Brotherhood, Chapter Twenty Six.
26 Oct 2009 06:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatMy beta has been awake enough today, after his long spell of nights, to nit-pick this chapter for me, so here is the next chapter of Brotherhood - in which we find out what affect that feeling of 'nothing' has on Rumil...
Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-six.
Rating 15
4,050 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Chapter Twenty-six
Something was clearly wrong. Elrohir would not normally have made reference to Rumil’s ability to ‘hear’ Tindómë’s fëa in front of Gimli. As Rumil turned his thoughts inwards, to listen for her, all eyes were on him with varying degrees of curiosity or worry.
“What do you feel, Rumil?” Elladan asked.
“Nothing”, Rumil answered. “Nothing.”
Aragorn looked... shocked? Worried? Sympathetic? It was not always easy to read his face.
A series of expressions flitted across the faces of the ellyn – none quite so worried as Aragorn. Gimli looked... well, it was hard to tell, as so little of his face could be seen that it was always difficult to read his expression.
“She is either not near, or not feeling any strong emotion. She should be near enough for me to be aware if she was in pain, or frightened or angry, if she is in the library,” Rumil answered carefully, trying not to sound worried by the question, but could not resist adding “Why?”
Orophin was clearly as aware of the tension in the room. Rumil could feel his brother’s shoulder just touching his own.
Legolas passed a slip of paper over but Orophin waved it away. “I read only tengwar,” he said.
Legolas took a deep breath and then read out the message.
Rumil could feel the battle anger surge through him.
The white hot anger that was also as cold as ice. He would kill the man. He would draw his bow and loose an arrow into the man’s heart. He would take his knife and cut the man’s throat if he had no room to draw his bow. He would take the man’s head in his hands, and twist his neck until his spine snapped, if he had no knife.
Gimli’s voice broke into his thoughts. “So, the lad can actually feel if she is in pain? Useful. Could be a distraction though. And I take it,” he looked Rumil straight in the eye, “you’d know if this Lomion person had killed the lass?”
Elves may have a reputation for approaching things obliquely in conversation; the same could never be said of the dwarves. Aragorn looked somewhat open-mouthed at Gimli’s question, but Rumil realised that he was glad of it – to explain was to reassure himself.
“We have, not a bond, but we know that we will bind because we have this… link.”
Gimli merely nodded.
“When our brother was killed at Helm’s Deep both Orophin and I knew – I cannot explain, but we knew as certainly as if the blow had been dealt him within our clear sight. I am sure that I would feel the same if Tindómë was dead.”
There, he had put it into words, he was sure that he would know; he did not feel that sense of dread or loss, and so she was alive.
“Then what are we waiting for?” the dwarf said.
Aragorn looked relieved; he could not have been sure that ‘nothing’ did not allow the possibility of Tindómë being dead. But a dead hostage would not be of any value, Rumil reminded himself, neither to bargain with nor to use as a shield.
Things happened around Rumil; there was a sense of detachment as he concentrated solely on what he would do to the man who had the temerity to kidnap Tindómë.
He did not have to concentrate on whether he could feel anything of his not-quite betrothed – he knew that he had felt her anger and fear, as strongly as if she had screamed in his ear, when the men has assaulted her in this city three years before. That had been before he had joined with her for the first time – and it had been over a distance of maybe half a mile. The link was stronger now – he would feel her fëa as soon as she was within a mile or two, for she would be very angry. If she was conscious…
The man would die. Anyone who was with the man would die. No matter how many there were. They would die.
He looked around him as he felt a gentle tap on his arm. They were in a council room near the entrance to the citadel; orders were being given, people were scurrying about.
“Shall I tell you what is happening, my brother?”
“I will kill him,” Rumil said.
“I know, I will be with you, as will we all. Now I will tell you what is happening. Elladan has gone to tell Arwen – he says there were developments regarding the babe’s nurse whilst we were riding, and he will tell us all when there is time. Faramir and Éowyn are on their way. Legolas says Éowyn has spoken to the man more than any of us, and must surely be involved.”
“He is right,” Rumil said.
“Word is going out to guards, who are already looking for the man, that he may have Tindómë with him and she is to be put at no risk.”
‘I will kill him,’ Rumil thought, ‘do not let them!’
But now he needed to focus on the chase, not the kill.
“Has the Prince of Dol Amroth been sent for?” he asked. “If the man is a Corsair he may have a ship on the river.”
“Yes,” Orophin answered, “but only just. Legolas has gone for his weapons and for Galanthir, Gimli has gone for his axes, and I will go now for our weapons.”
“Go,” Rumil said.
In the doorway Orophin passed a guard hurrying in with Faramir close on his heels.
The guard spoke quickly to Aragorn in the Common Tongue. Rumil concentrated to make out what he said; for the first time ever he wished that he had tried harder to learn this language of men.
