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Chapter Eight: Meetings and Partings
in which Arwen’s search seems thwarted, and
Strider scores a coup
Light glinted off the tips of the spears and the helmets of the guards escorting the delegation from Minas Tirith as the party departed from the main gates of Edoras on their homeward journey. Eomer King and Queen Lothiriel, together with Prince Elfwine and Princess Edith, stood on the terrace in front of the palace doors together, watching them go. A concerted plan of action to end the threat from Dunland hadn’t yet been finalized, but there was little doubt that some form of punitive action was indicated. The conference had yielded a great deal of information previously unknown to Eomer King, and he had made up his mind that war with Dunland was unavoidable. He, like King Ellessar, would not risk letting evil grow and spread unchecked in Middle Earth again.
He knew his daughter-in-law, at least, was in dread of such a course; and most probably, his wife was, too. They saw the threat to their husbands and sons, and would do whatever they could to avoid it. Women were like that, he thought; even the best of them couldn’t always see when delay might be a serious error of judgement, and could lead to needless bloodshed for the people that a timely, open war might avert. Eomer King had attained sufficient years, and seen enough of battle himself, that he didn’t blame his womenfolk for their resistence to war. This late in his life, he could still remember the pain of his cousin’s death, and the intense grief of his uncle, Theoden King. Theoden, he remembered, had hoped for a marriage between his son Theodred and Eomer’s sister Eowyn. The great War of the Ring had ended that hope with Theodred’s death, and later, that of Theoden King himself; and his sister might have died in it, too, except for the intervention of King Ellessar. She had found a renewal of her life, after so much pain and grief, with Lord Faramir of Gondor; and their daughter was as close to Eomer as if she had been born to him and Lothiriel. His sister Eowyn was one of the rare women who understood that sometimes war was a necessity: disagreeable and painful, but... a necessity. He sighed deeply, thinking of his grandsons Theodred, and Horst. His line seemed secure, but a war could change that overnight, and he knew it. “Are you tired, your majesty?” “Yes; a little. Formal occasions always tire me out, worse than a whole day spent in practising arms!” Eomer smiled at Edith. “Let’s go inside and see about something to eat. I don’t know why, but I always get hungry at times like this.” “Wait, Father. Someone is coming up the road, and whoever it is looks like he’s wearing King Ellessar’s livery,” said Elfwine. His words halted Eomer’s footsteps, and the king turned and looked where his son pointed. “You’re right, Elfwine. He is wearing Ellessar’s livery. Something must have happened.” He turned and called to the guard standing by the main doors of the palace. “Go see who that is, and bring him to me immediately in the main hall.” The courier turned out to be, not from King Ellessar in Minas Tirith, but from Isengard, and he carried the news of Princess Arwen’s presence, and that of Captain Erik Hammason, at that fortress. Captain Torquil Grayson, the Commander of the garrison there, requested instructions from Eomer King as to how and when he wished his grand-daughter to be returned to Edoras. “‘How’ is under an armed guard, and ‘when’ is right now!” said Elfwine, upon hearing the contents of the despatch. “Just wait until I see her!” The courier smothered a grin behind his hand at Elfwine’s words; and Queen Lothiriel, with a more open smile, summoned a servant and ordered some refreshment for the man, and a chamber prepared for him. “I will write a despatch tonight for you to take back with you to Captain Grayson in the morning,” Eomer told him. “Now that we know she’s safe in Isengard, there’s no need for you to start back right away. Thank you, for bringing us most welcome news.” The courier bowed, and followed the servant out of the hall. “Should I, do you think, send an escort for her, Lothiriel?” asked Eomer. “Yes, Dear,” replied the Queen. “That would be courteous, and it would spare Captain Grayson from having to detail some of his men away from their garrison duties. But not, I think,” with a twinkle in her eyes, “a whole regiment of the Eorlingas!” * * * * * * * * * * ‘Horst should be ashamed of himself!’ thought Arwen, as she followed the guardsman down the winding halls of Orthanc. ‘Really, he could cause a terrible scandal, and Mother would have a fit!’ In Arwen’s opinion, there were entirely too many of these twisting, labyrinthine halls, and their turnings were enough to puzzle the most astute memory! The young man she was following was named Gregor, and he was in his second year of training. One of the two men who had been assigned the task of watching outside Arwen’s door, he was leading her to breakfast. A single flashing smile from Arwen as she had emerged from her bedroom into the hall had reduced Gregor to speechless admiration. Blissfully unaware of the young man’s susceptibility, Arwen had put him at ease with a few questions about his home and his current occupation, further reducing Gregor to a state of slavish adoration. She had also unconsciously made a friend and ally of Kirsten, who, after assisting Arwen to dress, remained behind to see to her room. Initially, Arwen had thought she would need to spend at least a few days to find someone who knew where Horst had gone; but Kirsten’s artless chatter over Arwen’s morning toilet had revealed a side of Horst hitherto unsuspected by his loving sister. Arwen was inwardly aghast at her brother’s trifling with Kirsten, who was well-born and the daughter of a respected officer in King Ellessar’s service. Nevertheless, that did not prevent her from probing the pretty blonde’s memory ruthlessly, albeit subtly. (Like most women, Arwen occasionally had a touch of the serpent about her.) A few delicately phrased questions had yielded information about her brother’s departure that Arwen thought would take her to the place of Horst’s tryst with Strider Proudfoot. If she could persuade Lady Grayson to help her to prolong her stay in Isengard, Arwen was confident that she could find the place with little difficulty: especially as she would be on Tinuviel, and Horst had left on foot. Once there, she would use the map she had made in Edoras to see if it would tell her in which direction the two had gone. After all, she reasoned, the map had shown her that Isengard was Horst’s initial destination. She had kept the map, carefully folded small and tucked into the pouch of gold she had brought with her from Edoras, along with the smaller leather pouch containing Horst’s pipe and pipeweed. She had thought that his occasional use of pipeweed was her brother’s most serious character flaw. (One didn’t count his fibs to their parents as a flaw; after all, keeping secrets from one’s parents was just normal.) The innocent, unconscious disclosures of Kirsten, however, had made Arwen realize, with a sense of chagrin, the truth of Danil’s observation that young men didn’t disclose all of their amusements to their female relatives! How many more such ‘amusements’ had Horst kept hidden? she wondered. With her mind full of her brother’s apparent shortcomings where young women not of his family were concerned, Arwen smiled a second time at Gregor, completing that young man’s enslavement, and walked through the door he held open for her. The sight of Lady Grayson’s breakfast table brought her up short, and drew a startled exclamation from her. “Captain Hammason! What are you doing here?!” Upon seeing Arwen, the gentlemen had risen, and Erik bowed toward her, saying, “Good morning, your highness. I am here at Eomer King’s instruction, to serve as your escort home.” She nodded to him, and, remembering her manners, turned toward Lady Grayson, saying, “Good morning, Lady Grayson. I have to thank you for the services of the young woman you sent to attend me. Kirsten has been most helpful to me.” “Good morning, your highness. You are quite welcome, and I’m delighted you like Kirsten, as I had thought to send her with you on your journey back to Edoras. You can’t have had too comfortable a trip here without a female companion. I would go with you myself, but a trifling indisposition won’t permit that.” Thus did Lady Grayson refer to the obvious state of her somewhat advanced pregnancy. Assuming the chair Danil had pulled out for her, Arwen exchanged greetings with him and Captain Grayson. As she seated herself, Danil reflected inwardly that, in the clothes Captain Grayson (or, rather, Lady Grayson) had loaned her, Arwen bore no resemblance to the frightened child he had found wandering, lost and alone in the dark, on the Westfold plain. In fact, he was a little surprised to see just how mature she really was. A waiting servant took her instructions, bringing her a filled plate from the nearby sideboard. Turning toward Captain Grayson, she asked artlessly, “When am I supposed to leave for Edoras, Captain?” “I sent a despatch to your grandfather, after Captain Hammason arrived last night, advising him of your presence here and requesting his wishes for your return journey. I should hear from him within the next three or four days. Once I know what he wants, we can make plans for your journey home.” “Well! I will at least have the pleasure of your company, and that of Captain Hammason, for the next few days, Lady Arwen,” said Lady Grayson. “And what about you, Danil? Will you be able to stay for a bit this time? We haven’t seen you for several weeks, and it would be nice to have you here for a decent visit.” Danil smiled at her. “I regret having to decline such a pleasant invitation, Lady Grayson, but