied him during his first foray thus already witnessed the wonder of the magical blanket. He turned around to face them, aware of Aedwulf’s dark expression as he spoke in a low but insistent voice. It was obvious that the other man was not content with his plan, but to �othain, it was the only option they had left to help the hostages.

“Wait here until I return. Under no circumstances will you follow me, even if I take longer to return than you may expect. We cannot risk that you are seen or heard, for our advantage of surprise would be ruined and the captives greatly endangered; you know how well noise travels in caves. I have no doubt that the Worm would hide behind his hostages as soon as he found himself under attack, and we must under all circumstances prevent that he reaches them before us. He will have no problems killing them when he finds himself cornered. If he can't win, then he will be content with causing even more suffering before he dies. Thus, we must first find out where he keeps his prisoners and, if we cannot secretly free them, then at least dispose of those who pose a threat to them. Once we decide to act, everything must go very quickly, and there will be no time for doubt. I will first go alone under cover of the magic blanket and find out more about the tunnel and how things are in Meduseld.”

“But what if you are killed in there?” Aedwulf voiced his doubts. “What if they sense your presence and capture you, too? We cannot afford that they take you from us; we need our leader! You must allow us to come to your aid if we hear a disturbance in that tunnel!”

“But then the Worm will kill the prisoners, Aedwulf, don’t you understand? He will use them to force us into a retreat… or worse, into surrendering ourselves, too.” A vision of Wormtongue holding a knife to �owyn’s throat and shouting at him to lay down his weapons suddenly assaulted �othain, and a chill raced down his spine.

“If they capture you, Gr�ma will know that his secret passage has been compromised and close it against us, so if we ever want to have a chance of freeing the hostages, we must attack tonight. �othain, you know that it is so!” In a silent battle of wills, the older man bent his keen eyes upon his Captain, and at last �othain nodded, however reluctantly.

“Very well. If I am seized; then do your best to free the prisoners and kill as many enemies as you can. But I will be careful, and it will not become necessary.” And with these words, �othain laid a hand upon Aedwulf’s shoulder and his encouraging glance travelled over the doubtful faces of his men before he turned on his heels and lowered himself into the hole.

Blackness swallowed him like a great beast, so thick that he could not see the hand before his eyes as he sensed his way over to the left wall. In such complete blackness, he would not even need the blanket, but it would make moving silently on the uneven ground difficult, �othain figured quickly while recounting what he knew about the Hillfolk who aided the usurper. They were well-adjusted to life in mountains and caves and great builders of tunnels themselves, but as far as he knew, they were still ordinary men with ordinary senses. They would not be able to see him in the total absence of light, and neither would they feel his presence through any other extraordinary sense for as long as he avoided all noise. They were men, not trolls. And still, would it hurt to wear the blanket? Throwing the feather-light garment over his head, �othain looked back.

A narrow beam of starlight filtered into the narrows from the entrance, comforting him in this oppressive darkness. �othain took a deep breath and silently proceeded further into the heart of the hill.

----------------

WESTFOLD

“May I make the suggestion to postpone the rest of our discussion to tomorrow? There is nothing we can do until the �oreds have arrived, and it is getting late. The way I see it, we can make no detailed plans until we know how many riders we will have at our disposal anyway.” Erkenbrand narrowed his eyes as his gaze travelled over the faces of the others to finally come to a rest on �omer’s drawn features. “You look unwell, �omer. Would you wish for someone to look after you? After all, it was only four days ago that those orcs found you. I could send for our healer.”

At the sound of his voice, life slowly returned to the young marshal’s eyes as if �omer were waking from a deep sunkenness, and at last, he averted his gaze from the fire into which he had stared silently for a long time. With a deep breath, he ran a hair through his matted hair and shook his head. Yes, he felt tired. If he looked half as exhausted as he felt, it was no wonder that Erkenbrand had voiced his concern, but there was nothing that he needed except for a night of rest.

“That will not be necessary, Captain, thank you. I am only fatigued after the long ride, and a few hours of sleep will suffice to restore my strength. But I agree that we should end this council now. Or is there anything else that needs to be said which cannot wait until tomorrow?” His gaze travelled over the tired features of his brothers-in-arms, finding nothing but affirmation, and upon an unspoken signal, all rose to their feet. As he forced his weary body out of the chair, �omer cast a sidelong glance at Aragorn and saw approval in the grey eyes before he turned back to the Lord of Westfold. “I trust it that my men were appointed rooms in your guest house?”