“We have searched the stables on the sixth level, your majesty, and Lord Lomion’s horse has gone. But we found the librarian, Anarion, injured and hidden under the straw in the horse’s stall.”
“How injured?” Aragorn asked. “Where is he now?”
The man answered, but Rumil did not understand all he said.
Aragorn took a step towards the door but Elrohir stopped him. Rumil had not even realised the other ellon was in the room, so centred had he been on the man who had taken Tindómë.
“Let your healers work, brother,” Elrohir said. “You need to be here where your men can find you. I will go and take Faramir. I will explain to him as we go and you will know as soon as I do.”
Aragorn nodded.
He would know – Elrohir would speak it to his mind. Did Faramir know that they could do this? Perchance he must, like Gimli, learn more of elves than they would have wished him know.
…………………………………………………………
Elrohir finished his explanations, of both the note to Legolas and the earlier meeting with Gilraen’s nurse, as they approached the House of Healing.
The healers would doubtless have let him in alone – both the twins had worked tirelessly alongside the healers in the post war period; better though that the Steward be seen to take the man’s evidence than an elf… Huitho! How he hated how quickly they had begun to think like that; how much this man had poisoned the way they acted with each other.
Anarion was conscious but in pain. He had a bandage around his head, one arm was bound to his chest, and his broken walking stick was at the end of his bed.
“My Lord Steward, my Lord Elrondion,” he said, his voice weak but clear. His head must be fairly clear for him to come up with a correct form of address that would fit whichever twin stood before him.
“Have… have you found her?” Anarion asked before they had a chance to do more than nod.
“Have we found who?” Faramir asked gently.
The answer was as expected. “Lady Tindómë.”
“No,” said Faramir, “but we know she is missing. Tell us whatever you can Anarion.”
“The man… Lomion… has taken her.”
“We are already searching for him,” Elrohir said, “but what did you see?”
“I… it was mid-day,” Anarion began.
‘Three hours or more!’ Elrohir thought, but did not interrupt.
“I looked down… from the citadel… I saw her ride up to the stables… alone.” The young man paused, and pain crossed his face.
“I thought to go down… to walk back up with her.”
‘Ah – when we thought that we might need to make use of this “crush” we did not think it would be to his own endangerment,’ Elrohir thought.
“I waited… on the wall… by the stables. It was quiet and warm. The man hurried up to the doors and went in. But then… then I thought I heard Lady Tindómë cry out. I took up my stick and went in.”
“Bravely done,” said Faramir encouragingly.
“But not enough.” Anarion’s voice broke a little but he went on. “It was dim. I saw him pick… something… up. It was her. He was going into the further stable with her. I followed. I challenged him, and called out, but no-one else came…”
“It was lunch time,” Faramir said, as if in understanding, or sympathy.
“He dropped her. She moaned a little so I knew she lived. Tell, tell her… tell Lord Rumil she lives!”
So he clearly recognised that, although claimed as kinswoman by Legolas, she was most important to Rumil.
“I will,” Elrohir reassured the young man.
No need to explain that Rumil already knew this and, Elrohir would guess, welcome confirmation for Rumil anyway. Proof is always welcome, even when you ‘know’ something.
Anarion continued. “We fought. He took my stick. I think he hit me over the head with it. I knew nothing more until I woke to voices in the stable, but my mouth was bound and I was covered in straw. He must have taken her. I am so sorry, my lords, that I couldn’t stop him.”
“You acted as the warrior that you were,” Faramir said, “and have given us very useful information. We know now when he took her. The King will be most grateful.”
“Anarion,” Elrohir added, “we all thank you. Now the healers will give you poppy juice to take away your pain and make you sleep.”
“I know its effects all too well…” the librarian said, gesturing briefly to his misshapen leg.
“I promise, warrior,” Elrohir spoke seriously, “that we will tell you as soon as Tindómë is found. Rest now.”
………………………………………………………………………………
Her head hurt; she couldn’t move her arms. Her brain told her that it must be when she was carried from the battlefield to Minas Tirith between the two horses. Someone was trying to make her drink something. It smelled medicinal. The someone must be an El. She drank. Everything disappeared again.
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Anyone entering the room would have thought the ellyn calm to the point of indifference. Anyone, that is, who did not know elves. They stood or sat in perfect stillness, but their stillness was that of the battle ready; all six would be on horseback and on their way out of the city within seconds… as soon as they knew where to go. Years of experience had taught them that there was no point in dashing off until the course was determined, and only those years of experience kept them all sitting motionless and, apparently, emotionless.
Arwen had come down to the room where the ellon formed a pool of stillness as the men dashed in and out. She had said little, murmured a few words to Legolas, and then turned to Rumil. Her fingers had brushed his cheek fleetingly but she had said nothing – what was there to say?
Éowyn had arrived, just after Prince Erchirion, looking like a whirlwind in comparison to the Queen. Her hair, loose, streamed behind her; her gown clung to her thighs as if they were moving faster than the fabric allowed.
