Day 41, the castle, morning

The castle seemed to shine in the clear morning sun, its dark grey stones stood majestically in the cold morning breeze, leaning against the mountain slope where they came from. The weather had improved during the night though the wind was still freezing cold and sucked all warmth out of them. The horses of Éomer and his Rohirrims trudged through the fresh snow crunching under their hoofs. The village at the foot of the castle was bigger than Éomer had expected. The people they passed by stared at them, and the King ordered his men to dismount and talk to them before they entered the castle’s main gate. When he dismounted he was greeted with respect but caution. An old man glanced greedily at his horse.

“Have not seen that in quite a while,” the old man said squinting. “You come from far away, right?”

“Yes, my friend, we are riders from Rohan.”

“Riders from Rohan - quite a league away. Beyond the mountains. I’ve never been there.” His eyes narrowed even more. “What brings you here? Want to buy ore? No ore in Rohan?”

“Ore? You’ve got a mine?”

The old man sniggered, and Éomer had to conceal a smile.

“You know nothing, hey, rider from Rohan? The Lady got the biggest mine in western Gondor. Many workers bring it up. It is sold all over the land.” He shook his baldhead.“Many riches come from the ore.”

“Your village seems to prosper,” Éomer nodded.

“Now that the war is over, yes. We have a bigger forge now.”

“Did you see a man in your village? Some time ago, maybe before the winter came? He is tall and lean, has brown hair and beard, and he was clad like a Ranger – tunic and leather boots.” The man frowned, and the King quickly added, “He might have been mistaken as a… an intruder.” It felt strange to say that about the King of Gondor, but the features of the old man lightened up.

“Well, no, no, we had no intruder. We just had a poacher here some time ago. But I’m sure the Lady has thrown him off the lands by now.”

“A poacher? Tell me about him.”

The old man sneezed.

“Not much to tell. Lt. Medros and his men caught him in the woods.” He pointed westward. “He shot a deer.” He shrugged. “He was sentenced, that’s all.”

“A tall man, you say? And brown hair? A beard?”

“I cannot say. Tall he was, yes. But when they led him through that day he was hooded.”

“Hooded?” Éomer repeated with surprise. “Anything else?”

“Of course, rider from Rohan! He would not have walked this way if he was not shackled, right? And they had bound his hands to his back. Well, the hounds had gotten quite a bite out of him. Would have bitten him to death, I think. Bled all the way…”

“Hounds bit him?”

“Are you deaf? I just said that! And some of that young folk made him stumble.” Another snigger and sneezing.

“What then? What happened with him?”

The old man shrugged.

“They brought him back to the castle. The dungeons are deep and quiet. Makes them all shudder. He will truly regret his deed.”

Éomer took off his helmet.

“Did he bear anything special on him? Something you remember?”

“No… no, nothing. His clothes were shreds, I’d say.” He sniggered again. “A poacher, all right?” With a gesture of indifference, he turned and left.

Éomer exchanged the information with his riders. They had heard the same from other villagers, but none of them had seen the man before. No one could describe the man’s face. And his garments had had no signs that he could be the King.

With the reins of their horses in hands they reached the main gate. A guard with a spear in his hands eyed them closely and blocked the way.

“Who are you?” he demanded to know, and Éomer introduced himself and described his friend. The man’s face brightened. “Yes, Éomer of Rohan, I saw such a man. He really had a mean face – dirty all over. And his clothes – all shreds!” He shook his head. “I knew at once he was a thief! He killed a deer in the Lady’s forest. I sent the hounds to catch him.” His breast seemed to swell with pride. “They got him fast, I can tell you. Would have bitten him to death. But the Lieutenant said I should keep them in check. What I did.”

“Is it usual to send the hounds?” Éomer asked trying not to sound disgusted.

“Of course.” Another proud look. “They are trained for that. And they would bite to kill – they are very good!”

“But the Lieutenant forbade it?”

“It’s the Lady’s order, sire. In former times such a man would not have survived the attack, but Lady Saborian is very generous.”

“Did you see anything you would recognize – a jewel around his neck, a ring – anything?”

“No, sire, as I said, he really had a mean look. I don’t think it was your friend.” The man’s expression turned from eagerness to regret. “Sorry, but I really do not think you will find your friend here, sire.”

