Cadenza

Set in the same universe as  ‘Adagio’ and ‘Mayflies’. One hundred years into the fourth age.

Drama/Adventure/Angst   A/L/G OC Friendship fic. No slash. R for violence.

Beta by the wonderful Theresa Green – Read all her stories, they are very funny and very good.

Chapter eleven

King Thranduil and his travelling court breasted the virgin forests of Starkhorn with all the pleasure of swimmers plunging into a cool river. The horses were left to gambol on the lush Rohan grasslands while the Elves took to the trees with only their packs and their weapons, as gleeful as a group of elflings on holiday.

The forest sang to the Elves in accents unheard by the Eldar for nearly two ages. Sweet conifers, brash shrubs and mighty trees welcomed the visitors with green joy.  Palms and silver ferns brushed softly against elven hair and fantails and tui flitted in lively escort from red flowered rata to purple-berried puriri, singing their delight at the beings visiting their home.

Slender-trunked young trees dotted the forest like so many ships’ masts, leading the exploring party up the slope by way of their branches, eventually showing the elves to a clearing on the knees of the mountain. A mature kauri, of a size to rival one of Lothlorien’s mallorns, reigned content in the heart of its kingdom and welcomed the elven King as one monarch to another.

Thranduil leapt from its limbs to land lightly beside the rushing stream bordering the clearing. Curious, he followed it to the forest margin where a view across the plains of Rohan was framed by branches above the waterfall formed by the brook tumbling down a granite cliff.

On the sunlit plains below, Thranduil could see the city of Edoras on its knoll with Meduseld glowing like a jewel on its highest point, and the King could also clearly see a large company of men and horse approaching the city. They straggled down the road from Harrowdale that wound its way from the valley of the Snowbourne across the foothills below.

Dismissing the doings of men, Thranduil looked back into the sun-dappled shade and saw his people enjoying the pleasures of this green glade.

“Set our guards and let us hunt our supper,” he announced. “I see signs that both boar and deer browse this forest. It is time to be merry and live as we would in the first age of this world for a space.”

Nothing loath, his people scattered to do his bidding. The King climbed into the welcoming arms of a whippy five-finger that grasped for the light over the waterfall, and started to weave himself a crown of white clematis and purple fuchsia to wear at the evening festivities.

As he worked, he idly observed the group of men likewise setting up camp outside the city. His eyes narrowed at the military formation the camp was assuming. A thousand men and horse, he estimated, and new banners were being struck, unfamiliar to the elf-King.

Arwen was in the city, on her visit to the wretched handmaid, and although his trusted right hand had accompanied her, a niggle of worry wormed its way into Thranduil’s holiday mood.

**

Arwen bent over the cunningly gimballed and intricately carved crib and inhaled the distinctive cherished smell of the baby cocooned in its care.

Not much could be seen of Gleowyn and Telfaren’s first-born, bar a tuft of wispy dark hair and a porcelain face moistly asleep. He looked as all babes did, human or elven, deliciously fragile and improbably small, and he looked like himself as all babes did, despite the best wishes of friends and kin.

“He is made in your image, Gleowyn.” The Queen needed no instruction in the politics of the nursery.

She smiled up at the hovering mother, whose eyes were dark ringed but whose being radiated contentment. Arwen was happy for her erstwhile handmaid. Until now she had always rather stood out like a pine in a beech forest. In this role she was equal to all.

“Nay, my Lady, you are kind, but Telfaren’s mother claims he is his father re-born.”

Gleowyn rested her eyes on her beloved son and Arwen could see that it would not matter if he looked like an orc. Perfection was now re-defined in Gleowyn’s world and it slept in the crib in front of her.

“He looks to be a bonny boy?” Arwen straightened and paused beside Gleowyn who looked happily at her former mistress.

“Aye, he likes his food,” Gleowyn shifted her chest in slight discomfort, “and feeds with great concentration, often, day and night.” She sighed, wearily.