She looked, briefly, as if she might come over and hug Rumil. He steeled himself.
‘Humans are different, humans are different,’ he repeated mentally, but something, whether a look in his eye or a memory of lessons from Legolas and Faramir, stopped her just short of his chest.
“When do we leave?” she demanded, turning towards Aragorn.
“When we know where to go,” Legolas was the one to answer.
“I will come,” she stated firmly. “She will be frightened. It may have brought back memories of the problems in her childhood; I will come to comfort her once she is rescued.”
‘Why would Tindómë need Éowyn to comfort her? If she needed comfort I will be there,’ Rumil thought, ‘although she is more likely to feel anger than fear…’
“The tithen maethor will draw comfort from Rumil,” Orophin’s tone brooked no argument, “and from the rest of us. We are kin.”
“But,” Éowyn paused as if she was trying to think of a way to say something, “she may need… a female.”
“No matter what has happened to her,” Legolas also spoke like the leader of warriors that he was, “Tindómë will draw comfort from Rumil… and from the rest of us. We are kin.”
“However,” he continued after a moment, “I would not stop you riding with us.”
She looked at Aragorn and Faramir. Aragorn simply raised an eyebrow.
“You will need to change,” her husband said, “and tell Egric and Ceolfrith to ready themselves and both our mounts.”
Éowyn’s eyes flashed, she beamed a smile at her husband, and hurried from the room.
The ellyn sat, motionless.
Messengers and guards came and went. Surely someone must have seen a man with not-quite-an-elleth held captive? Rumil thought of the feel of his bow in his hands, the sensation of loosing an arrow, the shocked look in the eyes of a man who is dying.
There was a change in the ellyn around him. They had not moved, nor changed the pace of their breathing, but it was the sensation that ran along the fences when the first ellon saw the enemy.
“…he says he thinks he saw the man,” a captain of the guard was saying, “but I think he must be mistaken.”
“Tell me!” Aragorn said to the man behind the captain.
Rumil focussed all his being on the man. He knew the other ellyn did likewise.
“I am on duty at the main gate,” the man said, “and I think that I saw the man in the picture leave the city a little after mid-day.”
“Riding?” asked Aragorn. “Did he have a young female with him?”
The captain looked as if he would speak, but a glance from his king and he remained silent.
“Riding, your majesty, but he had no young woman with him – only his son.”
“I said that he must be mistaken, then, about it being the man we seek,” the captain said.
Aragorn simply looked at him and he said no more.
“His son?” Aragorn asked.
“The lad had drunk too much last night, the man said, your majesty. Drunk too much and been in a fight. His father said he was taking him home to recover, and to a certain scolding from his mother. But he looked like the man in the drawing.”
‘Tindómë, meleth-nín, it must have been Tindómë,’ Rumil wanted to shout, ‘but why does he think she is a boy?’
“How do you know it was a lad?” Aragorn asked. “Could you see his face?”
“He was wrapped in a cloak, your majesty, and it hung over his face where he rested against his father. To keep the sun from his eyes, I would think, if had drunk too much and also been fighting. But he was quite a tall young man and his boots and leggings were visible. And, of course, he rode astride ahead of his father.”
The eyes of all the ellyn were studying the speaker so closely it was amazing that he did not seem to feel them.
“Were the young man’s boots and leggings like those of Lord Orophin?” Aragorn asked. His voice betrayed no emotion; it could well be seen he had been raised by elves.
Orophin stepped forward, but said nothing.
“Why yes, your majesty,” the witness replied, “I noted they were an unusual shape – just like his lordship is wearing.”
The man paused and then his face paled. “You mean that was the young lady elf? I… it didn’t occur to me the man wasn’t telling the truth… if I had realised we would have stopped him.”
‘Huitho!’ Rumil thought, ‘how could he think Tindómë was a mortal male?’
He answered his own question; it never occurs to them that a female might not be wearing a dress…
………………………………………………………………………………
The man had taken the road south – it would take him to the river port.
Erchirion sent a swift rider ahead to his own ship, not only for it to be readied to sail, but also to find out from his own sailors which vessels, if any, had sailed in the past few hours.
“But,” he said, “if, as it seems, the man is from Umbar, then his vessel will not be slow moving. Even if it looks like a lumbering merchantman on the surface it will have sleek lines below the water. I do not think our ship will easily catch it if it has three or four hours start.”
“We will ride to the dockside anyway,” Estel said, “so that we will know from your men which vessel we are chasing, if it seems that he has taken to the river. Then we will ride along the river bank.”
Rumil would know which ship anyway, but only if the little warrior was conscious…
“Are you, then, coming yourself, Aragorn?” Faramir asked.
Good question. Would Estel get away without at least twenty of the citadel guards? No chance to approach swiftly and unseen with a whole party.
“I am very capable of riding swiftly, following tracks if necessary, and moving silently,” Estel answered.
“None better, my Lord King,” Faramir agreed, swiftly.