“Thank you anyway,” Éomer said with a slap on the guard’s shoulder. He turned to his men. “It is a start,” he said with a hint of excitement. Then they walked up the bridge. A tall and stout man awaited them.

Lt. Medros had done everything as ordered, but he still felt uneasy about the coming of the riders of Rohan. He greeted the King with a bow and introduced himself.

“What takes the King of Rohan to Deremonor?” he then asked and kept his voice low and formal. They entered the main hall. “Are you interested in buying ore?”

“I already heard about the riches of the mine. The Lady is fortunate to have the ore for trading.”

“Indeed. If it is not ore, what else can be of such interest worth the long way?”

“We are searching for a friend of mine.”

Medros kept his face open and friendly, but concentrated on what he answered when the King finished the description.

“I do not think he passed through here,” he said with due regret.

“He wore a brooch, silver, with a leaf in it,” Éomer urged, “and a chain with a jewel and a silver ring on his left index finger. Are you sure you did not see him? It might have been before the winter. And he might not have been alone.”

“My Lord, as the Lieutenant of the guard I would know if any stranger passed through the Lady’s lands.”

Éomer let his hand drop to his side. He took a deep breath.

“I heard from one of the villagers that you caught a poacher some weeks ago. He fits the description.”

“That is true. But he has already been thrown off the lands.”

“Indeed. Well, then, where did you take him to?”

“South, my Lord. To the border of the Lady’s land. That was two weeks ago. He might have traveled some way in that time.”

“He might.” Éomer took a look around. “Is it usual that a poacher is not only handcuffed but hooded when you bring him in?”

Medros stood firm.

“He was fighting us, my Lord, and it seemed a measure to calm him down. I did not want my men to be harmed.”

“I understand. And the dogs? Do you always take them with you?”

“I do not see any reason to explain our ways of dealing with a poacher, my Lord.”

Éomer breathed deeply. There was no way to make this man speak. If he pressed the subject too hard, he would not even get further into the castle. He refrained to his good manners.

“If it is granted, I would like to talk now with Lady Saborian.”

“Of course, my Lord. Please, wait. I will send a servant to announce you.” Medros turned on his heels and ordered a young man to inform the Lady about the visitors. Lanar and Bayonor waited at the eastern entrance to the hall. They had strict order to not let the men from Rohan walk through the castle unguided and, more than that, alone. Though there would be no sign of the King’s presence left, the Lady did not want any stranger to talk with the maids and servants without the intimidating presence of Medros and the guards. Medros returned to the King of Rohan and offered wine and food for him and his men. When he saw no servant at once he called out to the boy, whom he had seen at the stairway. He approached with a shy, almost fearful expression and seemed glad that Medros only ordered him to bring a pitcher of wine and some breakfast from the kitchen.

Medros was no man of conversation, so he answered Éomer’s questions as shortly as he could without being rude, but he  was glad when the Lady entered. She wore a precious blue gown with silver laces and fitting shoes. Her hair was draped over her shoulders, and she greeted Éomer with a broad smile.

“Welcome to Deremonor, Éomer, King of Rohan.”

Éomer bowed.

“Thank you, Lady Saborian. We are grateful for your hospitality. It is a pity that a matter of urgency brings us to your house.”

“I will help if I can.”

The King gave her the description of Aragorn, and the Lady listened, but shook her head.

“We had a poacher here some weeks ago, but he has already been taken off my lands.”

Éomer could not read the woman’s face, but he truly was not convinced. Coincidences like that of a poacher and the King looking alike were hardly heard of.

“If you do not oppose my men and I would like to have a closer look at the castle’s rooms.”

“Though I do not see any reason, I will grant your pleading.”

“We do not know what happened to my friend. He might have lost his memory and found a place to work in your castle. You might not even know that it is him.”

Lady Saborian smiled coolly.

“It is a very polite way to say that you do not trust my word, but …” She raised a hand to quiet his objection, “… I do not mind your distrust. You have ridden far from home in your search. I will see that your men are helped by my guards.”

“Very well, my Lady.” Éomer bowed and gave a short nod to his men. They rose from the benches. Medros made sure every Rohirrim had a guard from the castle in their company before they left the main hall. He accompanied the King to the northern wing.

