Brotherhood Chapter Twenty Seven.
5 Nov 2009 06:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatThe hunt is on...
Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-seven.
Rating 15
4,460 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Chapter Twenty-seven
They began to canter as soon as they were away from the confines of the city but the way was too busy to safely move at a full gallop.
Éowyn was slightly taken aback that Legolas had taken command; she had simply assumed that Faramir would. Yet it was, predominantly, an Elven party even though she rode between Rohirrim warriors as she had done in the past. If she had thought about the party being led by an elf she would have expected it to be one of Aragorn’s foster-brothers... even though Legolas was the leader of the elves who were helping renew Ithilien, and the son of an Elven king… even though he was renowned as a great bowman.
It occurred to her that she had not witnessed elves in battle; she had been told they were fierce fighters, not only as bowmen but also at close quarters; she had been told about the recent encounter between four of these very elves and forty-three orcs – but somehow she had never visualised them as anything other than beautiful and charming.
Now, from her place between Egric and Ceolfrith, she considered the immortal members of the party and realised that she could visualise them as warriors very well.
Legolas was indefinably different from the pleasant companion she thought she knew and, somehow, more ‘other’. He did look as if he should, naturally, take command of the expedition as he rode, stern faced and silent, at the head of the party, his bow, quiver, and long handled knives all on his back. Galanthir too, similarly equipped, rode silently; almost a stranger compared with the elf she had seen on her visits to the Elven settlement or alongside Legolas on this trip to Minas Tirith.
Aragorn’s foster brothers looked as if they had never smiled in their lives; their faces stern, their eyes fixed to the front, as much one with their beautiful black horses as any Rider. They, too, carried bows and full quivers; she remembered the other elves had said at lunch, only days before, that the twins were ‘not bowmen’ but those were serious bows. She had never seen them before with swords at their sides either; they wore them as naturally as they did their clothes.
The two Galadhrim warriors, though, had always seemed remote; both when she had seen them in the distance at Dunharrow and during these past few days – even though Tindómë, also from Lorien and so clearly close to both of them, had laughed and giggled when she had been out with Éowyn. Now Orophin and Rumil were as remote, as cold, as the icy tops of the Misty Mountains.
They looked at no-one, nor had they since she had entered the council room, and she had heard no more than two or three words from either since Orophin’s insistence that, no matter what might happen to Tindómë, she would get any comfort she needed from Rumil or from Orophin himself. Hard to believe, looking at them, that anyone would ever find any comfort with them.
Éowyn had been told that the Galadhrim warriors who fought at Helm’s Deep had been intimidating; now she could understand just how intimidating that must have been. She could no more have approached the two brothers than she could have a pack of wargs – never, ever, would she want to be on the wrong side of these two. They were the very ‘grey shadow spirits’ of her childhood nightmares – and looked easily capable of stealing children…
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As they rode Elrohir found his thoughts turning back through hundreds of years, to that frantic ride in search of his mother, even though he kept trying to tell himself there was no similarity. Celebrian had been taken captive by orcs not a man. She had not been a hostage, she had been a… plaything… an object of hatred… a victim… this was not the same. Tindómë would be whole, she would not have been tortured, degraded… she would be whole…
He felt the mental touch of his brother. “It is not the same, you know…”
“I know… but… I do not want to see the little warrior’s spirit broken… she is so young.”
“She is strong, and they are men not orcs. They have taken her for a hostage; it is not the same. And we will reach her quickly – not as it was with Naneth. But if it does bring thoughts of Naneth, think of this as a time when we will succeed in keeping her whole – in honour of Naneth…”
Yes, they had saved the two young Rohirric women from suffering as horribly as Naneth had, and now they would return Tindómë to her family safely. To Rumil, Orophin, Legolas, and to themselves; to Grandmother and Grandfather, who cared about her too. This time they would not be too late…
He turned his mind from thoughts of his mother and considered how, should they need to, they might board a boat.
It took little time to reach the outskirts of the port of Harlond. Legolas called a halt without going through the gates into the town.
“Erchirion will ride to his own ship with his men. Faramir will accompany him. We will wait here with the horses. If his sailors give us news that the man has taken Tindómë onto a vessel, or that a likely vessel has sailed, Erchirion will pursue them on the water; his sailors will be needed when we take control of the vessel. Faramir will return to us with the horses, and a description of any likely vessel, although,” his eyes flicked briefly to where Rumil sat on Hirilmith, “it is likely that we could manage without such a description if we have to.”
Faramir, Erchirion, and his men rode away; the rest of the party waited.
Rumil sat motionless. Orophin had stopped so close to his brother that their legs touched, and he could be seen speaking softly – he would be translating the gist of Legolas’ instructions into Sindarin – Rumil would not be able to concentrate on the language that he spoke only with much thought. He would be centred on what he would do to the man who had taken the little warrior, and on that part of him where he felt her emotions, at times, so that he did not miss even the faintest hint of her.
Elladan was talking quietly to the Rohirrim Riders and Éowyn; Gimli had dismounted and was walking around ‘to stretch his legs’. Elrohir knew that, when the dwarf had said this in the past, Legolas had joked that if he stretched them sufficiently he would find riding a pleasure – but not today. Today Legolas sat as still as Rumil, looking into the distance, waiting. Elrohir did likewise.
After a while Faramir returned, leading the string of horses – clearly Erchirion had stayed on his own vessel. By the time he reached them everyone was poised, ready to listen and then respond.