Estel raised an eyebrow and looked at Faramir; so like his foster-father that Elrohir felt an urge to laugh.
“I do not need to be reminded of my kingship,” he said.
“I did not mean… Well, perhaps I did,” Faramir admitted, with a rather rueful expression.
Elrohir did not want to be seen to counsel Estel, and yet… He called quietly to his mind instead.
“Estel, muindor-nín, much though I would want you with us, I think your heart speaks before your head. It is already agreed that Faramir is to ride with us and we may be some days if the man has, indeed, taken her down the river in a fast vessel.
“You need to be here for the naming ceremony and the mid-summer feast. We would be here too, but all can go on without us – it cannot without you.
“We will have two princes of Gondor in Faramir and Erchirion. Better that the King remains here.”
There was a slight mental sigh and then Estel turned and spoke aloud.
“You would be right to remind me of my kingship, Faramir, my friend. My wife and the city both need me here and I could do nothing that you cannot. My heart goes with you all, though.”
Like a flock of starlings, that lifts from its roost as one and wheels away without apparent signal, the ellyn were moving towards the door. Accompanied by one dwarf. No-one even tried to suggest that they might move more swiftly if no horse bore two riders. Legolas still rode Arod, gifted him by Éomer; the horse had borne Gimli into battle, he would doubtless bear him in this pursuit.
If needs be his own mount, or Elladan’s Mórril, would easily carry a pillion.
Spare horses! They would need spare horses!
By now they were in sight of the stables. Éowyn and her two Riders stood in the midst of at least a score of horses, including the mounts of all the elves with their light tack already in place.
“Erkenbrand has given us a string of spare horses,” she explained.
Well, if he did not have an elven-bred spare mount a Rohirric one would be just as good, Elrohir thought, as he swung up onto his own horse.
Erkenbrand himself was there, along with Lady Wilflede.
“You ride with the blessings of our house,” she said formally, and traditionally, then added “Bring the young lady home swiftly.”
All the ellyn, Elrohir noticed, silent until now, with minds totally focussed on the task in hand, took time to place hands to hearts and acknowledge the Horse Lord and his Lady.
A few words passed between Legolas and Faramir before the party wheeled as one, to ride down the circles of Minas Tirith to the great gate, with the two of them together at the front.
Elladan was almost directly behind them and, as they rode, his brother heard his mental voice “Legolas takes command. Faramir has acknowledged it.”
………………………………………………………………………………
She was awake; at least she was pretty sure she was awake. She did a mental inventory; all limbs were pain free but her head ached. She had a feeling that she needed to keep her eyes closed. She tried to remember why.
Slowly it came back… the ‘dung beetle’ …he had walked straight into her just inside the door to the stables on the sixth circle. She remembered his eyes had suddenly lit up and, before she could do anything, he had grabbed her. She really couldn’t remember much after that… except… she vaguely remembered being on a horse… and now… she thought she might be on a bed. On a bed with her wrists bound together…
Huitho! It must be Tuesday!
Why would he take her? As a hostage, she realised. He must have known the game was up before he got to the stables and realised that he had walked into a perfect bargaining tool! Huitho! Huitho! Huitho!
But where was she?
Eyes still closed in case someone was watching her, she tried to work it out. There was a sense of movement, and a creaking noise – as she had first become aware of her surroundings she had thought of a talan in a strong wind – except it was never that windy in Lothlorien.
But if it wasn’t a talan why had she thought that? Ah – the sound was creaking wood! The bed seemed to be rocking. It couldn’t be Lomion’s house in Minas Tirith… maybe a coach?
She ventured a peek between her lashes – it seemed to be a bedroom.
It ought to make sense. She stopped thinking in circles and made herself think logically. Creaking, swaying, faint voices in the distance… and the guy was a corsair, Rumil had said so. A boat! She must be in a boat!
She’d never been in anything bigger than a row-boat before, but for this to be a boat made sense.
She chanced opening her eyes a little more. Yep – she hadn’t seen ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ before the movie theater in Sunnydale closed down but she’d seen the previews, and ‘Muppet Treasure Island’ more than once, and this certainly looked about right for a sailing vessel. There was no-one in line of sight – she was probably locked in a cabin.
M’kay, she thought a bit more. Her hands were tied together, but in front not behind, and not her feet. No gag. Either they are very stupid, they seriously underestimated her, or they knew she couldn’t do anything much.
So, she thought, what gives me an advantage? What do I know that they don’t?
One; Rumil will rescue me. Well, him and Orophin, Legolas and Galanthir, and the Els. They may not rescue me in the next few minutes or hours, but nothing will stop them until they have me back.
Two; Rumil will know where I am when he gets near, as long as I am conscious and annoyed enough! That shouldn’t be too difficult for me…
Three; I can so kick ass. I’ve been taught by Slayers, vampires, and Elven warriors.
And Four; I still have my boots on. Which means that I still have a knife in the sheath in my boot…
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Odd bits of Sindarin.