“Aye.” Erkenbrand nodded, a wry grin spreading unexpectatly over his bold face. “What kind of host would I be to let them sleep in the barn? Although I fear that there will not be enough space to give every rider a roof above his head once the �oreds start pouring in tomorrow… or perhaps I should rather hope for it to be so?”

“They will be content with sleeping on the floor, and I don’t think the men will object to sharing their rooms with their brothers-in-arms.” And yet Erkenbrand’s doubt caused a brief flutter of anxiety in �omer’s stomach. What if the �oreds did not come? What if their captains’ disposition was the same he had found here upon his arrival: that he was indeed presumed guilty and a traitor, and that the word of their King was still the one the greater part of the Rohirrim followed? His lips thinning at the discomforting thought, �omer turned toward the door. Nothing he could do about it now. He would have to wait and see.

Erkenbrand was already on way to open the door for his guests, when a sudden thought caused him to stop. “Wait, I forgot something.” He turned around, and his gaze found �omer. “There is something I want you to have, Marshal. I planned to give it to the King on my next visit to Edoras, but now I feel that it is something that ought to belong to you.” For another moment, he mustered the younger man as if he were not completely certain about following his initial impulse, but then Erkenbrand turned toward to a massive wooden chest and opened its heavy lid; ignoring his guests’ inquisitive glances as he reached inside. When he straightened and turned back again, �omer froze as he beheld the thing in the Captain’s hand, and his mouth went dry.

“Oh…” was the only thing that came over his lips as he accepted his cousin’s sword from Erkenbrand’s hand. Cautiously, his gaze held captive by the sparkle of the bronze decoration of the elaborately worked scabbard, he closed his fingers around the heft and unsheathed the blade, for a moment mesmerized by the cold gleam of steel in the flickering firelight. Except for a few slight dents, the weapon looked unspoiled.

“I know what you want to say,” Erkenbrand admitted lowly. “The weapons of our fallen belong with them. We usually do honour that tradition, but since Th�odred was buried so close to enemy territory, it would have been only a question of hours until some stinking orc disturbed his resting place to take his sword away, and I do not think that the Prince would have wanted Rohirric blood spilled with his his weapon.” He cleaned his throat, aware of the storm of emotions that raged through �omer’s soul while the marshal turned the blade in his hand, too powerful to allow the young man to utter a reply. “I cleansed it of the orc-blood myself, and it is in good condition. Your cousin made the filth pay a high price for their assault, but in the end, there were too many of them to overcome.”

With a questioning glance and a deep breath, he wordlessly asked �omer whether he was ready to see the other items he had saved, and received a curt nod in response. When �omer`s gaze fell upon the dented cuirass Erkenbrand now revealed from the chest, his complexion grew even paler, and his breath escaped him in an anguished burst. Slowly, as if afraid to touch it, he reached out and ran his fingertips over the carefully decorated breast plate in the shape of a rearing horse of red leather interlaced with green and gold. It was a sight so familiar to him that seeing it separated from its rightful owner caused another sharp jolt of hurt to assault him with unexpected ferocity. With a deep sigh, �omer blinked away the tears. How often had he stood before his cousin as a young rider and felt awe at the sight of the fully-clad First Marshal of Riddermark, the man their warriors would follow until the end of the world? The man who had been like a brother to him? He did not know whether Erkenbrand awaited a reaction from him, but his head was empty and he could not speak just yet.

“I also have his helmet and coat of mail,” the other man spoke into his thoughts, his tone comforting. �omer had never heard such gentleness from the fierce Lord of Westfold. “We took them off to reach his wounds, but of course there was nothing we could do for him. The mail is damaged, of course, but I suppose that I could have it repaired for you until we ride… if you wanted to wear it. You will need a set of armour anyway, and I think that your Cousin would be proud to know that you will take it back into battle for him.”