“Erchirion’s men are setting sail. There were two vessels that have departed in the past few hours that were capable of sea travel but, by the will of the Valar, we know which vessel to pursue and have confirmation that the man has taken Tindómë aboard.”
Legolas simply nodded and waited for Faramir to continue.
“One of my cousin’s crew was standing at the dockside, in conversation, when he noticed a man on horseback approach a vessel and call out to those on board. He saw the rider hand down, to the sailors who responded, what looked like a young man barely conscious and wrapped in a cloak. They took the figure on board and below decks.
“Erchirion’s crewman noted the vessel particularly because the day is too hot to normally be so wrapped. He thought the young man may be ill; that the wrappings were to hide a rash, or feverish colour, and he returned to warn his captain and crewmates to avoid the vessel, just in case. Only it set sail quickly after that. He has something like a four hour head-start.”
“I have,” Faramir finished, “arranged for a message to be taken to the King so that the patrols in all other directions can be informed that the kidnapper did, indeed, come to the dock and take ship. They do not need to continue searching.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Legolas answered. “Once you have described the ship we seek we will ride. It took us two days and more to sail up the river in the corsair ships, with a good wind at our backs. Did Erchirion give any idea how long he thought it would take this man’s ship to sail down?”
“There is no help from the wind – it is likely to be a slight head-wind, he says, but the current is with them, and they had some oar-ports but not all that many – it did not seem to have a full crew of rowers. Not at all unlike Erchirion’s own vessel, in fact,” Faramir said, paused briefly, and then continued, “and so it is likely to take at least two days for them to reach the sea, possibly a little more.”
“We will ride hard,” Legolas said, “but there will be places where the road must detour from the river, we may not catch up today. If we do not draw level until morning we will ride ahead and wait until evening before attacking.”
Éowyn looked as if she was about to question this but Faramir nodded in agreement and she said nothing.
Soon the party was moving quickly towards the river bank, where they could see Erchirion’s ship moving out into the middle of the river.
Elrohir hoped that they would catch up with Lomion’s ship well before it reached the sea – he had no real fear of sea-longing for himself, or even for Elladan, but it would be very hard for Legolas to be so close to the taste of salt in the air again.
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‘Someone is bound to come in soon,’ Tindómë thought, ‘even if it’s only to make sure I’m still alive… No point in doing anything to show my hand, though, not until I can figure out what sort of ship it is and how far down river we are.
‘Probably best to wait until I know Rumil is near. The Els are bound to be with him – they might even get close enough for me to know what they are doing. Hmm – I really should have asked them, before, how close they need to be to talk in my head. Bummer.’
She was right; someone did come eventually. Lord Lomion himself opened the door and looked in.
“Ah, you are awake,” he said.
‘Well duh! Top marks for observation!’ Tindómë thought, but decided it was best to say nothing.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.
“Uh – how would I eat?” She nodded to her bound hands. “And what have you done to me? Why am I here? Where is here? I don’t understand…”
‘Or,’ she added mentally, ‘I don’t want you to think I understand…’
“You are on board my ship,” the man said. “I decided that you should accompany me to prevent your kinsman, or his friend the King of Gondor, trying to stop me leaving and returning to my own home.”
‘Bad move, stupid man,’ Tindómë thought.
“But why would they stop you going to Dol Amroth?” she asked, as innocently as she could.
“They seem to have taken a dislike to me,” he answered, “but I am not a cruel man – you have done me no harm – would you like something to eat and drink?”
‘Not going to get much more just yet, then,’ she thought.
“Yes, please,” she answered him.
He returned quite quickly with a pewter mug of water and a plate with bread and cheese on it. He locked the door behind him, and then untied her hands.
“There is no purpose in you trying to escape – my crew would see you, and you would not be able to leave the ship – especially as we are in mid-stream.”
Tindómë flexed her hands a little, and picked up the mug, gratefully.
“Thank you. But I still don’t understand. Why would Legolas or King Elessar try to stop you leaving the city? Why have you taken me hostage? What are you going to do with me?”
‘Are you going to come over all Evil Overlord and tell me everything because you have to be able to boast to someone?’ she added to herself.
‘Yes!’ she mentally whooped as he sat down opposite her and began to talk.
“I am afraid I was not totally truthful about my origins when I was in Minas Tirith,” he began, “and the king realised this. I fear that he may have arrested me as a spy, had he caught up with me, as I am not one of his subjects but serve a different overlord.”
“But, who else could you serve?” Tindómë asked, between mouthfuls of bread. “You don’t look like one of the Rohirrim… and Éomer King wouldn’t need to send spies…”
Lord Lomion smiled at her. Not the nicest of smiles, she thought.
“You really don’t know much about the world of men do you?” he asked.
Tindómë decided it was probably a rhetorical question but answered it anyway. “I have seen very little of Middle Earth outside Lorien.” Which was totally true.
“Well, I come from a land called Umbar, we are mainly sailors and traders,” the man said.
Tindómë looked at him wide-eyed, saying nothing.
“Your kinsman, the new king, and those other elves too I believe, killed my kinsmen and stole their ships to use in the recent war.”
“Oh! I don’t think they would have stolen anything…” she did her very best to look innocent and surprised.
“Ah, my dear young lady, you are too trusting. They boarded our ships and killed everyone they could find. The so-called King of Gondor killed my own brother – my brother’s friend escaped and told me.”
Tindómë wasn’t sure what the best answer to this was, so she took a leaf from the elves book and said nothing, but took a sip of her water.