Tengwar - the elvish alphabet
Tithen Maethor - Little Warrior - Tindómë's nickname, given her by the twins.
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The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
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Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-six.
Rating 15
4,050 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Something was clearly wrong. Elrohir would not normally have made reference to Rumil’s ability to ‘hear’ Tindómë’s fëa in front of Gimli. As Rumil turned his thoughts inwards, to listen for her, all eyes were on him with varying degrees of curiosity or worry.
“What do you feel, Rumil?” Elladan asked.
“Nothing”, Rumil answered. “Nothing.”
Aragorn looked... shocked? Worried? Sympathetic? It was not always easy to read his face.
A series of expressions flitted across the faces of the ellyn – none quite so worried as Aragorn. Gimli looked... well, it was hard to tell, as so little of his face could be seen that it was always difficult to read his expression.
“She is either not near, or not feeling any strong emotion. She should be near enough for me to be aware if she was in pain, or frightened or angry, if she is in the library,” Rumil answered carefully, trying not to sound worried by the question, but could not resist adding “Why?”
Orophin was clearly as aware of the tension in the room. Rumil could feel his brother’s shoulder just touching his own.
Legolas passed a slip of paper over but Orophin waved it away. “I read only tengwar,” he said.
Legolas took a deep breath and then read out the message.
Rumil could feel the battle anger surge through him.
The white hot anger that was also as cold as ice. He would kill the man. He would draw his bow and loose an arrow into the man’s heart. He would take his knife and cut the man’s throat if he had no room to draw his bow. He would take the man’s head in his hands, and twist his neck until his spine snapped, if he had no knife.
Gimli’s voice broke into his thoughts. “So, the lad can actually feel if she is in pain? Useful. Could be a distraction though. And I take it,” he looked Rumil straight in the eye, “you’d know if this Lomion person had killed the lass?”
Elves may have a reputation for approaching things obliquely in conversation; the same could never be said of the dwarves. Aragorn looked somewhat open-mouthed at Gimli’s question, but Rumil realised that he was glad of it – to explain was to reassure himself.
“We have, not a bond, but we know that we will bind because we have this… link.”
Gimli merely nodded.
“When our brother was killed at Helm’s Deep both Orophin and I knew – I cannot explain, but we knew as certainly as if the blow had been dealt him within our clear sight. I am sure that I would feel the same if Tindómë was dead.”
There, he had put it into words, he was sure that he would know; he did not feel that sense of dread or loss, and so she was alive.
“Then what are we waiting for?” the dwarf said.
Aragorn looked relieved; he could not have been sure that ‘nothing’ did not allow the possibility of Tindómë being dead. But a dead hostage would not be of any value, Rumil reminded himself, neither to bargain with nor to use as a shield.
Things happened around Rumil; there was a sense of detachment as he concentrated solely on what he would do to the man who had the temerity to kidnap Tindómë.
He did not have to concentrate on whether he could feel anything of his not-quite betrothed – he knew that he had felt her anger and fear, as strongly as if she had screamed in his ear, when the men has assaulted her in this city three years before. That had been before he had joined with her for the first time – and it had been over a distance of maybe half a mile. The link was stronger now – he would feel her fëa as soon as she was within a mile or two, for she would be very angry. If she was conscious…
The man would die. Anyone who was with the man would die. No matter how many there were. They would die.
He looked around him as he felt a gentle tap on his arm. They were in a council room near the entrance to the citadel; orders were being given, people were scurrying about.
“Shall I tell you what is happening, my brother?”
“I will kill him,” Rumil said.
“I know, I will be with you, as will we all. Now I will tell you what is happening. Elladan has gone to tell Arwen – he says there were developments regarding the babe’s nurse whilst we were riding, and he will tell us all when there is time. Faramir and Éowyn are on their way. Legolas says Éowyn has spoken to the man more than any of us, and must surely be involved.”
“He is right,” Rumil said.
“Word is going out to guards, who are already looking for the man, that he may have Tindómë with him and she is to be put at no risk.”
‘I will kill him,’ Rumil thought, ‘do not let them!’
But now he needed to focus on the chase, not the kill.
“Has the Prince of Dol Amroth been sent for?” he asked. “If the man is a Corsair he may have a ship on the river.”
“Yes,” Orophin answered, “but only just. Legolas has gone for his weapons and for Galanthir, Gimli has gone for his axes, and I will go now for our weapons.”
“Go,” Rumil said.
In the doorway Orophin passed a guard hurrying in with Faramir close on his heels.
The guard spoke quickly to Aragorn in the Common Tongue. Rumil concentrated to make out what he said; for the first time ever he wished that he had tried harder to learn this language of men.
“We have searched the stables on the sixth level, your majesty, and Lord Lomion’s horse has gone. But we found the librarian, Anarion, injured and hidden under the straw in the horse’s stall.”