Arwen lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from Gleowyn’s face.

“It is exhausting work, I know, but I promise it lasts not as long as it seems it does. Before you know you will have to call him to his meals.”

Gleowyn looked at the Queen in slight disbelief, then smiled and led the way to the nursery door.

“Will you join me now for some refreshment, while he sleeps? We will not be left in peace for long, I know that much.”

Arwen laughed softly and followed the young woman out of the nursery and back to the garden-room where Gleowyn had initially received her visitors.

Arwen had given her a little notice of her arrival -  it was not fair to inflict a royal visit without at least some warning -  but her timing had been calculated so that Gleowyn would not become too flustered by her attention, whilst having time to lay in supplies for her bodyguards and her attendant, Minuial.

Such niceties she had down to a fine art after decades of rule in Gondor.

Arwen seated herself and allowed Gleowyn to order her household. Within minutes tea and a light meal was spread and Minuial had been fetched from her examination of her herb garden to keep the women company.

“Gimli will be thrilled to know his gift is so well used.” Arwen observed over the rim of her teacup. “He will no doubt bluster in here at his earliest convenience to examine your son and make him cry with his loud ways.”

Gleowyn smiled. “My Lord Aglarond is generous to a fault, and as soft as tallow around children. If he made the babe cry he would be apologising for ever. Does he campaign with the Lord of Ithilien as of old?” Gleowyn directed this last enquiry politely to the aloof elf-maid she had seen last in the company of the Lord of Ithilien at her wedding.

Minuial turned her cool gaze on the woman, and then glanced at Arwen. The Queen became interested in a small cake she was sampling from the table, leaving the conversational ball in Minuial’s court.

“Legolas rides with the sons of Elrond and Arwen’s husband. I believe the dwarves are attending to some other tasks more suited to their nature, in the mountains.” She waved vaguely to the south. “I do not know the details.”

Arwen smiled at the elf-warrior’s discomfort, she had been rather astonished at Minuial’s volunteering of her self on this visit. The march warden was a notable separatist, usually barely tolerating non-elven company. Arwen had teased her lightly on the road to Edoras.

“…and I am sure I can see the points of your ears rounding nicely even as we approach the city,” the Queen concluded merrily.

Minuial had born her jibes stoically but eventually met the Queen’s jokes with a truth of her own.

“I must, somehow, find some good in the humans you love, Arwen. He will not tolerate my opinions, and I cannot bear the distance that is growing between us. If he finds them worthy of his love, and you find them worthy of yours, I must find my own truth to replace that knowledge I have known as sooth since the battle of Dagorlad.”

 Minuial wore a wry expression; neither woman needed explanation of the ‘he’ she referred to. Legolas was rarely far from Minuial’s thoughts.

Now the conversation around Gleowyn’s tea-table lapsed as a disturbance could be heard at the gates of Gleowyn’s home. Military challenge and counter challenge followed by the sound of a horse clattering into the stable yard.

Gleowyn looked up with unabashed pleasure.

“Telfaren. He managed to get home after all. Excuse me, please, my ladies, I will bring him to you.” She rose and stepped quickly to the entryway of the garden room.

As she reached the door she was forestalled -  it opened and Arwen could see Telfaren, supported by the captain of Arwen’s own guard, Throndar. Blood marred the messenger’s brow and he was clutching one arm in the other.

Gleowyn screamed, a thin high sound, and Minuial leapt to her feet, her hand to her knife.

Telfaren met the Queen’s eye then fairly fell into his wife’s arms.

“Edoras is attacked. You must go to Meduseld, my Lady. “He clutched at his wife, “Quickly, get the babe, we must flee!”

**

The afternoon sun was sinking behind the high peaks of Thrihyrne, casting long black shadows over the allied troops of Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien that were now drawn up in front of Osbaston Keep waiting on King Elfwine’s parlay team currently meeting under a flag of truce in front of the barred wooden gates.