“…to avenge him,” �omer said slowly, the lump in his throat gradually vanishing. He was still overwhelmed by emotion but already felt a sense of purpose and determination so strong welling up in himself he had not felt its likes before. Th�odred’s sword felt right in his hands, as if it, too, were eager to become his ally and spill the blood of those who had violently separated it from its owner. When �omer looked up at last, a light shone in his dark eyes that caught the other men by surprise. “Aye, Captain, you have known my Cousin well. He would have wanted that indeed.”

“Not to mention that it might seriously trouble Saruman’s brood to see their worst enemy, the man they thought killed, return at the head of the Rohirric army to avenge himself,” Aragorn added from behind. “Your sight alone might provide us with the advantage we need to defeat them.” He liked the determined look on the Roh�r’s face, and it seemed to him as if the sight of his cousin’s armour had woken something in �omer which he had not seen before; a sudden fierceness and unyielding will to succeed and to fight until the last drop of his blood had been spilled. Gone was the weary acceptance of his duty to sacrifice his men in a battle he could barely hope to win. The �omer standing before him now was determined to emerge victorious despite the odds, and all thoughts of defeat had just ceased to exist for this young warrior.

While Aragorn stood and marvelled over the Roh�r’s sudden transformation, �omer once again ran his fingers over the breastplate’s weathered leather.

‘You saved me, Th�odred. Death could not hinder you from coming to my aid when I needed you in that cave, and it could not hinder you from showing me the path I needed to take. I know you are still with me, and if you can feel my presence as much as I can feel yours, then hear me now when I swear to you by my life to avenge your death.’ His heart pounding from sudden excitement, �omer faced the other warriors who still waited for his decision.

“Aye, I will be glad to take it into battle for him. Thank you, Captain. It means much to me.”

With an approving smile, Erkenbrand laid the cuirass back into the chest, but left the sword to its new owner.

“Then I will have it brought to our weapons master.”

It took all of �omer’s will to avert his eyes from the folded garment, as he turned to leave at last.

“I would be honoured if you joined me for the morning meal tomorrow.” Erkenbrand looked questioningly at him and Aragorn. “And I would also be glad to make the acquaintance of your friends, Lord Aragorn. Please, tell them that I did not mean to be rude by not inviting them to our talks this time, but--”

“—the safety of Rohan can only be entrusted to those you know,” Aragorn ended the sentence for him. “I understand, and I am sure they as well do not feel insulted by your decision. Had your council-member not confirmed my identity, I am sure I would not have been here, too, and I would also have accepted that. Trust does not come easy in these evil times. Nobody understands that better than I.”

Erkenbrand nodded thankfully.

“I thank you for your understanding. But please, when you see your friends now, tell them that Rohan feels honoured to greet them among our forces.”

“I will. Until tomorrow, I bid you a good night, Captain.”

--------------

Grimbold walked with them to their quarters at the far end of the corridor. The door handle in his hand, Aragorn turned to �omer, whose chamber was on the opposite side.

“It was not easy today,” a quick glance found Grimbold, to fast for the Lord of Grimslade to register. “… but you did very well, Son of �omund. You managed to convince your brothers-in-arms, and my feeling tells me that many more will follow their example. When you go to sleep now, you should do so with a sense of pride. You achieved something extraordinary today.”

Too weary to think of a response to the high praise, �omer could only nod.

“I assume I will think of nothing anymore once I lay my head down. I will fall asleep on the spot.”

The ranger laughed and clapped his shoulder.

“Then that will do, too. I see you in the morning.” And he disappeared into his room. For a moment, �omer’s tired gaze lingered upon the door before he gave himself the mental push to make for his own quarters. With a meaningful twitch of his eyebrows, he shuffled over to the door and extended his hand when the Lord of Grimslade, who had obviously chewed on something to say while he had wordlessly accompanied them, called to him.

“�omer…” His tone gave the younger man pause, and as he looked up with an expression of shame upon his weathered face, �omer knew that the words which would follow were not easy to utter for the proud Westfold warrior. At last, the other man’s strikingly blue eyes looked straight at him in absolute openness. “I was wrong about you. I do not know if you can forgive my hard, unjustified words about you and your father, although I would greatly hope for it. My anger led me to say things I did neither mean nor wanted to say. Your father was greatly respected here in the Westfold as well--”

“I know that he was a hotspur, and I had rightly inherited his reputation in my youth,” �omer interrupted him. “But while it is true that I did not always consider my actions back then, I had believed to have outgrown this weakness. I will not lie that your accusation hurt me greatly although I knew that the source of your anger was your grief for Th�odred. I probably would have reacted similarly had our positions been exchanged.” �omer inhaled and then raised his chin while his eyes quickly found the cut on the warrior’s brow. “You insulted me, and I dented your head for it. I would say that settles things between us.” He extended his hand in an offer for peace.