“I would like to avenge my brother,” Lomion said, “but I have had to leave Minas Tirith before I had the chance. However, I do have you.”
‘Uh-uh, that doesn’t sound too good,’ Tindómë thought.
“But, but, I didn’t have anything to do with killing your brother…” she said, trying to sound even more worried than she actually was.
“No,” he agreed with that not-very-nice smile, “but you seem to mean quite a lot to some of the people who were there…”
“What… what are you going to do with me?” she asked, adding “Hold me to ransom?” as she recalled some of the stories she had read about pirates.
Although, rather worryingly, she thought, walking the plank seemed to have figured in more of them.
“I have plans for you, young lady,” he said.
She tried to look as small and young and worried as possible – in films and TV shows that seemed to get the villain to tell you everything pretty often…
“They would pay well…” she said, prompting, when he didn’t say any more.
“I’m sure they would,” he agreed, “although I have briefly considered simply throwing you overboard once we are out at sea.”
“Oh, please, no!” She tried to sound as horrified as possible. Elven lack of emotion was so not the way to go with this guy, she reckoned; he seemed to kinda like the sense of power.
“I can’t swim!” she added, totally untruthfully, because, hey! Californian girl here. “I’ve spent all my life in the woods far away from water.”
‘Well, apart from the bathing pools the size and depth of swimming pools, that is… since I left the place with the actual swimming pools,’ she thought.
“Be assured, I have other plans for you, you are totally safe on board my ship,” he said, but it didn’t come over as all that reassuring.
“What… what are you going to do with me?” she asked again.
Aragorn would find any information useful, once the elves rescued her, she reckoned.
The expression on Lomion’s face was not pleasant – there was a cruel streak there, Tindómë thought.
“Be reassured,” he said, “you will come to no harm as long as you remain here and behave yourself – it is in my best interest, as well as yours, to be able to turn you over to my Lord without a blemish. I think my suggestion for what to do with you will meet his approval and increase my standing with him, even though King Elessar still reigns.”
“He will ask for a ransom for me?” Tindómë prompted again.
“Oh no – I will suggest that he uses you to increase his standing with his allies – your kinship to ‘Prince’ Legolas and the King’s adopted family will greatly please all involved!”
He sat back in his chair, steepled his hands, and looked at her through narrowed eyes.
“My Lord has also only taken power since the War – his own brother was our leader and he, too was killed. He has had to build new alliances with other new lords also but recently come to power; he has to prove that he is as least as powerful as his brother was.”
He paused and then seemed to change the subject.
“There are many rumours and beliefs surrounding your people, you know.”
‘Like we steal children?’ Tindómë thought and then distracted herself by realising she had just thought of the elves as ‘we’.
“And,” he continued, “it really doesn’t matter whether they are true or not, as long as they are believed.”
“Which stories?” she asked.
“Ah – well, I will explain – it will give you something to look forward to.”
He didn’t sound as if he really thought she would be looking forward with anticipation, at least not pleasant anticipation, more ‘visit to the dentist’ than ‘birthday party’.
“I have heard something that I am sure would make you very valuable to a Haradrim Warlord – who could easily be persuaded of the truth of it. I have heard that taking the maidenhead of a she-elf will make a man immortal…”
‘Huitho!’ Tindómë thought, her emotions a sudden jumble.
She so must tell the ellyn this one as soon as they rescued her!
She was almost inclined to laugh and repeat Elrohir’s comment of a few nights before that any Haradrim Warlord would be ‘a month or two too late’, but this was not the ‘correct’ response and this was really just another round of ‘behave as they expect’. She covered her face with her hands, and managed to squeeze a few tears out, before speaking in a frightened voice.
“No, oh no! I am almost betrothed! And it surely can’t be true!”
“It probably isn’t. I have no desire to try for myself, and I think my own lord would think it purely a myth too – but the Haradrim are more superstitious. And I am sure you will be very happy in a Haradrim harem – at least until it would appear, as I think likely, that the Warlord is ageing after all…”
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Hirilmith moved easily, beside the Rohirric horse Rumil rode, at a pace that alternated between a canter and a gallop; she needed no leading rein. The bay gelding he rode needed little guidance – he had time to think. To think about time.
It was maybe eight hours since he had seen Tindómë ride towards the gate of Minas Tirith, six or more since he had known that she was missing; they had ridden for three hours, or a little more, since the gates of Harlond and the sun was beginning to set.
It felt as if it was half a yén since they had lain together under the apple trees.
Time was sometimes a difficult thing to come to grips with – he wondered if it moved so erratically, with such an ebb and flow, for mortals or whether it always hurried past them. Perhaps it always moved slowly for them so that their finite lives felt longer to them?
They rode on. Now the road they followed left the river bank and passed through trees; the darkening, pink streaked, sky, and the dappling of leaves soothed him. It would be a good place to rest for a while – but it was too soon. He expected that they would have to stay in a mortal settlement as Faramir, Éowyn and the two Rohirrim Riders accompanied them.
A little time later, however, Legolas signalled a halt as they began to approach the other end of the wooded area. He, too, must want the comfort of the trees, Rumil thought.
“We will eat,” Legolas spoke in the Common Tongue, “and take care of bodily functions.”
“Aye, and stretch our legs,” Gimli added.
Rumil couldn’t think what Gimli might do to make his, all-too-short, legs longer in the time they would rest. Elladan must have seen the puzzlement cross his face, he came and stood beside Rumil and explained.