“How injured?” Aragorn asked. “Where is he now?”
The man answered, but Rumil did not understand all he said.
Aragorn took a step towards the door but Elrohir stopped him. Rumil had not even realised the other ellon was in the room, so centred had he been on the man who had taken Tindómë.
“Let your healers work, brother,” Elrohir said. “You need to be here where your men can find you. I will go and take Faramir. I will explain to him as we go and you will know as soon as I do.”
Aragorn nodded.
He would know – Elrohir would speak it to his mind. Did Faramir know that they could do this? Perchance he must, like Gimli, learn more of elves than they would have wished him know.
…………………………………………………………
Elrohir finished his explanations, of both the note to Legolas and the earlier meeting with Gilraen’s nurse, as they approached the House of Healing.
The healers would doubtless have let him in alone – both the twins had worked tirelessly alongside the healers in the post war period; better though that the Steward be seen to take the man’s evidence than an elf… Huitho! How he hated how quickly they had begun to think like that; how much this man had poisoned the way they acted with each other.
Anarion was conscious but in pain. He had a bandage around his head, one arm was bound to his chest, and his broken walking stick was at the end of his bed.
“My Lord Steward, my Lord Elrondion,” he said, his voice weak but clear. His head must be fairly clear for him to come up with a correct form of address that would fit whichever twin stood before him.
“Have… have you found her?” Anarion asked before they had a chance to do more than nod.
“Have we found who?” Faramir asked gently.
The answer was as expected. “Lady Tindómë.”
“No,” said Faramir, “but we know she is missing. Tell us whatever you can Anarion.”
“The man… Lomion… has taken her.”
“We are already searching for him,” Elrohir said, “but what did you see?”
“I… it was mid-day,” Anarion began.
‘Three hours or more!’ Elrohir thought, but did not interrupt.
“I looked down… from the citadel… I saw her ride up to the stables… alone.” The young man paused, and pain crossed his face.
“I thought to go down… to walk back up with her.”
‘Ah – when we thought that we might need to make use of this “crush” we did not think it would be to his own endangerment,’ Elrohir thought.
“I waited… on the wall… by the stables. It was quiet and warm. The man hurried up to the doors and went in. But then… then I thought I heard Lady Tindómë cry out. I took up my stick and went in.”
“Bravely done,” said Faramir encouragingly.
“But not enough.” Anarion’s voice broke a little but he went on. “It was dim. I saw him pick… something… up. It was her. He was going into the further stable with her. I followed. I challenged him, and called out, but no-one else came…”
“It was lunch time,” Faramir said, as if in understanding, or sympathy.
“He dropped her. She moaned a little so I knew she lived. Tell, tell her… tell Lord Rumil she lives!”
So he clearly recognised that, although claimed as kinswoman by Legolas, she was most important to Rumil.
“I will,” Elrohir reassured the young man.
No need to explain that Rumil already knew this and, Elrohir would guess, welcome confirmation for Rumil anyway. Proof is always welcome, even when you ‘know’ something.
Anarion continued. “We fought. He took my stick. I think he hit me over the head with it. I knew nothing more until I woke to voices in the stable, but my mouth was bound and I was covered in straw. He must have taken her. I am so sorry, my lords, that I couldn’t stop him.”
“You acted as the warrior that you were,” Faramir said, “and have given us very useful information. We know now when he took her. The King will be most grateful.”
“Anarion,” Elrohir added, “we all thank you. Now the healers will give you poppy juice to take away your pain and make you sleep.”
“I know its effects all too well…” the librarian said, gesturing briefly to his misshapen leg.
“I promise, warrior,” Elrohir spoke seriously, “that we will tell you as soon as Tindómë is found. Rest now.”
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Her head hurt; she couldn’t move her arms. Her brain told her that it must be when she was carried from the battlefield to Minas Tirith between the two horses. Someone was trying to make her drink something. It smelled medicinal. The someone must be an El. She drank. Everything disappeared again.
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Anyone entering the room would have thought the ellyn calm to the point of indifference. Anyone, that is, who did not know elves. They stood or sat in perfect stillness, but their stillness was that of the battle ready; all six would be on horseback and on their way out of the city within seconds… as soon as they knew where to go. Years of experience had taught them that there was no point in dashing off until the course was determined, and only those years of experience kept them all sitting motionless and, apparently, emotionless.
Arwen had come down to the room where the ellon formed a pool of stillness as the men dashed in and out. She had said little, murmured a few words to Legolas, and then turned to Rumil. Her fingers had brushed his cheek fleetingly but she had said nothing – what was there to say?
Éowyn had arrived, just after Prince Erchirion, looking like a whirlwind in comparison to the Queen. Her hair, loose, streamed behind her; her gown clung to her thighs as if they were moving faster than the fabric allowed.
She looked, briefly, as if she might come over and hug Rumil. He steeled himself.