The King had seen people shy away from him because of his armour, his intimidating presence, or just because Rohirrim were known to be aggressive. But when he met the inhabitants of the castle he sensed more than shyness. A servant looked at him with big eyes when he gave him the description of the King and did not answer. He simply gaped at him.

“Did you see this man?” Éomer repeated forcefully, and the young servant finally shook his head and left the room hastily. The King watched him with a frown. The next person was a stout maid who carried a load of baskets into the pantry. She almost dropped them when spoken to. Éomer caught the falling pile, and she thanked him with a feeble smile. Upon the question about the King of Gondor she uttered a short ‘No’ and quickly returned to her work.

Éomer let out his breath impatiently. With Medros at his side, always watchful, always with a stern face, they walked through the whole northern wing and met many servants and guests of the house. But no one had obviously seen the man Éomer described. Not even the man, who was called a poacher and who had been – according to Medros and the Lady – thrown off the lands.

A tall man in his forties, clad like a smith, was about to leave the kitchen when Éomer called him to wait. Again he described the King. The smith looked at him, then quickly at Medros. The Lieutenant’s face was an open warning not to say anything wrong. Growling Éomer grabbed the man’s sleeves and pulled him close.

“You answer to me! And I asked you if you saw that man!”

“But… I… ,” the smith stammered, and Medros cut in,

“Sire, with due respect, but if this man did see nothing you cannot change that by throttling him.”

Éomer let go.

“Answer my question!” he repeating breathing heavily. “Right now!”

“I saw nothing – no man, not the description. Honestly.”

“What about the poacher that was caught? You work down there in the main yard, do you not? How can it be that you did not see him?”

Intimidated the smith bowed.

“I do work there, sire, yes, but the poacher you mention, he was hooded. How could I say what his face looked like?”

The King of Rohan made a gesture of release, and the smith hurried down the corridor.

“Is it possible, Lt. Medros, that these people are frightened?” he said with an effort not to be rude.

“I would not see anyone frightened if they keep telling the truth,” Medros answered politely.

“Take me to the dungeon.”

“As you wish.” Medros even bowed as he turned on his heels, and Éomer could not say if the Lieutenant was smiling inwardly.

* * *

Day 41, the castle, evening

The upset that had lasted the whole day slowly ebbed away like a river calming after heavy rainfalls. The maids picked up their brooms again, the servants cleaned the tables in the main hall, and Vlohiri washed the dishes in the kitchen.

“Quite some folks,” Narana said referring to the strange visitors they had had.

“Beautiful horses,” the groom said with his mouth full of stew. “The most beautiful beasts I’ve ever seen.”

“And you, lad, did you see the men, too?” the cook asked and put another staple of bowls into the water.

“Yes, when they came through. Did they search the whole castle?”

“Lanar said they just search for a friend of theirs,” the groom said. “They could have stayed longer. Their horses… well, I would have liked to take care of them for a while.”

“Ah, you and your horses!” Narana laughed. “But the men were not bad, either. So strong and tall. And all of them fair-haired.”

“You are some woman!” the groom smiled and slapped her backside when he returned the empty bowl to Vlohiri. “Good meal.” He bade them a good night and left.

“Who were they?” the boy asked.

“Some men from the east. I do not know.” She shrugged. “The guards kept it quite to themselves.” She looked at him. “And I did not ask. Lt. Medros did not look as if he would like questions.”

“Does he ever?”

“His wife loves him – as far as I know. There must be a reason for it, I think … Have you already eaten, Flea? There is some stew left.”

“I take it!” He finished his work and grabbed the almost empty cooking pot and a big spoon. He did not tell Narana that he had already eaten, and she looked like she knew and did not mind his appetite.

After the more than satisfying supper he was about to leave the kitchen when the cook reminded him to take apples and bread. He stopped in mid-step.

“Yes… right,” he said slowly and took the food she handed him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Narana locked eyes with him.

“For whom are you taking it, lad? It is not for yourself, I know. Why don’t you tell me?” Vlohiri hesitated. He remembered the empty cell in the dungeon – cleaned out as if the prisoner would not return – and his throat was suddenly too narrow to let words pass. He stared at the floor. “Flea, please, tell me. We are lucky to have enough to eat, but we cannot share it with anyone. It will be a long winter, and the food has to last until spring. Do you understand?”