I have business which will take me away as soon as possible. In fact,” he continued, “I would have gone at first light today, except that Torquil persuaded me to stay for breakfast before leaving.” His words brought a hollow sensation into Arwen’s interior. She had unconsciously begun to take Danil for granted, and she was struck with a sudden dismay at the thought of losing his companionship. So, she thought, he was going to leave me without even saying good-bye! As if I were of no more account than a stray animal he had found wandering the plain and felt obliged to return to its owner! Consequently, she turned toward him and said, in her most regal, careless tones, “I am grateful for your care of me on the way here, but you mustn’t let us keep you from your affairs, Danil. I’m sure Captain Hammason,” with a smile toward that gentleman, “will be more than happy to act as my escort back to Edoras!” This remarkable speech struck her hearers in various ways. Captain Grayson heard her with a feeling of relief. Why had Danil thought she would balk at returning to Edoras?, he wondered. With the worries besetting him concerning the incursions of spies from Dunland along his borders, and the normal stresses and strains of the garrison and training corps under his command, Torquil Grayson was simply glad to know Lady Arwen wasn’t going to give him any trouble about her return to Edoras. Danil felt a foreboding sense of disquiet at Arwen’s words. He looked at Arwen’s elaborately bland countenance with a sharpened expression. What scheme, he wondered, was she hatching now? Mentally thanking all the powers of Middle Earth that it was no longer any concern of his, he was, at the same time, a little confused to find he felt a sort of regret that it wasn’t his concern. But that didn’t make any sense! Captain Hammason, receiving the full battery of Arwen’s brilliant smile, reflected that his long, arduous trailing of the princess was well worth the efforts he had expended on her behalf. He, too, had been thanking all the powers of Middle Earth that he hadn’t had to go as far as the Shire to find her! He looked forward instead, with a satisfied feeling, to a leisurely return to Edoras in her company, and to reporting to Eomer King the successful completion of his commission. Only Lady Alyssa Grayson heard a woman whose feelings had been badly hurt; and whose words were intended to cover up those hurt feelings. Glancing from Arwen’s smiling face to Danil’s, she wondered if, perhaps, Arwen was more drawn to Danil than anyone (especially Danil!) knew. Perhaps, thought that lady, it’s good that the two of them are going to part company now: especially for Lady Arwen. * * * * * * * * * * Incurable curiosity was one of Strider Proudfoot’s most notable characteristics. He had gotten himself into multiple quantities of proverbial hot water as a lad growing up because of it; but it had stood him in good stead many times as an adult. Most recently, his curiosity had led him to the search for the heirloom lost by Gimli Gloinsson; which had, in turn, resulted in his journey into the wilds of Fangorn Forest with Horst, and their current imprisonment at the hands of these previously unsuspected, forest-dwelling wood elves and their dwarf companions. He was beset with it now, as he waited alone in their room for Horst, who was taking an unconscionable length of time in the bath-chamber this morning. The room allotted to their use was spacious, compared to the stone cell where they had first found themselves; but like that cell, it had no windows: a fact that had made Strider, at least, quite uncomfortable. Over time, he had noticed that, despite the lack of a window or two, the air in the room was always fresh. A little thing, the fresh air in their otherwise sealed room; but one that caused his perennial curiosity to arise. Consequently, he began to try and find the source of that fresh air, and after a thorough search, he found it. Cleverly hidden beneath an almost invisible panel on the wall over the head of one of the beds, was the opening to an air-shaft. Sniffing at the opening, Strider smelled, not only fresh air, but fresh air that carried with it the green smell of growing trees and plants. He thought, with a sense of rising excitement, that the shaft thus revealed must open onto the surrounding forest, and might furnish a way of escaping from this state of confinement that he found nearly intolerable. Closer examination revealed the opening to be too small for a man or an elf, or even a dwarf, to pass through; but Strider rather thought he could manage it, if it didn’t get any smaller. So, standing precariously on the headboard of the bed, he pried the concealing panel off the opening, dropped it onto the bed, and hoisted himself up, and into the shaft. It was a tight squeeze, and he had to suck in his tummy, but he managed to crawl through the shaft to its exterior opening. As he had suspected, the