The sky was black, the moon risen, when they remounted. They would ride for a few hours more before resting for the night. There were villages along the bank of the Anduin, but they did not want to stop for a full, mortals’, night’s rest, and so they would not go into one but lie under the stars.
Faramir looked at Éowyn as Legolas said that. She smiled at him happily. She was a sensible woman, Rumil thought, he could not imagine some of the women he had seen in the court of Minas Tirith smiling at the idea of a night spent sleeping on the ground.
“We can sleep on horseback if we need to,” she said, nodding at her two Rohirrim companions.
“Do,” said Legolas, “if you become tired before we halt.”
Faramir smiled at Legolas, and nodded, as he swung back into his own saddle.
They rode on.
The moonlight glinted on the river where some boats continued to move and others, mainly smaller, had come in beside the bank and tied up to allow their crew to sleep. None of them looked like the vessel they were pursuing and so Rumil was not worried that he felt nothing of Tindómë. He was not worried. He told himself so regularly.
They passed through small villages causing the occasional dog to bark and even, at one, a man with a pike to stand out and ask who they were. Faramir greeted the man by name but they did not stop.
The moon was past its zenith, Eärendil had passed over them and could no longer be seen, there was a small copse just off the road – Legolas waved them towards it to make camp.
Rumil wanted to ride on. He wanted to find the ship, to find the man, to kill the man. He wanted it as quickly as possible. He wanted it now, not later, not tomorrow. He wanted to feel Tindómë’s fëa sing with his; a song of joy and pleasure, but right now he would settle for feeling her anger. He did not know how he would cope if he felt her pain.
But it was sensible to rest – Faramir had both ridden and sailed down the Anduin many times, and did not think they would be in a position to capture the ship before dawn, and the men needed more rest than the elves. He schooled himself to accept the decision, dismounted, and saw to his horses.
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Éowyn, who had been dozing for some miles, dismounted but Egric told her he would see to the care of the horses. She hoped, as the only female, she was not expected to cook anything; camp fire cookery was not one of her greatest talents. The food in the saddle bags would be fine cold, and the night was warm enough…
Then, as she looked around for somewhere to spread both her blanket and Faramir’s, she saw that one of Aragorn’s foster-brothers had already made a small fire and was cooking something. She took the blankets near the fire and laid them down, glad that the elves did not seem to think cooking was ‘woman’s work’.
Soon she was eating something warm and tasty, leaning against Faramir, and thinking that it was really a pleasant way to spend the night. Until, that is, she looked at a spot further away from the fire and was reminded, almost painfully, why she was here.
Rumil sat with his back to a tree, his face blank. He wasn’t looking at anyone; nor was he taking part in the sporadic conversation around the fire. His brother had taken him a bowl of food and he ate without looking at his food or with any sign that he tasted what he ate. Orophin sat close beside him and seemed to be speaking quietly to him. Legolas went over briefly – he was sorting out watches – and brought back the two empty bowls.
“Sleep while you can,” Gimli’s voice broke into her worries about the elf. “The lad will sleep if he thinks no-one is looking at him.”
“Sorry?” Éowyn said. Was tiredness befuddling her brain?
“I rode with these lads before,” Gimli said, who had prepared himself for rest by the simple expedient of removing his helm and putting his axe down. “He will show nothing he thinks of as weakness in front of us – they’re all the same,” he nodded towards the twins and Legolas who doubtless heard him, but didn’t comment, “and the ones who serve Her Ladyship are even more stubborn than the rest.”
He lay down and turned his back on the two Galadhrim.
Faramir told Egric and Ceolfrith to sleep, the elves would see to the watches until the morning, and then pulled Éowyn down onto the blankets, also with her back to the brothers.
Drowsily Éowyn thought that it was nice to go to sleep listening to Faramir’s steady breath and heartbeat – and then thought of Tindómë – the young girl might not be married but surely, in these surroundings, she would sleep near to the elf who was, clearly, her ‘intended’. Éowyn’s last waking thought was that she hoped the two would be reunited safely.
The ground is not the softest bed. Maybe a couple of hours after she had fallen asleep Éowyn awoke and realised she had rolled away from her husband. In the light of the embers, and the setting moon, she saw Rumil lying with his head on his brother’s lap, his hands together on his chest, whilst Orophin gently stroked his hair.
When she next woke the sun was rising, horses were being saddled, and Gimli was taking up his axe. The two Galadhrim warriors were already prepared to leave, taut as bowstrings, no sign of the gentle care accidentally observed hours before.
Éowyn hastened to get through the functions necessary upon rising. Minutes later she was on her horse and ready to ride. There was no need for any word of command; the second the last rider was mounted they set off together, like a flock of birds taking flight, and the hot trod was once more under way.
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Word of explanation - the Rohirrim used the term 'Hot trod' back in chapter six - it is actually a Northumbrian term from the days of the Border Reivers, and is the legal, fast and furious, pursuit of reivers across the border to recover stolen property, or hostages.
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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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Hmm - the fireworks are about to start, both here and in Gondor...!
Previous chapters are Here.
Chapter Twenty-seven.
Rating 15
4,460 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
They began to canter as soon as they were away from the confines of the city but the way was too busy to safely move at a full gallop.
Éowyn was slightly taken aback that Legolas had taken command; she had simply assumed that Faramir would. Yet it was, predominantly, an Elven party even though she rode between Rohirrim warriors as she had done in the past. If she had thought about the party being led by an elf she would have expected it to be one of Aragorn’s foster-brothers... even though Legolas was the leader of the elves who were helping renew Ithilien, and the son of an Elven king… even though he was renowned as a great bowman.