Vlohiri swallowed the sob, left the food in Narana’s hands, and fled the kitchen.

* * *

Day 41, Gondor, southbound from Deremonor

Éomer could not shake of the feeling that he had overseen something. It was like looking through a haze where the features are blurred and you do not know what exactly they look like. He knew that neither he nor his men left any room out. They had searched thoroughly even the pantries and stables, barns and fountain. There had not been the slightest sign that the King had been here or could still be in the castle or in the village.

Still – his uneasiness remained. Lady Saborian had been friendly but reserved, and, truly, that was her right since he had – not openly – accused her of keeping the King of Gondor somewhere within the walls of Deromonor. She had allowed him and his men to stay in the castle, even invited them to sleep in the warmth and safety of her house. Éomer had thanked her and left to find a place to stay for the night outside the castle walls. He felt as if he could not breathe inside this huge building.

Éomer remembered the people he had met. Some of them had evaded his stare, some had even fled as if he was a threat. Some had gaped at him, then their gaze had turned to Lt. Medros at his side, and they had quickly occupied themselves with sweeping or cleaning tables. Eomor first had thought it was because they had never seen a King in their home, but these people did not behave shyly – more like frightened. And he could not recall to have behaved in any way threatening.

Then he had entered the dungeon with the Lieutenant. He had led him around with few words of explanation, had waited at every corner until the King had caught up with him. Medros had had that superior stare that made the prisoners shiver. None of the men sitting on benches in the small cells had answered to Éomer’s questions. And because many of the cells had been empty Éomer had asked to visit the mine. At that moment Medros hesitated, explaining that by order of the Lady no one was allowed to see where the ore was mined. But Éomer had pushed his argument, and Medros finally had agreed to show him the mine.

The King of Rohan was impressed by the riches the mine bore. The Lady and her kin would be wealthy for centuries to come. At Medros’ side he had trodden the long tunnels, watched prisoners and workers alike, questioned some of them. But the answers were few. The men did not want to talk with him, some not even looked at him when directly addressed. It was strange. And Éomer’s feeling of uneasiness, that had accompanied him since the Lieutenant had walked at his side, grew. He realized that the guard’s presence made the men speechless. But he saw no way to make Medros leave. He only knew that all the answers he needed might lie within these tunnels. And that he could not grab them.

He turned in his saddle. Deromonor stood silently like a watchtower of greater dimensions in the dusk of the day. Éomer could not help but ask himself again if he had made a mistake.

* * *

Day 41, the castle

Medros was almost lighthearted, a feeling that had not taken hold of him since the day he captured the King of Gondor. He had been tense like a bowstring the whole day and was delighted when the King of Rohan and his Rohirrim decided to leave the castle before nightfall. He had even gone as far as nodding in appreciation to the other guards who had accompanied the Rohirrim.

Nila expected him at the Lady’s quarters, opened the door for him and left him alone with the Lady.

“Now, Lieutenant, did everything go well?”

“The King and his men left the castle an hour ago.”

“Éomer was satisfied?”

“I showed him all the rooms he wanted to see, but he turned up only dust.” The Lady nodded smiling. “Shall the captive be taken back to his cell?”

“Where did you take him?”

“The lowest level of the dungeon.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I thought it to be the safest place since the King wanted to see the mine, too.”

Lady Saborian’s smile faded.

“There are other safe places in the castle, Medros. I do not agree with your decision. But as it happened – I do not wish to rush things. In the unlikely case the King of Rohan returns I do not want him to become suspicious. Take the captive back tomorrow morning. And,” she added when Medros was already on his way out, “I want to be consulted the next time.”

“Very well, my Lady.” At the door he bowed to her and left.

* * *

Day 42, the castle

He had been on the run from the boys many times, but this evening they followed him with more determination than usual. The next turn brought him to the eastern tower. He slid around the corner, narrowly avoiding a servant with a plate in his hands, and headed for a room he could lock from inside. Two boys cut him off. They waited, smirking, laughing even. Vlohiri looked from left to right. He counted five, and no maid or servant was in sight now. Though Vlohiri would not have counted on their help. Sometimes he thought that all the children were invisible to the elders – except when there was work to be done.