Aragorn was aware of the massed ranks of the combined might of Rohan and Gondor mustered in orderly rows that filled the mountain valley behind him. The troops were vibrating in anticipation, like an audience awaiting the commencement of a play.

The Keep was built using a natural rampart so that the wall towered seventy or eighty feet above the heads of the team talking to the representatives of the Withergield clan that had exited from a swiftly-barred sally port. The height and the poor light hid the defenders on the wall from Aragorn’s view, but he could see that the walls were fully manned.

The King glanced sidelong at the Elves flanking him. Legolas, Elrohir and Elladan were busy scanning the ramparts with their keen eyes, counting heads for him in an effort to estimate the force they were facing. Banners snapped and lifted in the keen wind funnelling down from the heights, but Aragorn was surprised to see Legolas shiver.

The Elf turned to him before he could comment, a fey light in his eyes.

“They man the walls with children and women. Is this custom for mountain people that they should send innocents against us?  Or did they learn this from us so many years ago when we forced such into battle on the walls of Helm’s Deep?”

The three elves exchanged glances; all looking worried by this development.

“There appear to be no more than ten adult men on the wall, Aragorn,” Elladan leaned and made some comment in Elrohir’s ear and nodding the twin carried on. “And they have propped straw men with helmets in every third mullion.”

Elrond’s sons both looked confused.

“Think these rebels that war is a game?”

“They think to trick us, I believe.”

Aragorn felt the weight of his leadership as he always did going into battle, but overlaid with frustration at the antics of these mountain rebels.

He looked to his General, sitting at horse behind him.

“Did you hear?”

The man nodded.

“Let Elfwine know, we need a strategy meeting. Hold this line but stand down the support troops. Our attack plan must change.”

Aragorn and his companions wheeled their horses and moved to the rear, following the lengthening shadows down the valley while the troops were ordered behind them. Soon campfires bloomed amongst the besieging host, lighting the dusk in echo of the stars opening above.

In the command pavilion confusion reigned.

“Your scouts reported a force of at least a thousand, Elfwine. Were they counting scarecrows?”

“Nay, they were here, and left no more than a day round or two before we arrived. But we have not been assailed and they seem merely to have pulled back further into the mountains.”

“And the Keep?” Aragorn took a drink of the wine that his squire had poured for the company.

“Fifty of my troops could either besiege it, or take it, whatever is your pleasure.”

Aragorn banged the cup down onto his desk.

“Take it Elfwine, and tonight. I have had enough of these insolent clansmen. Spare all those that yield, but clean out that nest of vipers and bring their leaders to me. I find myself angered and not inclined to be overly merciful. Burn them out, if that is what it takes.”

Rohan’s King nodded and then left the pavilion, leaving Aragorn staring into his wine and ignoring the three elves who stayed in the tent with him. Eventually the weight of their combined gaze got to him.

“What!”

The elves exchanged glances again. Finally Legolas got to his feet and held Aragorn’s eye.

“We will scout into the mountains tonight and find your missing foes, Aragorn.”

The brothers stood in the background and swung bows and packs onto their backs.

“Elfwine will have sent scouts.”

Aragorn sounded petulant to even his own ears.

His brothers left the tent. Legolas lingered a little.

“This clan has done me injury, King of Men. I think it is time I sought some vengeance. Elfwine had not sent elves to scout, and Gimli and his people will be somewhere up in those hills,” he waved in the direction of the peaks. “The dwarves will not be expecting such a host. I would like to go with your blessing, but with or without your consent we are going.”

Aragorn felt tired, once he would have slipped out with his brothers and his friend, those days were over. Now he went to war on women and boys, and the elves got to seek out the true foe.

“So be it, Legolas. Please report back to us. Even three elves and the mighty dwarves might find back up some use if the rebels number in the hundreds, as Elfwine believes.”

Legolas laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, and then he was gone into the windy night.

TBC

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Rose Sared