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, well written, and very good.

Chapter Seventeen

Aragorn sliced into the throat of a charging clansman and flipped the suddenly limp form to one side, clearing his way. He glanced back; behind him the stairs were full of his own guard, and ahead was Meduseld. At the last landing, before the courtyard, he finally allowed the rest of his troop to overtake him and paused to catch his breath, something of a mistake, as all the small ills of his weary body took the opportunity to catch up with him. He stretched his shoulders back, and ran a grimed hand over his face.

The King shook his head as the battle fervour left him, and then walked up to the second-to-top stair, panting slightly, and watched the tribesmen pouring out of Meduseld to engage his men. Aragorn realised, gradually, that the hill-folk were fighting to get away, not to defend the hall.

Six more Gondorian soldiers made the upper landing and three large Rohirrim thundered up the stairs, nodding to the King deferentially on their way past. The new arrivals threw themselves into the battle with all the energy of youth. More followed.

Aragorn raised his voice, so his Captain would hear him above the clanging of weapons.

“Clear the way to the doors. Let the others mop up.”

Finally having caught his breath, Aragorn moved up to the courtyard and stalked forward behind the advancing line of alert soldiers.

The great, ironbound doors of the hall were unevenly open, and the darkness behind them invited caution.

Aragorn’s Captain motioned to two soldiers, and spared his King a speaking glance, before slipping, with them, into the quiet hall. Aragorn, as a gesture of respect, gave the man a second or two, and then entered, four more men at his shoulder.

His troops dispersed efficiently into the dim interior and Aragorn took a moment to allow his eyes to adapt to the gloom. Behind him were the sounds of battle, diminishing as the allies secured the area. In the distant reaches of the building, muffled shouts, the sounds of doors slamming, and in the near distance the distinctive sound of running feet, but in the cavernous hall itself all was hushed, like a church – or a tomb.

As the interior resolved Aragorn could see his men securing the perimeter of the hall, so he started walking up the middle, towards the distinctive huddled shapes on the floor in front of the throne. As he skirted the central fire-pit, Aragorn could see his captain and another soldier stooping to one knee beside them.

“Sire!” The Captain waved a beckoning arm, and then turned the nearest body over, with obvious care.

A shaft of light from one of the windows set high above the throne spotlit Throndar’s peaceful, dead, face. It was the face a lover might see, relaxed and youthful, as if deeply asleep. Aragorn felt involuntary tears prickle, grief draping him like a blanket.

He dropped to his knees, all anger, all pride, deserting him as he shaped a gentle hand to cup the face of this faithful servant of his reign.

“Ai, Throndar, thou willst’ be most sadly missed.”  Once again, as he knelt beside the grizzled old warrior, Aragorn saw him as a young man, pledging to his service, and again and again over the years proving his worth to his King and his country.

The King closed his eyes then in silent prayer, and then looked up, eyes still full, to his Captain. “The other?” he asked.

The Captain nudged the other body with his foot. “ The Chief, Sire. Wolfling, or some such.” The captain reached a hand and assisted his King to his feet. Aragorn felt so worn, in that instant, that he accepted the help without comment.

“Even in your death you serve us, Throndar.”

 Aragorn lifted his head and sniffed, he noticed some of the soldiers circling warily looking to the roof.

“I smell smoke, Captain.” The man nodded, looking alertly about, there was no sign of fire yet but the smell was increasing.

Aragorn stepped away from the bodies. “You, and you.” He pointed to two foot-soldiers standing in the shadows, “Remove Throndar’s body with all care. Take him to the camp outside the walls; we will farewell him with respect, later.”  The soldiers moved to obey and Aragorn dismissed them from his thoughts. Arwen was somewhere in this building, he must find her. He felt his mind snap back into focus as he scanned the hall for doors into the interior of the palace. The smoke smell grew ever more intense and panic started its mosquito buzz at the edge of his mind.

“Captain, open that door. Let us find the Queen.”

Aragorn was at the man’s shoulder as he pulled the door back, and was almost knocked to the ground as the Captain reeled into him. A great billow of black smoke puffed eagerly into the room, along with a furnace blast of heat. Without conscious thought the King and the soldier put their shoulders to the wood and slammed the door shut again. A chorus of coughs sounded from the equally startled guards behind.