He stepped back, eyeing his opponents, knowing too well that he could do nothing against them. Hitting one meant be hit by four at the same time. It was not fair, but as long as no one seemed to be responsible for the children roaming the castle, they could do as they pleased – and it seemed that pushing Vlohiri around was the best way to spend their time.

They closed in on him, the tallest first, the others following. Vlohiri had lived through it many times and was close to crying when the first punch hit his face. He sat on the floor, hardly hearing the laughs and invectives they used, when suddenly the punching stopped and the children fled. The boy looked up, heard the heavy steps on the stones and squatted in the next shadowy corner. A servant hurried by, not even glancing at him, and Vlohiri exhaled. Then, knowing the other children would return, he thought of the one place he knew where they would not follow.

He was quick on his feet, ran the last corridor and made sure he was alone when he entered the dungeon. Though it would be completely empty by now it was a hideout as safe as it could be. He stopped when he saw the padlock at the first cell. Afraid and excited at the same time he looked over his shoulder. Frowning and with careful steps he went near the door, dared to peer through the bars and was rewarded with a well-known face. The prisoner sat on the bench, arms on his thighs, lost in thought.

“Aragorn,” he whispered, but in his excitement could hardly keep his voice low. “Where have you been? Where did they take you? I thought they would…” He could not say it.

“Kill me?” The prisoner exhaled. “No, that is the last thing they will do.”

“What do you mean?”

“They could have killed me long ago.”

The boy grimaced. Another riddle he would not solve.

“But… where did they take you? You were suddenly gone.”

“The darkest place.” He shivered, and Vlohiri did the same just hearing Aragorn’s low, depressed voice. “This had been the worst yet.”

Vlohiri did not understand what he meant, and he was too excited to ask for an explanation.

            “Soldiers came to the castle yesterday morning.”

            “Soldiers?” Aragorn lifted his head. “Who were they? Where did they come from?”

            “I could not get so close. I’m just a boy, not a servant. They would not wish me to be near, but the whole castle was… confused and… the guards were upset. I better did not get in their way. One of them threw a bucket down the hallway!”

            The prisoner got up, put his hands on the bars and stared at Vlohiri, his grey eyes shining with urgency.

            “Tell me about the soldiers. Tell me what you saw.”

            The sudden excitement made Vlohiri frown.

            “I did not see much. They had cuirasses on and dark cloaks. And helmets with horse’s tail on them.”

            “Which color? Did you see a banner?”

            “Green – I think it was a horse on them.”

            Aragorn held to the bars so tight his knuckles were white, almost pressing his face through the iron.

            “A white horse on a green banner?” he asked with a desperate undertone, and stared at Vlohiri to make him answer faster.

            “Yes, I think it was a horse. As I said…”

            “The men. Who was their leader? Did you see him? The one perhaps that talked to Medros – or the Lady.”

            “Yes, I saw him when they came. He carried a beautiful sword! So much gold about it! But it was rather short. And… I think he described something I had seen before… on your tunic, but I’m not sure.”

            Aragorn’s face was ashen now, his breath shallow.

            “A brooch? A green leaf embedded in silver?”

            “Yes, the one you had that when they brought you here the first morning. I saw it on your tunic. Then it was gone. I think he meant this.”

            “The man, Vlohiri, remember the man who talked to the Lady. What did he look like?”

            “Tall…fair hair… big brown eyes… a beard, but not a long one. He had a deep voice as if he was a captain or something like that. But his name…” Vlohiri grimaced. “Something with a ‘E’. I was not close enough to understand it. But the Lady greeted him very friendly. I’m sure he was a noble man.”

            “Éomer of Rohan,” Aragorn said with the look of sudden realization. “The King of Rohan … Are they still here? Those men? Can you get to them?”

            Vlohiri almost stepped back due to the urgency of the prisoner. He now pressed all his weight against the door.

“No, they left the same day,” he answered puzzled. “They looked through the whole castle. The guards were very upset for this. Some said they only wanted to see how we live, but I don’t believe this. Maybe they spied – one servant said that. But they had really beautiful horses, the groom said.”

