Evensong

Set in the same non-slash universe as Adagio, Mayflies and Cadenza. About ten years after the events in Cadenza FA 110

L/G A/A ensemble OC’s

Beta by Theresa Green with my most grateful thanks.

Chapter4

Aragorn leaned forward in his throne and caught his son’s eye. Eldarion, seated in the Steward’s seat on the bottom broad step, was making a brave attempt to smother his gathering amusement. Aragorn worried that he might so far forget his diplomatic training as to laugh out loud at the spectacle that the envoy was making of himself in his attempts to flatter his country’s powerful ally.

“High Lord, Beloved of the Sand-gods, Ruler of the West,” silk-clad arms rose with the envoy’s voice, in theatrical emphasis. “Terror of the Unworthy, Protector of the Weak, Father of the Nation.” Nekkussor’s sleeves fell back to his elbows as, stretching, he reached out as if to embrace the steps of the throne. Enamelled gold bangles clashed together as he brought his arms back together, palm-to-palm. He contorted into a deep bow; Aragorn wondered what kept the towering turban on his head. The winged crown of Gondor, balanced on his own head, seemed much more precarious

“My good Nekkussor,” murmured Aragorn. “You are too kind. Return, with our like sentiments, to your master.” He signalled to Eldarion as Nekkussor straightened up. “The treaties, Eldarion.”

Eldarion plucked the gold-banded parchments from the table in front of him and carried them up the stairs to his father, careful of the dangling seals. Aragorn beckoned the envoy up the stairs and then handed the viciously haggled-for trade treaties over with a silent ‘yes’ of satisfaction. The end of another hard bargaining round and not a blow struck in anger. The kingdom of Gondor would be the richer for the trade and its borders slightly safer, at least until the next band of ‘bandits’ started pirating Gondor’s caravans. Inwardly Aragorn sighed, and supposed the constant challenges kept his border guards sharp.

Eldarion escorted the envoy’s colourful party to the chamber door, and then turned and grinned at his father down the length of the council chamber.

“A good morning’s work, Father.”

The King nodded, smiling in agreement, and then stood, exhausted by the studied diplomacy as he had never been exhausted by long days in the open, tracking orcs.  He walked down the steps, eased off the crown, and then handed it and his white cloak to the heirlooms’ guards. Aragorn personally put the sceptre of Annûminas into its velvet lined case and saw it into the hands of its keeper. Aragorn’s bodyguard held out his more everyday tabard, embroidered with the stylised white tree, helped him into it, and then gently pointed his master at the anteroom where the noon meal had been laid ready. Aragorn wrinkled his nose slightly at the food and wandered over to the double doors that led to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He stood in the sunlight, just breathing air that was not tainted by either exotic musk or intrigue. Eldarion joined him at the railing, handing him tea that steamed aromatically.

After far too short a space of peace, a disturbance turned both men’s attention indoors, the door guard’s challenge met by Legolas’ unmistakeable voice.

Eldarion saw his father’s grim face lighten and stepped forward to signal the guard and make sure Legolas was granted access. He worried about his father; a certain joy had left his face during the past few years, replaced by a strained weariness. Eldarion resolved to see if he could quietly shift some more of the tedious and boring aspects of rule from Aragorn’s broad shoulders onto his own. He would seek out Cirion after lunch.

Aragorn stepped inside the room again, blinking to accustom his eyes to the lower light. The elf caught sight of his friend and hailed him, towing a shrinking young man across the anteroom towards him. Gimli stumped along behind, grinning at his friend’s impetuosity.

“Aragorn. Look what we found out in the hallway. Hasn’t he grown?” Legolas tugged a blushing Captain of the Rohirrim into the King’s presence and then presented him to Aragorn as if he had invented him. “Look at those shoulders.”

The Captain, who was clothed in the dress-kit uniform of the Rohirrim, looked as if he was wishing that it were possible to actually vaporise with embarrassment.