It occurred to her that she had not witnessed elves in battle; she had been told they were fierce fighters, not only as bowmen but also at close quarters; she had been told about the recent encounter between four of these very elves and forty-three orcs – but somehow she had never visualised them as anything other than beautiful and charming.
Now, from her place between Egric and Ceolfrith, she considered the immortal members of the party and realised that she could visualise them as warriors very well.
Legolas was indefinably different from the pleasant companion she thought she knew and, somehow, more ‘other’. He did look as if he should, naturally, take command of the expedition as he rode, stern faced and silent, at the head of the party, his bow, quiver, and long handled knives all on his back. Galanthir too, similarly equipped, rode silently; almost a stranger compared with the elf she had seen on her visits to the Elven settlement or alongside Legolas on this trip to Minas Tirith.
Aragorn’s foster brothers looked as if they had never smiled in their lives; their faces stern, their eyes fixed to the front, as much one with their beautiful black horses as any Rider. They, too, carried bows and full quivers; she remembered the other elves had said at lunch, only days before, that the twins were ‘not bowmen’ but those were serious bows. She had never seen them before with swords at their sides either; they wore them as naturally as they did their clothes.
The two Galadhrim warriors, though, had always seemed remote; both when she had seen them in the distance at Dunharrow and during these past few days – even though Tindómë, also from Lorien and so clearly close to both of them, had laughed and giggled when she had been out with Éowyn. Now Orophin and Rumil were as remote, as cold, as the icy tops of the Misty Mountains.
They looked at no-one, nor had they since she had entered the council room, and she had heard no more than two or three words from either since Orophin’s insistence that, no matter what might happen to Tindómë, she would get any comfort she needed from Rumil or from Orophin himself. Hard to believe, looking at them, that anyone would ever find any comfort with them.
Éowyn had been told that the Galadhrim warriors who fought at Helm’s Deep had been intimidating; now she could understand just how intimidating that must have been. She could no more have approached the two brothers than she could have a pack of wargs – never, ever, would she want to be on the wrong side of these two. They were the very ‘grey shadow spirits’ of her childhood nightmares – and looked easily capable of stealing children…
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As they rode Elrohir found his thoughts turning back through hundreds of years, to that frantic ride in search of his mother, even though he kept trying to tell himself there was no similarity. Celebrian had been taken captive by orcs not a man. She had not been a hostage, she had been a… plaything… an object of hatred… a victim… this was not the same. Tindómë would be whole, she would not have been tortured, degraded… she would be whole…
He felt the mental touch of his brother. “It is not the same, you know…”
“I know… but… I do not want to see the little warrior’s spirit broken… she is so young.”
“She is strong, and they are men not orcs. They have taken her for a hostage; it is not the same. And we will reach her quickly – not as it was with Naneth. But if it does bring thoughts of Naneth, think of this as a time when we will succeed in keeping her whole – in honour of Naneth…”
Yes, they had saved the two young Rohirric women from suffering as horribly as Naneth had, and now they would return Tindómë to her family safely. To Rumil, Orophin, Legolas, and to themselves; to Grandmother and Grandfather, who cared about her too. This time they would not be too late…
He turned his mind from thoughts of his mother and considered how, should they need to, they might board a boat.
It took little time to reach the outskirts of the port of Harlond. Legolas called a halt without going through the gates into the town.
“Erchirion will ride to his own ship with his men. Faramir will accompany him. We will wait here with the horses. If his sailors give us news that the man has taken Tindómë onto a vessel, or that a likely vessel has sailed, Erchirion will pursue them on the water; his sailors will be needed when we take control of the vessel. Faramir will return to us with the horses, and a description of any likely vessel, although,” his eyes flicked briefly to where Rumil sat on Hirilmith, “it is likely that we could manage without such a description if we have to.”
Faramir, Erchirion, and his men rode away; the rest of the party waited.
Rumil sat motionless. Orophin had stopped so close to his brother that their legs touched, and he could be seen speaking softly – he would be translating the gist of Legolas’ instructions into Sindarin – Rumil would not be able to concentrate on the language that he spoke only with much thought. He would be centred on what he would do to the man who had taken the little warrior, and on that part of him where he felt her emotions, at times, so that he did not miss even the faintest hint of her.
Elladan was talking quietly to the Rohirrim Riders and Éowyn; Gimli had dismounted and was walking around ‘to stretch his legs’. Elrohir knew that, when the dwarf had said this in the past, Legolas had joked that if he stretched them sufficiently he would find riding a pleasure – but not today. Today Legolas sat as still as Rumil, looking into the distance, waiting. Elrohir did likewise.
After a while Faramir returned, leading the string of horses – clearly Erchirion had stayed on his own vessel. By the time he reached them everyone was poised, ready to listen and then respond.
“Erchirion’s men are setting sail. There were two vessels that have departed in the past few hours that were capable of sea travel but, by the will of the Valar, we know which vessel to pursue and have confirmation that the man has taken Tindómë aboard.”
Legolas simply nodded and waited for Faramir to continue.
“One of my cousin’s crew was standing at the dockside, in conversation, when he noticed a man on horseback approach a vessel and call out to those on board. He saw the rider hand down, to the sailors who responded, what looked like a young man barely conscious and wrapped in a cloak. They took the figure on board and below decks.