“For how long have they been gone?”

“The last night and the day. Why? Do you know them?”

“Do you know someone you can trust to follow them?”

Vlohiri was startled.

“No, … no, I don’t.”

“Are you sure? No trader or soldier – a groom who could take a horse?”

Vlohiri was desperate now.

“No, I don’t! Please, how could I…?” Aragorn let go his hold on the bars. Exhaling he sat on the bench. “Aragorn?” The boy peered into the cell. Aragorn hid his face behind his hands. His shoulders sagged, and Vlohiri could only hear him breathe.

“Go… please, go,” he whispered, and Vlohiri obeyed.

* * *

Day 43, from Minas Tirith northbound

The clues were few, but Faramir found an old man in the City, who had known his father’s family and could tell him that Denethor had one brother with a child of his own. A grown-up man by now he was the only one who could claim the throne of Gondor when Faramir and the King were gone. The Prince of Ithilien thanked the old man and returned to his horse. His men were waiting.

“We got a visit to make,” he told them and mounted. “And it might be that we will not be welcomed.”

The men nodded sternly and accompanied their Prince north to a family living in sight of Cair Andros. Overseeing the open landscape in the autumn’s greyness the company was easily sighted and greeted at the gates by friendly men with spears and short swords at their sides. They recognized Faramir and asked for his wishes.

“I wish to see the owner of the house and land – Nereghor.”

“Very well, my Lord,” the man said with a short nod, but Faramir saw astonishment in his features. He walked cautiously behind him, his men following. He often turned, looked behind him, to the sides. His companions did the same, expecting an arrow from any side, but they reached the entrance without being harmed. Upon entering they were greeted by a man, bowed by age, who resembled Denethor, but with a softer expression in his old face.

“Well, young Prince Faramir, what brings you to my house?” the old man greeted him and invited him to a table near the fireplace.

Faramir felt uneasy. He had expected concealed surprise about his visit – presumably he was dead but Nereghor looked at him with watery blue eyes without fear or distrust.

“I learned that you have a son, Nereghor.”

“Very well, indeed, I have a son – in your age I presume.” He sighed. “Has this question to do with your visit?”

“Is he here?”

“Yes, my Lord, he is here. He is always here.”

Faramir frowned. He looked around. The dimly lit hall with its banners and carpets at its walls was empty but for a servant who brought a wooden tray with cups and a pitcher of wine. If any devilry had been planned he might have come earlier than expected. Still he could not shake the feeling that something would happen. His senses were telling him that he would get to know things he needed to know – if for good or bad.

“Why do you say that?”

Nereghor sighed again deeply and put his large hands on the old table before him. They were full of signs of his age, but once they must have been strong. He looked down upon them as if to wait for the question to come.

“Do you come here, my Lord, to get to know my son? My brother never wanted to have me near him, so – well, I should be surprised, you might say, that you even know of my existence. But whoever told you about me and my kin, forgot that my son…” He folded his hands. “I would wish he could be like you, but…” He raised his head, and Faramir saw deep sorrow in his eyes. “He is still like a child, and I fear he will be like it for time to come.”

The Prince was about to ask the old man to explain himself when he just stood and walked over to a window. Faramir followed, keeping a short eye contact with his men at the entrance. Still he was not convinced he was safe here.

“Now, Faramir of Ithilien, here is my son, Nereonod.”

Faramir saw a man in his thirties, sitting on the ashen grass of the yard, playing cheerfully with two children at the age of seven or eight. He needed a moment to understand that his assumption of growing doom from the family of his father had been nothing but a false lead.

“I understand.”

“I wished he could had served the King in the war, but all he did was to hide when the fights drew nearer, afraid like a child in the cradle.” He turned away from the window like he would shut away the memory of a son he would never be proud of. “Now, young Prince, are your questions now answered? Or is there anything else I can be a help with?”

Faramir felt embarrassed in a way he could not explain. Truly, the old man did not know that there had been an attempt to kill the Prince, and he would never know that he had assumed Nereonod could be behind this evil act, but still Faramir thought about a way to apologize.

“I did not mean to stir the peace of your house, Nereghor. I will bid you farewell now.” He bowed and left quickly.

* * *

continued in ‘Castle Part 2’…