At first, his action was met with an incredulous look, but quickly, a relieved grin spread over Grimbold’s face, and he clutched the offered hand with an affirming nod.

“Aye, �omer. I deserved it. Now let’s concern ourselves with punishing the enemy instead of each other, what do you say?”

Chapter 45 - The Worm's Lair

45: The Worm�s Lair

EDORAS

�owyn had stood and watched as Gr�ma�s minion tortured her protector, the complexion of her face so pale and her bearing so rigid that she seemed more like a very good imitation of herself made of wax than a woman of flesh and blood. Before her very eyes the spiked leather-tongues ripped open Elfhelm�s sweat-glistening skin, leaving long swollen cuts on his body from which dozens of tiny red rivulets ran down his muscular frame and flowed together at the seam of his breeches, their number multiplying with each crack of the whip. Not once did she break eye-contact with Elfhelm in a desperate attempt to lend him strength, but at the same time, something inside her broke.

Thankfully, the warrior�s weakened condition allowed him to escape from torture into the merciful arms of unconsciousness quickly, and when no further reaction could be had from the prisoner, Gr�ma at last lifted his hand and bade Felrod to end the punishment. With his bloodied handkerchief still pressed to his hurting mouth, the Counsellor slanted a calculating glance at his captured trophy before he addressed the big Half-blood.

�Enough, Felrod,� he muttered, each movement of his injured lip torture. �Save your strength for later when he is awake again. For now, I only want you to lower him to the ground before you leave; far enough for him to sit� and for the rats to reach him. After the feast the White Lady granted them two nights ago, we would not want them to starve, now would we?� Again his pale eyes looked for �owyn�s reaction, but where he had expected to see her flinch, the King�s niece stared through him with an emptiness to her gaze indicating that her mind wandered through an entirely different realm deep within herself. Or was she feigning not to have heard him? �G�thlaf, Dr�bok, Trollg�r, accompany the White Lady to my chambers and tie her to the bed, both hands and feet. Blindfold her, too� and apply a gag. She will not bite me again.� He stared into �owyn�s emotionless blue eyes. Could it be that he had broken her at last? Had the punishment of her protector detached Lord �omund�s haughty daughter from reality? He could not believe that her control went so far that there was not even the slightest widening of her pupils at his open threat, not even the slightest twitch of a muscle in her face. With a last glance at the unconscious Elfhelm, Gr�ma turned around. �Follow me.�

----------------

She walked up the stairs with unseeing eyes. Like a puppet with no will of its own she moved when they steered her through the corridor and the hall, hardly even hearing their voices. Deep inside, �owyn was aware that things were about to get even worse for they had not locked her into her cell again, but were taking her back to her tormentor�s chambers, but she registered that fact in a subconscious way, unable to act or even feel anxiety. Her mind was somewhere else, observing and entirely detached from her body as they crossed the hall.

Laughter and sniggering rose from the Dunlendings who occupied the Throne Room. �owyn did not listen. She heard Gr�ma�s barked order to his guards as he held open the door for them, but the words made no sense to her. Back at the Worm�s chambers. They looked like they had left them: her chair still upturned, and the red glistening stain on the white table cloth where she had spilled the wine. �Elfhelm�� He had tried not to cry out when the whip hit him, for her sake, but already the second lash had been too much in his weakened condition, and the sight of his torment had shattered �owyn�s soul. All the blood running down his body, glistening in the light of the torch� she had to avert her eyes, could not bear to look at the stain. They pushed her into the adjourning room, toward the huge four-poster, the sight of which finally revived her fighting spirit. She knew what would happen once they succeeded in tying her to it.