“Erchirion’s crewman noted the vessel particularly because the day is too hot to normally be so wrapped. He thought the young man may be ill; that the wrappings were to hide a rash, or feverish colour, and he returned to warn his captain and crewmates to avoid the vessel, just in case. Only it set sail quickly after that. He has something like a four hour head-start.”
“I have,” Faramir finished, “arranged for a message to be taken to the King so that the patrols in all other directions can be informed that the kidnapper did, indeed, come to the dock and take ship. They do not need to continue searching.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Legolas answered. “Once you have described the ship we seek we will ride. It took us two days and more to sail up the river in the corsair ships, with a good wind at our backs. Did Erchirion give any idea how long he thought it would take this man’s ship to sail down?”
“There is no help from the wind – it is likely to be a slight head-wind, he says, but the current is with them, and they had some oar-ports but not all that many – it did not seem to have a full crew of rowers. Not at all unlike Erchirion’s own vessel, in fact,” Faramir said, paused briefly, and then continued, “and so it is likely to take at least two days for them to reach the sea, possibly a little more.”
“We will ride hard,” Legolas said, “but there will be places where the road must detour from the river, we may not catch up today. If we do not draw level until morning we will ride ahead and wait until evening before attacking.”
Éowyn looked as if she was about to question this but Faramir nodded in agreement and she said nothing.
Soon the party was moving quickly towards the river bank, where they could see Erchirion’s ship moving out into the middle of the river.
Elrohir hoped that they would catch up with Lomion’s ship well before it reached the sea – he had no real fear of sea-longing for himself, or even for Elladan, but it would be very hard for Legolas to be so close to the taste of salt in the air again.
……………………………………………………………..
‘Someone is bound to come in soon,’ Tindómë thought, ‘even if it’s only to make sure I’m still alive… No point in doing anything to show my hand, though, not until I can figure out what sort of ship it is and how far down river we are.
‘Probably best to wait until I know Rumil is near. The Els are bound to be with him – they might even get close enough for me to know what they are doing. Hmm – I really should have asked them, before, how close they need to be to talk in my head. Bummer.’
She was right; someone did come eventually. Lord Lomion himself opened the door and looked in.
“Ah, you are awake,” he said.
‘Well duh! Top marks for observation!’ Tindómë thought, but decided it was best to say nothing.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.
“Uh – how would I eat?” She nodded to her bound hands. “And what have you done to me? Why am I here? Where is here? I don’t understand…”
‘Or,’ she added mentally, ‘I don’t want you to think I understand…’
“You are on board my ship,” the man said. “I decided that you should accompany me to prevent your kinsman, or his friend the King of Gondor, trying to stop me leaving and returning to my own home.”
‘Bad move, stupid man,’ Tindómë thought.
“But why would they stop you going to Dol Amroth?” she asked, as innocently as she could.
“They seem to have taken a dislike to me,” he answered, “but I am not a cruel man – you have done me no harm – would you like something to eat and drink?”
‘Not going to get much more just yet, then,’ she thought.
“Yes, please,” she answered him.
He returned quite quickly with a pewter mug of water and a plate with bread and cheese on it. He locked the door behind him, and then untied her hands.
“There is no purpose in you trying to escape – my crew would see you, and you would not be able to leave the ship – especially as we are in mid-stream.”
Tindómë flexed her hands a little, and picked up the mug, gratefully.
“Thank you. But I still don’t understand. Why would Legolas or King Elessar try to stop you leaving the city? Why have you taken me hostage? What are you going to do with me?”
‘Are you going to come over all Evil Overlord and tell me everything because you have to be able to boast to someone?’ she added to herself.
‘Yes!’ she mentally whooped as he sat down opposite her and began to talk.
“I am afraid I was not totally truthful about my origins when I was in Minas Tirith,” he began, “and the king realised this. I fear that he may have arrested me as a spy, had he caught up with me, as I am not one of his subjects but serve a different overlord.”
“But, who else could you serve?” Tindómë asked, between mouthfuls of bread. “You don’t look like one of the Rohirrim… and Éomer King wouldn’t need to send spies…”
Lord Lomion smiled at her. Not the nicest of smiles, she thought.
“You really don’t know much about the world of men do you?” he asked.
Tindómë decided it was probably a rhetorical question but answered it anyway. “I have seen very little of Middle Earth outside Lorien.” Which was totally true.
“Well, I come from a land called Umbar, we are mainly sailors and traders,” the man said.
Tindómë looked at him wide-eyed, saying nothing.
“Your kinsman, the new king, and those other elves too I believe, killed my kinsmen and stole their ships to use in the recent war.”
“Oh! I don’t think they would have stolen anything…” she did her very best to look innocent and surprised.
“Ah, my dear young lady, you are too trusting. They boarded our ships and killed everyone they could find. The so-called King of Gondor killed my own brother – my brother’s friend escaped and told me.”
Tindómë wasn’t sure what the best answer to this was, so she took a leaf from the elves book and said nothing, but took a sip of her water.
“I would like to avenge my brother,” Lomion said, “but I have had to leave Minas Tirith before I had the chance. However, I do have you.”
‘Uh-uh, that doesn’t sound too good,’ Tindómë thought.
“But, but, I didn’t have anything to do with killing your brother…” she said, trying to sound even more worried than she actually was.
“No,” he agreed with that not-very-nice smile, “but you seem to mean quite a lot to some of the people who were there…”
“What… what are you going to do with me?” she asked, adding “Hold me to ransom?” as she recalled some of the stories she had read about pirates.
Although, rather worryingly, she thought, walking the plank seemed to have figured in more of them.
“I have plans for you, young lady,” he said.