“Outside! Away, quickly, before we are trapped here.” The King coughed, but pushed forward, herding the startled troops before him, the Captain barked commands beside him and the whole group ran, urgently, for the welcome sunlight beyond the hall.

ooo

“ Father, well met, and sooner than we had expected.” Legolas strode, smiling, into Thranduil’s pavilion, passing unchallenged between the elven King’s willowy, and deadly, armoured guards. The elves tensed, but allowed Gimli’s passage between them, at Legolas’ heels; the rest of Gimli’s dwarven warriors stationed themselves in an arc, just close enough to exchange challenging glares with the guards, but not so close as to give rise to serious offence.

“Legolas!” The King rose from the leaf carved, double-bowed camp chair, and then stepped forward to embrace his son. A fair of delicate, peeping, forest birds wheeled around the heads of the two elves and then flittered off to perch momentarily on the struts that held the tent.

“Making friends, Father?” Legolas indicated the pretty things.

“They visit to keep me company, away from the trees.” He glanced at the spiralling, ever moving birds, “or they like the honey water I offer them.” Thranduil winked at his son, and then sat again.  Legolas also sat, at his father’s feet on the grassy floor of the tent. Gimli stood silent behind, near the outside wall, his stoic demeanour somewhat spoiled by having two little green and apricot birds choose his helmet as a likely vantage point. Another investigated the head of his axe, undeterred by Gimli’s best dwarven scowl.

“And how is it that you are away from the trees of Starkhorn, Father?”  Legolas waved an arm at the camp that seethed outside this small charmed enclave. “I see most of your warriors helping guard these humans.”

Thranduil looked away. He held up a hand and a couple birds flew down to perch, peeping earnestly to the King. Thranduil examined their feathers as he replied, almost so softly that Legolas could not hear him. “I lost Arwen.”

Legolas smiled slightly at his father’s discomfort. “Nay, I heard she was kidnapped, by foul treachery. Say not that you lost her, Father.”

The King turned his regal eyebrow on his son. “She was in my keeping, charged so by her husband. I was compelled to help make amends.”

“And with what work has Aragorn charged you, as wergild?”

“To guard and keep safe those unreasonable and disobedient mortals, yonder.” The King’s voice took on a more cutting edge. “They are worse than children. First they flee their homes, and then they want to go back, some fight with others. It is appalling!”

“I see the forces of Gondor and Rohan are lending you aid.”

The King shifted, uncomfortably. “Yes, sometimes the mortals will attend to them. We have sorted them into three camps, women and children, men and those wretched hill-men of yours.”

Legolas raised his hands in protest, “Call them none of mine, please. I want nothing to do with them, except to extract a little revenge, and I can hardly do that to the prisoners if they are under your august protection.” Legolas laid a sympathetic hand on his father’s knee. “Father, Gimli and I will go see if we can help Aragorn mop up, and perhaps we will have a chance to avenge ourselves in the process. Elladan and Elrohir are tired of cooling their heels here and assure me you are managing with your usual effectiveness, so they are coming with us. “ Legolas rose to one knee and kissed his father’s hand. “Don’t let them grind you down, Father. We will be back before sunset.”

“That’s what Aragorn said.” Thranduil, waved Legolas, and his unfortunate companion away. “Find Arwen, son, I have no faith in these mortals. Minuial, Silmarwen and Camthalion also have yet to return to my side. Be my eyes and arms son; find my people and bring them back to me.”

ooo

Arwen led her little flock into the welcome light of a large, deserted kitchen. Sunlight glanced cheerfully off polished pots and surfaces. Behind her, Brytta took up his fretful grumbling again, despite Morshy’s comfortable presence, and in the background a great roaring and crashing could be heard, as Meduseld burned above their stone-sheltered heads.

“Come, I spy the door to the outside yard, let us leave this hall and be under the sun, at least for a space.” 

All the members of the party, except Minuial who remained unconscious, exchanged looks, and then headed for the door. They clattered out into a kitchen garden behind a stout, stone wall, The yard gate was shut but not bolted; it seemed this area of the palace had been evacuated in an orderly, calm fashion.  The sun shone benignly on rows of cabbages and lettuce, marigolds danced amongst them in the little breeze that made its way over the wall.

Arwen looked up. Above their heads the roof of Meduseld, which was all she could see, was well alight. A much stronger wind, the inspiration, no doubt, for the sheltering garden wall, was blowing the smoke directly away to the north, and there appeared no danger from any falling debris, as the terrace above was wide.

Arwen looked at her dishevelled refugees. “ We will wait here for a space, I think. Master-Smith put your burden down here, on this grass, and then let us examine her. Gleowyn perhaps Brytta could be fed, and it would make him happier. Morshy, some water, child, from the pump there.”