�No. No!� She dug her heels into the carpet, but they simply shoved her forth along with it, the fabric folding around her feet. �Let go of me!� She fought against the guards, desperate to escape their cruel grasp, but her feeble attempts only amused them. From behind, Gr�ma sneered: �I was nice to you. You laughed at me, and you bit me. You reap only what you sowed, Daughter of �omund.� He looked at the guards. �Tie her to the bedposts, arms and legs spread.� Yes, now at last she understood the situation, Gr�ma noticed with an satisfied smirk. The pain in his mutilated lip quickly caused him to abandon it, but he saw with delight how �owyn turned linen-white and a violent shiver grasped her.

�If you touch me, whoever will catch you in the end will skin you alive,� the shieldmaiden brought out although there seemed to be hardly enough air in her lungs to form the words. The room spun around her and a deafening buzz sound built between her ears as a chill so cold that it froze her very core grabbed her. Desperately she hoped to feint, already sensing the cold fingers of unconsciousness touching her, and yet she tethered on the edge, unable to cross into protective darkness as her worst nightmare turned into reality.

Through his handkerchief, Wormtongue uttered a dry laugh.

�Don�t tell me that you still believe in a rescue, Lady �owyn. We both know that you are alone now. Nobody will help you, and nobody will come for you, and you will be mine for as long as I decide to let you live. And I intend to make that a very long time span indeed. I don�t know whether you will enjoy it, but I will. I know I will.� A curt nod, a quick shift of his attention to the guards. �What are you waiting for?�

----------------

THE TUNNEL

All sense of time and direction had long left �othain as he moved through the darkness like in rat in a subterranean maze. For a while, the narrow tunnel had climbed steeply over stairs roughly hewn into the rock, and although he held both hands outstretched against the walls to steady himself, �othain had stumbled repeatedly, once only narrowly avoiding a long fall to the bottom of the stairs. With a shudder, he imagined how his fate would turn out if he broke his leg in these hostile confines, envisioning himself trying to crawl back to the exit before he was discovered by the enemy.

Suppressing the thought with enormous effort, �othain forced himself to concentrate even more on his senses and on using the information they gathered: the cold draft of air blowing into his face, the dripping of water through fissures in the bare rock, everything could tell him something of import if he only listened. At last, the first disturbance of the thick silence that enveloped him except for the sound of his footsteps and suppressed breathing reached his ears. His heartbeat in his throat, �othain stopped and closed his eyes; both hands pressed against the wall to his left as he strained to hear.

There were several voices, deep and guttural, exchanging �pleasantries� in the rough language of the Dunlendings. Impossible to determine how far they were still away, but they sounded at ease, sniggering and belting out the dirtiest rhymes �othain had ever heard until suddenly, excited shouting erupted between them which was abruptly ended with a pained yell and a sharp admonishment. In the darkness, the young Captain curled his lip in disgust. They were fighting over food like a pack of wild dogs. And the people of Gondor regarded the Rohirrim as savages? Carefully, he moved on. Further ahead, the tunnel performed a sharp left turn, and suddenly the scent of roasted meat wafted toward �othain. What was that? A secret chamber deep within the heart of the hill? It sounded as if the Dunlendings were camping in the tunnel, and a weak flickering light indicated indeed that a fire had been lit up ahead. �othain�s tensed as he proceeded with even greater stealth, and involuntarily he tucked the blanket firmly around his body.

He should have known better than to hope that Gr�ma would leave the defence of the tunnel to chance, counting on its secrecy. Well, he had not assumed that the crook would leave it entirely unguarded, but that he would leave an entire host of his people to guard it� The path lead him around another curve, and suddenly the fire was so close that �othain could see his surroundings for the first time since he had lowered himself into the hole it. The voices of the hillmen were very close now.

Nervously, �othain�s fingers dug into the blanket. It was one thing to find such a magical thing and be astonished by it; it was an altogether different thing to entrust ones life to it. But this was what he had to do now, there was no room for doubt. With a deep intake of breath, he rounded the corner � and instantly dropped into a crouch as he beheld the shapes of several hillmen gathered around a fire. The light stung in his eyes, and yet �othain saw that the nearest foe sat about ten steps away at an intersection where the path split into three tunnels, his back turned toward �othain and his teeth closed around a greasy piece of meat he held in his hands. There were eight more of his kind assembled around the fire, eating like pigs with little chunks of food in their wild beards and the folds of their garments, quarrelling among themselves for the best pieces. All of them carried swords, spears and bows and quivers of arrows of Rohirric make, and they were clad in mail.