She tried to look as small and young and worried as possible – in films and TV shows that seemed to get the villain to tell you everything pretty often…
“They would pay well…” she said, prompting, when he didn’t say any more.
“I’m sure they would,” he agreed, “although I have briefly considered simply throwing you overboard once we are out at sea.”
“Oh, please, no!” She tried to sound as horrified as possible. Elven lack of emotion was so not the way to go with this guy, she reckoned; he seemed to kinda like the sense of power.
“I can’t swim!” she added, totally untruthfully, because, hey! Californian girl here. “I’ve spent all my life in the woods far away from water.”
‘Well, apart from the bathing pools the size and depth of swimming pools, that is… since I left the place with the actual swimming pools,’ she thought.
“Be assured, I have other plans for you, you are totally safe on board my ship,” he said, but it didn’t come over as all that reassuring.
“What… what are you going to do with me?” she asked again.
Aragorn would find any information useful, once the elves rescued her, she reckoned.
The expression on Lomion’s face was not pleasant – there was a cruel streak there, Tindómë thought.
“Be reassured,” he said, “you will come to no harm as long as you remain here and behave yourself – it is in my best interest, as well as yours, to be able to turn you over to my Lord without a blemish. I think my suggestion for what to do with you will meet his approval and increase my standing with him, even though King Elessar still reigns.”
“He will ask for a ransom for me?” Tindómë prompted again.
“Oh no – I will suggest that he uses you to increase his standing with his allies – your kinship to ‘Prince’ Legolas and the King’s adopted family will greatly please all involved!”
He sat back in his chair, steepled his hands, and looked at her through narrowed eyes.
“My Lord has also only taken power since the War – his own brother was our leader and he, too was killed. He has had to build new alliances with other new lords also but recently come to power; he has to prove that he is as least as powerful as his brother was.”
He paused and then seemed to change the subject.
“There are many rumours and beliefs surrounding your people, you know.”
‘Like we steal children?’ Tindómë thought and then distracted herself by realising she had just thought of the elves as ‘we’.
“And,” he continued, “it really doesn’t matter whether they are true or not, as long as they are believed.”
“Which stories?” she asked.
“Ah – well, I will explain – it will give you something to look forward to.”
He didn’t sound as if he really thought she would be looking forward with anticipation, at least not pleasant anticipation, more ‘visit to the dentist’ than ‘birthday party’.
“I have heard something that I am sure would make you very valuable to a Haradrim Warlord – who could easily be persuaded of the truth of it. I have heard that taking the maidenhead of a she-elf will make a man immortal…”
‘Huitho!’ Tindómë thought, her emotions a sudden jumble.
She so must tell the ellyn this one as soon as they rescued her!
She was almost inclined to laugh and repeat Elrohir’s comment of a few nights before that any Haradrim Warlord would be ‘a month or two too late’, but this was not the ‘correct’ response and this was really just another round of ‘behave as they expect’. She covered her face with her hands, and managed to squeeze a few tears out, before speaking in a frightened voice.
“No, oh no! I am almost betrothed! And it surely can’t be true!”
“It probably isn’t. I have no desire to try for myself, and I think my own lord would think it purely a myth too – but the Haradrim are more superstitious. And I am sure you will be very happy in a Haradrim harem – at least until it would appear, as I think likely, that the Warlord is ageing after all…”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Hirilmith moved easily, beside the Rohirric horse Rumil rode, at a pace that alternated between a canter and a gallop; she needed no leading rein. The bay gelding he rode needed little guidance – he had time to think. To think about time.
It was maybe eight hours since he had seen Tindómë ride towards the gate of Minas Tirith, six or more since he had known that she was missing; they had ridden for three hours, or a little more, since the gates of Harlond and the sun was beginning to set.
It felt as if it was half a yén since they had lain together under the apple trees.
Time was sometimes a difficult thing to come to grips with – he wondered if it moved so erratically, with such an ebb and flow, for mortals or whether it always hurried past them. Perhaps it always moved slowly for them so that their finite lives felt longer to them?
They rode on. Now the road they followed left the river bank and passed through trees; the darkening, pink streaked, sky, and the dappling of leaves soothed him. It would be a good place to rest for a while – but it was too soon. He expected that they would have to stay in a mortal settlement as Faramir, Éowyn and the two Rohirrim Riders accompanied them.
A little time later, however, Legolas signalled a halt as they began to approach the other end of the wooded area. He, too, must want the comfort of the trees, Rumil thought.
“We will eat,” Legolas spoke in the Common Tongue, “and take care of bodily functions.”
“Aye, and stretch our legs,” Gimli added.
Rumil couldn’t think what Gimli might do to make his, all-too-short, legs longer in the time they would rest. Elladan must have seen the puzzlement cross his face, he came and stood beside Rumil and explained.
The sky was black, the moon risen, when they remounted. They would ride for a few hours more before resting for the night. There were villages along the bank of the Anduin, but they did not want to stop for a full, mortals’, night’s rest, and so they would not go into one but lie under the stars.
Faramir looked at Éowyn as Legolas said that. She smiled at him happily. She was a sensible woman, Rumil thought, he could not imagine some of the women he had seen in the court of Minas Tirith smiling at the idea of a night spent sleeping on the ground.
“We can sleep on horseback if we need to,” she said, nodding at her two Rohirrim companions.
“Do,” said Legolas, “if you become tired before we halt.”
Faramir smiled at Legolas, and nodded, as he swung back into his own saddle.
They rode on.