‘Humans are different, humans are different,’ he repeated mentally, but something, whether a look in his eye or a memory of lessons from Legolas and Faramir, stopped her just short of his chest.
“When do we leave?” she demanded, turning towards Aragorn.
“When we know where to go,” Legolas was the one to answer.
“I will come,” she stated firmly. “She will be frightened. It may have brought back memories of the problems in her childhood; I will come to comfort her once she is rescued.”
‘Why would Tindómë need Éowyn to comfort her? If she needed comfort I will be there,’ Rumil thought, ‘although she is more likely to feel anger than fear…’
“The tithen maethor will draw comfort from Rumil,” Orophin’s tone brooked no argument, “and from the rest of us. We are kin.”
“But,” Éowyn paused as if she was trying to think of a way to say something, “she may need… a female.”
“No matter what has happened to her,” Legolas also spoke like the leader of warriors that he was, “Tindómë will draw comfort from Rumil… and from the rest of us. We are kin.”
“However,” he continued after a moment, “I would not stop you riding with us.”
She looked at Aragorn and Faramir. Aragorn simply raised an eyebrow.
“You will need to change,” her husband said, “and tell Egric and Ceolfrith to ready themselves and both our mounts.”
Éowyn’s eyes flashed, she beamed a smile at her husband, and hurried from the room.
The ellyn sat, motionless.
Messengers and guards came and went. Surely someone must have seen a man with not-quite-an-elleth held captive? Rumil thought of the feel of his bow in his hands, the sensation of loosing an arrow, the shocked look in the eyes of a man who is dying.
There was a change in the ellyn around him. They had not moved, nor changed the pace of their breathing, but it was the sensation that ran along the fences when the first ellon saw the enemy.
“…he says he thinks he saw the man,” a captain of the guard was saying, “but I think he must be mistaken.”
“Tell me!” Aragorn said to the man behind the captain.
Rumil focussed all his being on the man. He knew the other ellyn did likewise.
“I am on duty at the main gate,” the man said, “and I think that I saw the man in the picture leave the city a little after mid-day.”
“Riding?” asked Aragorn. “Did he have a young female with him?”
The captain looked as if he would speak, but a glance from his king and he remained silent.
“Riding, your majesty, but he had no young woman with him – only his son.”
“I said that he must be mistaken, then, about it being the man we seek,” the captain said.
Aragorn simply looked at him and he said no more.
“His son?” Aragorn asked.
“The lad had drunk too much last night, the man said, your majesty. Drunk too much and been in a fight. His father said he was taking him home to recover, and to a certain scolding from his mother. But he looked like the man in the drawing.”
‘Tindómë, meleth-nín, it must have been Tindómë,’ Rumil wanted to shout, ‘but why does he think she is a boy?’
“How do you know it was a lad?” Aragorn asked. “Could you see his face?”
“He was wrapped in a cloak, your majesty, and it hung over his face where he rested against his father. To keep the sun from his eyes, I would think, if had drunk too much and also been fighting. But he was quite a tall young man and his boots and leggings were visible. And, of course, he rode astride ahead of his father.”
The eyes of all the ellyn were studying the speaker so closely it was amazing that he did not seem to feel them.
“Were the young man’s boots and leggings like those of Lord Orophin?” Aragorn asked. His voice betrayed no emotion; it could well be seen he had been raised by elves.
Orophin stepped forward, but said nothing.
“Why yes, your majesty,” the witness replied, “I noted they were an unusual shape – just like his lordship is wearing.”
The man paused and then his face paled. “You mean that was the young lady elf? I… it didn’t occur to me the man wasn’t telling the truth… if I had realised we would have stopped him.”
‘Huitho!’ Rumil thought, ‘how could he think Tindómë was a mortal male?’
He answered his own question; it never occurs to them that a female might not be wearing a dress…
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The man had taken the road south – it would take him to the river port.
Erchirion sent a swift rider ahead to his own ship, not only for it to be readied to sail, but also to find out from his own sailors which vessels, if any, had sailed in the past few hours.
“But,” he said, “if, as it seems, the man is from Umbar, then his vessel will not be slow moving. Even if it looks like a lumbering merchantman on the surface it will have sleek lines below the water. I do not think our ship will easily catch it if it has three or four hours start.”
“We will ride to the dockside anyway,” Estel said, “so that we will know from your men which vessel we are chasing, if it seems that he has taken to the river. Then we will ride along the river bank.”
Rumil would know which ship anyway, but only if the little warrior was conscious…
“Are you, then, coming yourself, Aragorn?” Faramir asked.
Good question. Would Estel get away without at least twenty of the citadel guards? No chance to approach swiftly and unseen with a whole party.
“I am very capable of riding swiftly, following tracks if necessary, and moving silently,” Estel answered.
“None better, my Lord King,” Faramir agreed, swiftly.
Estel raised an eyebrow and looked at Faramir; so like his foster-father that Elrohir felt an urge to laugh.
“I do not need to be reminded of my kingship,” he said.