A silent curse left �othain�s lips. So Gr�ma had emptied out their entire weapons chamber to supply his army with it, and yet the question remained how skilled the Dunlendings were in the use of anything different from a club. Still it quickly became clear to the son of C�orl that it would be next to impossible to storm Meduseld by using the tunnel, magical blanket or not. The narrow path would force them to move in single file, and even if the enemy was not well-versed in the use of a sword or bow, they would be hard to miss as they squeezed through the fissure, unable to defend themselves.

He had not yet completed his evaluation when a shout from the darkness of one of the connecting tunnels claimed his attention.

�Leave something over for you?� one of the Dunlendings rumbled, and the others laughed. �You know how it is, Dorl�k: you come too late, you get nothing! It�s not my fault you have to sit with the old skeleton tonight. You left me nothing when it was my turn, so what do you expect?� Grinning, he ripped another chunk of meat from the bone in his hands and washed itte down with a swig from his water skin, spilling half of the liquid over his face as he did so to end his statement with a resounding burp.

�othain narrowed his eyes in disgust, not delighted by his discovery that the filth had apparently set up an elaborate chain of defence to alert everyone of possible intruders long before these could ever hope to make it into Meduseld. Even if they somehow succeeded in disposing of the eight Dunlendings down here � they could hardly hope to achieve this deed without a sound, and a single shout would alert the men at the other end of the tunnel. And who had that beast called an �old skeleton�? The King? His friend �omer had once mentioned the existence of the tunnels to him, and while he had said nothing about their exits and entrances, it had been clear to �othain then that the endeavour behind building these escape ways had solely been undertaken to save the Royal Family in the event of an attack. Thus the three tunnels connecting here. One from the King�s and Queen�s chambers which were connected, one from �omer�s room and one from �owyn�s. �omer was not here, and �othain did not think that the hillmen, however rude their appearance seemed, would call the golden-haired daughter of �omund an �old skeleton�, so it had to be Th�oden-King indeed the man had talked about. Gods� what had they done to him?

�At least he is still alive�, �othain primanded himself not to lose focus, when suddenly, a low growl reached his ears and something he had taken for a shabby old pelt on the Dunlending�s legs raised its head. Luminous eyes sparkled in the fire as the dog held its nose into the cold draft. �othain froze.

�What is it, Scatha?� the beast�s owner asked and squinted with narrowed eyes straight at �othain. �Heard something?� Shoving the hound from his shins, the guard laboured to his feet while the others now also turned their heads. His heart pounding like a hammer in his rib cage, �othain crawled speedily backwards until the rock shielded his retreat. As fast as possible without making a noise, he fled down the precarious stairs, an itch building between his shoulder blades where a deadly arrow would go.

�It�s just another bat the old fleabag smelled,� one of the hillmen yelled from the fire. �Or a rat. Should have left him at home. It�s getting tiresome!�

Halfway down the stairs, �othain heard the man round the protrusion behind which he had lurked and hunched down with the blanket covering him in the fading light, not moving a muscle.

�Come back, Wolf!� another man called. �It was nothing!�

The broad shape stood rigid at the end of the stairs, intently staring into the growing darkness where �othain crouched and waited with baited breath for the man to leave. After what felt to him like an eternity, the tall Dunlending grunted something unintelligible and turned away. For another moment, �othain could not move. He pressed his eyes shut as a painful wave of relief washed over him. There was no doubt that he would have stood no chance of escaping a group of Dunlendings in a wild chase through the mountains heart. With a last glance back, he finally rose to his feet again to make his way back to where his men were waiting, and his expression was grim. His foray into the enemy�s territory had brought only the realisation that Gr�ma Wormtongue had indeed thought of everything. No matter whether they attacked the barricaded doors of the Golden Hall or the tunnels underneath, getting to their adversary�s hostages before they could be used against them seemed impossible� and yet somehow, they�d have to find a way.