shaft opened onto the surrounding forest. There was only one problem: a drop of about twenty feet to the ground below it. Without a rope, Strider didn’t dare chance it. He had no room to turn around, so he had to squirm his way backwards down the air-shaft. It was not the most comfortable of journeys, but he made it. He dropped, feet first, onto the bed, and rolled to the floor. As he landed, he heard sounds coming from the hall outside the door. Hastily, he replaced the panel, smoothed the bed-covers, and assumed a chair by the table, reaching his seat as the door opened and Horst, whistling happily, entered the room. “Hello, Horst! Did you enjoy your bath this morning?” “As a matter of fact, I did,” replied Horst. Gazing at Strider with an arrested expression and needle-sharp eyes, Horst asked, “What have you been up to now, Strider?” “What makes you ask that, Horst?” answered Strider, meeting Horst’s eyes with a limpid look, and assuming what he hoped was an innocent expression. “Don’t try to fool me, Strider. You have the same look you used to get when you had conned food out of the cooks at Isengard during our cadet days. You’re up to something, and it’s not nice of you to hold out on me!” “You wound me, Horst! You really wound me. As if I would keep anything secret from you!” And Strider did his best to look wounded and innocent at the same time. He failed. Horst sat down opposite him, and fixed a penetrating look on him. “You have a particularly smug look about you, Strider,” he said in a mild conversational tone. “I left to take a bath, and you have been here, alone and under guard, the whole time I was gone,” he said. “That means that whatever you’re doing, it’s something you could do alone here, in a sealed room.” He thought for a moment in silence. “You’ve found a way out,” he announced at length. “That’s the only thing I can think of that you could possibly have done in my absence. And,” he finished, “if you don’t tell me what it is, you will force me to find it for myself.” Strider swore. “How do you do it, Horst? How do you find things out so easily? It isn’t fair!” Horst looked at him, dumbfounded. “That’s it? You’ve found a way out of here? How? Where?” “Well, I’ve found a way out for me. I don’t think you could manage it.” “Show me! I’ll think of a way to manage it!” Horst looked at him. “Were you really not going to tell me, Strider?” he asked, a little wistfully. “Right. I was going to wait until you got over mooning after Melisande and were ready to escape with me,” Strider replied. “I figured I’d get out by myself first, and then come back for you.” He showed Horst the ventilation shaft. “The shaft comes out in a bare rock wall that is less than fifty feet from the trees, and appears to be unguarded. The only problem is that it’s about twenty feet off the ground. I’ve still got the rope old Mr. Took insisted I take, bless him! It’s in my backpack. But, Horst,” he said earnestly, “the shaft is a tight fit for me. I really don’t see how you can do it.” * * * * * * * * * * Three nights in the open on short rations had paid off handsomely. He had seen her, riding out, apparently for pleasure, under heavy escort, with the Rohirrim beside her, during the past two days. Without a closer look, he couldn’t be positive it was the young princess of Rohan, but all his guts told him it was. Somehow, she must have run away and wound up here at Isengard. Which accounted for the head of the king’s bodyguard coming here so secretly. He must have been sent to bring her back. That meant she would be returning to Edoras any day now. He thought rapidly. He could get to his chief and return here in less than three days, if he hurried, and was very, very lucky. Even if the party escorting her left for Edoras tomorrow morning, he could still catch up to them long before they reached the city, while they were on the open plain. If they took the king’s highway back, an attack wouldn’t have a prayer of succeeding; but he thought, confidently, they wouldn’t do that. It would make her return journey a royal progress, as soon as she was recognized: which she would be, once she arrived in the town of Isen, after the first three miles from the ford. In that eventuality, the questions that would arise among the people of Rohan would put unwelcome pressure on the royal family. No, he reasoned, the princess’ return to Edoras would be something the king would want kept as quiet as possible; and that meant they would travel the Westfold plain. A surprise attack on the open plain could easily succeed, and they would gain custody of a royal princess. With her as hostage, his chief would have a major advantage over both Rohan and Gondor. Smiling to himself in anticipation, he returned to the copse and mounted his horse, and set out for the secret pass that would take him to his chief’s stronghold in Dunland. to be continued... |
Courtyard
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