The moonlight glinted on the river where some boats continued to move and others, mainly smaller, had come in beside the bank and tied up to allow their crew to sleep. None of them looked like the vessel they were pursuing and so Rumil was not worried that he felt nothing of Tindómë. He was not worried. He told himself so regularly.
They passed through small villages causing the occasional dog to bark and even, at one, a man with a pike to stand out and ask who they were. Faramir greeted the man by name but they did not stop.
The moon was past its zenith, Eärendil had passed over them and could no longer be seen, there was a small copse just off the road – Legolas waved them towards it to make camp.
Rumil wanted to ride on. He wanted to find the ship, to find the man, to kill the man. He wanted it as quickly as possible. He wanted it now, not later, not tomorrow. He wanted to feel Tindómë’s fëa sing with his; a song of joy and pleasure, but right now he would settle for feeling her anger. He did not know how he would cope if he felt her pain.
But it was sensible to rest – Faramir had both ridden and sailed down the Anduin many times, and did not think they would be in a position to capture the ship before dawn, and the men needed more rest than the elves. He schooled himself to accept the decision, dismounted, and saw to his horses.
…………………………………………………………………
Éowyn, who had been dozing for some miles, dismounted but Egric told her he would see to the care of the horses. She hoped, as the only female, she was not expected to cook anything; camp fire cookery was not one of her greatest talents. The food in the saddle bags would be fine cold, and the night was warm enough…
Then, as she looked around for somewhere to spread both her blanket and Faramir’s, she saw that one of Aragorn’s foster-brothers had already made a small fire and was cooking something. She took the blankets near the fire and laid them down, glad that the elves did not seem to think cooking was ‘woman’s work’.
Soon she was eating something warm and tasty, leaning against Faramir, and thinking that it was really a pleasant way to spend the night. Until, that is, she looked at a spot further away from the fire and was reminded, almost painfully, why she was here.
Rumil sat with his back to a tree, his face blank. He wasn’t looking at anyone; nor was he taking part in the sporadic conversation around the fire. His brother had taken him a bowl of food and he ate without looking at his food or with any sign that he tasted what he ate. Orophin sat close beside him and seemed to be speaking quietly to him. Legolas went over briefly – he was sorting out watches – and brought back the two empty bowls.
“Sleep while you can,” Gimli’s voice broke into her worries about the elf. “The lad will sleep if he thinks no-one is looking at him.”
“Sorry?” Éowyn said. Was tiredness befuddling her brain?
“I rode with these lads before,” Gimli said, who had prepared himself for rest by the simple expedient of removing his helm and putting his axe down. “He will show nothing he thinks of as weakness in front of us – they’re all the same,” he nodded towards the twins and Legolas who doubtless heard him, but didn’t comment, “and the ones who serve Her Ladyship are even more stubborn than the rest.”
He lay down and turned his back on the two Galadhrim.
Faramir told Egric and Ceolfrith to sleep, the elves would see to the watches until the morning, and then pulled Éowyn down onto the blankets, also with her back to the brothers.
Drowsily Éowyn thought that it was nice to go to sleep listening to Faramir’s steady breath and heartbeat – and then thought of Tindómë – the young girl might not be married but surely, in these surroundings, she would sleep near to the elf who was, clearly, her ‘intended’. Éowyn’s last waking thought was that she hoped the two would be reunited safely.
The ground is not the softest bed. Maybe a couple of hours after she had fallen asleep Éowyn awoke and realised she had rolled away from her husband. In the light of the embers, and the setting moon, she saw Rumil lying with his head on his brother’s lap, his hands together on his chest, whilst Orophin gently stroked his hair.
When she next woke the sun was rising, horses were being saddled, and Gimli was taking up his axe. The two Galadhrim warriors were already prepared to leave, taut as bowstrings, no sign of the gentle care accidentally observed hours before.
Éowyn hastened to get through the functions necessary upon rising. Minutes later she was on her horse and ready to ride. There was no need for any word of command; the second the last rider was mounted they set off together, like a flock of birds taking flight, and the hot trod was once more under way.
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Word of explanation - the Rohirrim used the term 'Hot trod' back in chapter six - it is actually a Northumbrian term from the days of the Border Reivers, and is the legal, fast and furious, pursuit of reivers across the border to recover stolen property, or hostages.
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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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Hmm - the fireworks are about to start, both here and in Gondor...!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 05/11/2009 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 09:21 pm (UTC)And, again, their beliefs about elves are somewhat skewed - it would never occur to him that an unmarried elleth might be anything other than virgo intacta.
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Date: 05/11/2009 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 10:54 pm (UTC)No harems for our girl.
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Date: 05/11/2009 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 11:20 pm (UTC)Éowyn looked as if she was about to question this
Maybe she wasn't sure, either!
I knew that Eowyn would hold her own! I'm sure the elves will find her an asset. But I'm worried about Legolas' sea longing.
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Date: 05/11/2009 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/11/2009 11:24 pm (UTC)I think I'd feel sorry for the Haradrim lord but am assuming Tindome might take her revenge slightly closer to home. Wanker! Pity he can't meet Spike actually.
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Date: 05/11/2009 11:50 pm (UTC)Of course there is then the problem of how they will get aboard, but not only Elrohir has been thinking about this...
Tindómë doesn't expect to have to wait until she gets to Harad to be rescued - but, should it get to that, I think the Haradrim Warlord would find this 'gift' to be a bit more than he could handle!
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Date: 06/11/2009 08:45 am (UTC)