Arwen, having disposed her troops, sank down onto the welcoming grass and just breathed for several seconds, re-connecting herself with the spirit of Arda. Aragorn was close, she could feel him. A great longing to see him again came into her heart. Being the Queen was all very well, but right now she could do with the support of her love’s strong arms.

ooo

Legolas and Gimli’s small party had only been climbing Edoras’ steep, and eerily deserted, streets for about twenty minutes, their anxiety redoubled by the plume of smoke that now marked Meduseld, when they were hailed by a group of refugees descending and about to join them from a side street.

Legolas peered into the shadows of the alley way and then gave a cry of pleasure. “Camthalion, Silmarwen. I am but lately come from my father who is most concerned for your safety. Where is Minuial, and who do you escort?”

“We are charged with the continued safety of the royal family of Rohan, prince Legolas. Queen Cyneth and her family.”

Legolas bowed to the Queen, who he had met on a few previous occasions. The woman looked tired and her children at the end of their tethers.

 Camthalion continued. “King Elfwine was called away, with his troops, when the hall was fired.” The elf waved vaguely up the hill. “He persuaded us to continue to escort his dependants until they could be placed in the charge of his commander outside the wall.” Camthalion seemed to run out of words, Silmarwen picked up the conversation. “Minuial gave us a similar charge before she left to look for Arwen, Legolas. Shall we carry on?”

Gimli shot his friend a sharp look when he did not reply for a second. Legolas looked suddenly pale. Arwen was his friend, but how much more his friend was Minuial. The prince seemed to shake himself back to life. “Our task becomes urgent then. Carry on Silmarwen, Camthalion, and when your duty is discharged please report to my father; he frets.”

Legolas moved to rejoin the twins and Gimli’s troop and spent a moment updating the other elves even as the royal party made their way through the warriors. Gimli had a quiet word with two of his dwarves, who quietly peeled off and followed the party at a distance.

“Rear guard,” Gimli replied to Legolas’ eyebrow.

Within minutes the street was empty, one party forging on up towards Meduseld, the other to safety outside the walls.

ooo

King Elfwine met King Aragorn on the doorstep of his ancestral home and the two men looked at each other with nearly matching pain on their faces.

“My lord, has Arwen been rescued?” Both men winced as a beam gave way somewhere inside the burning building and collapsed with an ominous thud. Smoke reached out of the shattered windows and streamed across the city, the fire driven by the gusting wind.

“Not to my knowledge, Elfwine.” Aragorn looked up at the burning roof and then around, as if he could find some way to his wife. “She lives yet, I know that, but I am powerless against this fury.” He turned back to the other King. “Is there another way in to your fortress, that might yet be open?”

Elfwine looked distraught, then as daylight spreading over the grassland, an idea quite obviously occurred to him. He turned and consulted with a member of his guard, who looked startled, then nodded vigorously. The man collected a couple of his troop and trotted off to down the stairs. The heat from the burning building was relentlessly driving the other spectators back to the stairs.

“Come, my lord. There is a slight chance, the servant’s kitchen is carved out of the hill itself, and it has several passages leading to the main wings of the house. If a way is to be found that is where it will be on this grim day.”

They departed quickly down the stairs, followed once again by both their squads of loyal bodyguards. Meduseld continued to burn, merrily, even without an audience.

ooo

Arwen was the first to hear the tramp of troops gathering in the street beyond their little island of safety. Alert, she moved the damp cloth from Minuial’s forehead and gestured sharply to Bardor to pick up his sword and get to a position beside the gate.

Minuial groaned as the gentle cool was removed from her head. She was wakeful but hardly aware yet, confused by the light and noise around her.

“Morshy, get behind me with Brytta, and Gleowyn,” the Queen looked round and found the Smith’s daughter already ready at her side, sword held in determined hand. “Thank you my dear. Now quiet - perhaps they will pass us by.”

The little group tensed as the gate was rattled, then thumped from the outside. Again the gate was assaulted and Bardor sprinted back towards the women to take a stance in front of them.

Groaning the wooden blades scraped open against the light latch, then suddenly bounced back against their hinges as the lock gave.

Morshy, despite herself, let go another of her quite ear-splitting screams as the yard seemed to fill, on an instant, with armour clad soldiers. Brytta, understandably startled, started his own loud protest; but Arwen gave another kind of cry, and sprang to her feet in delight, running without care or dignity into the welcoming arms of her love, the King of Gondor and Arnor and her own precious man.

TBC

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Rose Sared