“I did not mean… Well, perhaps I did,” Faramir admitted, with a rather rueful expression.
Elrohir did not want to be seen to counsel Estel, and yet… He called quietly to his mind instead.
“Estel, muindor-nín, much though I would want you with us, I think your heart speaks before your head. It is already agreed that Faramir is to ride with us and we may be some days if the man has, indeed, taken her down the river in a fast vessel.
“You need to be here for the naming ceremony and the mid-summer feast. We would be here too, but all can go on without us – it cannot without you.
“We will have two princes of Gondor in Faramir and Erchirion. Better that the King remains here.”
There was a slight mental sigh and then Estel turned and spoke aloud.
“You would be right to remind me of my kingship, Faramir, my friend. My wife and the city both need me here and I could do nothing that you cannot. My heart goes with you all, though.”
Like a flock of starlings, that lifts from its roost as one and wheels away without apparent signal, the ellyn were moving towards the door. Accompanied by one dwarf. No-one even tried to suggest that they might move more swiftly if no horse bore two riders. Legolas still rode Arod, gifted him by Éomer; the horse had borne Gimli into battle, he would doubtless bear him in this pursuit.
If needs be his own mount, or Elladan’s Mórril, would easily carry a pillion.
Spare horses! They would need spare horses!
By now they were in sight of the stables. Éowyn and her two Riders stood in the midst of at least a score of horses, including the mounts of all the elves with their light tack already in place.
“Erkenbrand has given us a string of spare horses,” she explained.
Well, if he did not have an elven-bred spare mount a Rohirric one would be just as good, Elrohir thought, as he swung up onto his own horse.
Erkenbrand himself was there, along with Lady Wilflede.
“You ride with the blessings of our house,” she said formally, and traditionally, then added “Bring the young lady home swiftly.”
All the ellyn, Elrohir noticed, silent until now, with minds totally focussed on the task in hand, took time to place hands to hearts and acknowledge the Horse Lord and his Lady.
A few words passed between Legolas and Faramir before the party wheeled as one, to ride down the circles of Minas Tirith to the great gate, with the two of them together at the front.
Elladan was almost directly behind them and, as they rode, his brother heard his mental voice “Legolas takes command. Faramir has acknowledged it.”
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She was awake; at least she was pretty sure she was awake. She did a mental inventory; all limbs were pain free but her head ached. She had a feeling that she needed to keep her eyes closed. She tried to remember why.
Slowly it came back… the ‘dung beetle’ …he had walked straight into her just inside the door to the stables on the sixth circle. She remembered his eyes had suddenly lit up and, before she could do anything, he had grabbed her. She really couldn’t remember much after that… except… she vaguely remembered being on a horse… and now… she thought she might be on a bed. On a bed with her wrists bound together…
Huitho! It must be Tuesday!
Why would he take her? As a hostage, she realised. He must have known the game was up before he got to the stables and realised that he had walked into a perfect bargaining tool! Huitho! Huitho! Huitho!
But where was she?
Eyes still closed in case someone was watching her, she tried to work it out. There was a sense of movement, and a creaking noise – as she had first become aware of her surroundings she had thought of a talan in a strong wind – except it was never that windy in Lothlorien.
But if it wasn’t a talan why had she thought that? Ah – the sound was creaking wood! The bed seemed to be rocking. It couldn’t be Lomion’s house in Minas Tirith… maybe a coach?
She ventured a peek between her lashes – it seemed to be a bedroom.
It ought to make sense. She stopped thinking in circles and made herself think logically. Creaking, swaying, faint voices in the distance… and the guy was a corsair, Rumil had said so. A boat! She must be in a boat!
She’d never been in anything bigger than a row-boat before, but for this to be a boat made sense.
She chanced opening her eyes a little more. Yep – she hadn’t seen ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ before the movie theater in Sunnydale closed down but she’d seen the previews, and ‘Muppet Treasure Island’ more than once, and this certainly looked about right for a sailing vessel. There was no-one in line of sight – she was probably locked in a cabin.
M’kay, she thought a bit more. Her hands were tied together, but in front not behind, and not her feet. No gag. Either they are very stupid, they seriously underestimated her, or they knew she couldn’t do anything much.
So, she thought, what gives me an advantage? What do I know that they don’t?
One; Rumil will rescue me. Well, him and Orophin, Legolas and Galanthir, and the Els. They may not rescue me in the next few minutes or hours, but nothing will stop them until they have me back.
Two; Rumil will know where I am when he gets near, as long as I am conscious and annoyed enough! That shouldn’t be too difficult for me…
Three; I can so kick ass. I’ve been taught by Slayers, vampires, and Elven warriors.
And Four; I still have my boots on. Which means that I still have a knife in the sheath in my boot…
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Odd bits of Sindarin.
Tengwar - the elvish alphabet
Tithen Maethor - Little Warrior - Tindómë's nickname, given her by the twins.
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The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
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