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MEDUSELD

�owyn did not know how much time had passed since they had tied her onto Wormtongue�s bed. It seemed like an eternity since Gr�ma�s henchmen had blindfolded and tied her to its posts, her arms and legs spread as their master had ordered. She had fought at first, waking from the stunned shock in which the torturing of Elfhelm had left her in time to make the men�s task more complicated, but at last having to surrender to the hillmen�s brute strength. Her arms hurt where their fingers had dug into her flesh in an iron grasp, leaving hideous black bruises upon her fair skin. Her head still throbbed from the Worm�s punch like a rotting tooth, and yet all was nothing against the abysmal fear she felt over being at her enemy�s mercy, the helpless subject of his sick desires. When would he come to ravage her? There was no one left to protect her now, not even Gr�ma�s pitiful urge to try and win her heart despite of everything he had done to her and her family. At last, it seemed that he had understood the true extent of the contempt she felt for him, and that the only way he could ever have her was by force. So he would take her by force. It was only a question of time now.

A frightful whimper wanted to leave �owyn�s throat, but with a last exercise of her will, she swallowed it, not wanting for Him to hear the sound of her fear, even if she didn�t think that he was in the room. It had been silent since the guards had left, and she had heard her tormentor�s voice from the adjourning room sending them away with further orders before the sound of the closing door had ended their conversation. She had not heard him coming back yet, and yet more important, she did not feel his prying eyes upon herself; something for which she had developed an accurate sense in the course of the years. No, she did not think that he was in the room with her, silently sitting in the chair by the window staring at his helpless victim while he contemplated the many ways he would demonstrate his power to her. The thought chased another chill down her spine.

The sound of the door opening cut through her contemplation like a knife. �owyn�s muscles tensed as she involuntarily held her breath, and frantically she tore at her bonds even though her wrists and ankles were already chafed bloody from her last futile attempts of freeing herself. It was the desperate fight of a wild animal caught in a sling at the sound of the approaching hunter. A moment later, the bedroom door opened, and she heard someone halt in the entrance. His accursed breathing, the sound of the wood groaning underneath his weight as he stood and watched her, the sensation of his gaze made her flesh crawl. Another whimper rose in �owyn�s throat, and this time, all attempts to hold it in proved vain. She could almost hear his cruel smirk at the sound of it.

�Afraid, my Lady?� Gr�ma said, taking another step into the room. It did not escape his attention how rigid she lay on the bed, not even her chest moving because fright had robbed her breath. �Do you not wish now that you had behaved differently toward me? You did this to yourself with your foolish pride. Just like your brother, you do not learn until it is too late.� His tone was condescending and superior, but his words were slurred because his injured lip was giving him trouble speaking. Under different circumstances, �owyn would have felt comforted by the sound of the Worm�s pain, but the only emotion she was capable of now was primeval, bone-chilling, heart-stopping fear as she felt her adversary advance.

With a half-suppressed sigh, Wormtongue sat down on the mattress right beside her, and she squeezed her eyes shut like she had done that terrible night of her childhood when a great host of orcs had assaulted Aldburg while her father�s �ored had been on patrol. All night they had heard the beasts scurry around the houses, trying to break in while the few warriors left for the defence of the city fought a loosing battle. Trembling in her mother�s embrace, she had pressed her face into the silken softness of Th�odwyn�s night robe when the grunting noises from outside came closer and closer and the sound of heavy footsteps approached their door, hiding within herself in typical children�s behaviour: if she could not see the monsters, then perhaps the monsters could not see her? The night�s horrors had abruptly ended with the return of the �oreds, but who would come to her aid now?

Cold fingers touched her face. Unable to breathe while a dull sound built between her hears and promised the end of the ordeal by taking her into the realm of unconsciousness, �owyn clenched her teeth around the gag in her mouth.

�So afraid are you of me� and yet I only want to help you. For now.� The fingers rested on the lump which had formed on her temple, and caressed it with a butterfly�s touch. �I did not want to hit you, Love, but you left me no choice.� Something even colder than his fingers was pressed against �owyn�s skin, and she flinched. It was a piece of ice, wrapped into a cloth. Gently, Gr�ma circled her temple with it � and then lowered his face to kiss her cheek. She shuddered in helpless fear. His voice sank to a confidential whisper and his warm breath was on her skin as he said: �We have all the time in the world now, my Lady; there no need for us to rush things. We will be together for a very long time��
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