The young man had a familiar look about him but Aragorn could not place him. He was quickly put out of his confusion by Legolas, exclaiming, “He is Earnulf, Denulf’s son, surely you remember, Aragorn. We practised archery together.”

The young man rose to the occasion, managing to shake off the paralysing effects of his mortification if not his reddened face. He bowed. “My Lord Legolas is too kind, as always, Sire. Perhaps you remember, ten years ago, he took me in hand for a space, when I was a boy.”

Enlightened Aragorn nodded at Earnulf then looked at his grinning friend, hoping for an explanation for why he had brought his surprise to show him like some cat’s trophy. Legolas was still gazing at the horseman as if he was a mid-winter gift. Aragorn caught Gimli’s eye hoping he might explain but the dwarf rolled his eyes in exasperation with the flightiness of elves in general, managing to convey amiable tolerance and pleasure at his old friend’s amazement through his body language, whilst not doing anything but standing at the elf’s side.

No, Aragorn was going to have to winkle the reason for this visit out of the poor boy himself. Aragorn moved to the table and sat, and then invited the others to join him for lunch.

“My Lord?” The poor boy looked shocked. “I can wait outside.” Aragorn pointed one of his more kingly looks at the young man and the Captain subsided into the chair indicated.

“How fares your family, Earnulf?”  Aragorn accepted a plate of food from his bodyguard.

Earnulf, trapped, applied himself to telling of the small doings of his parents and the other inhabitants of Ardscull village while absent-mindedly clearing a huge platter filled for him by the servants who hovered discreetly. Aragorn supposed those shoulders took some filling. He was favourably impressed by this energetic son of the grasslands, and still rather amused by Legolas’ avuncular pride in his physical bounty.  He picked at the food on his own plate before finally pushing it away and picking up his wine.

“And your business in my citadel, Captain?

Earnulf looked stricken and turned for help to Legolas, who simply nodded at him. The boy glanced around the table of interested faces and swallowed and then turned back to Aragorn who had missed none of the nuances.

“Sire, your steward, Cirion, has this morning received the message I carried from my King. The documents explained somewhat of my mission. He requested I wait on your pleasure and explained I might not be able to see you until later this afternoon. I do not wish to interrupt your meal, or your time of rest. Should I not withdraw and allow you your ease?”

Aragorn gazed at the horseman for a moment, and then turned a piqued look on his son.

“Eldarion, are you and Cirion conspiring to coddle me?”

“Father?” Eldarion’s voice sounded suitably shocked, but Aragorn was not fooled.

Aragorn gave Eldarion a ‘later for you’ look and turned back to Earnulf who now wore a worried frown.

“I am not yet in my dotage, Captain, despite my son and steward’s opinion. Earnulf, you will not burden me if you tell me to my face the outline of your message from my good friend Elfwine.” He did not bother to mask the steel in his voice, subtly reminding all round the table just who was ruler in Minas Tirith.

Earnulf tugged at his moustache, and squirmed a little under the full force of Aragorn’s interest. Then visibly pulled himself together and into military report mode.

“As I told your steward, my lord, last month my patrol was riding sweeps from West Emnet to the eves of Fangorn, our orders to track down a small group of outlaws and swindlers that had been preying on the cottagers that are settling the grasslands. We rooted out the main nest and chased the remnant towards the forest.” A certain grim pleasure coloured the young man’s voice as he remembered the successful mission. His eyes lit with enthusiasm again and he leaned forward. “We caught the last two as their poor beasts foundered, nigh on the Gap of Rohan. One died under the hooves of his own horse and the other, I am sorry, my Lord, died of an arrow wound that festered not more than a day and a half later.”

Aragorn nodded, acknowledging the realities of border justice. Earnulf continued.

“I had the patrol camp on the backs of the river Isen, to rest the horses you understand, Sire? On the second day at dawn we were woken by a scream. We all scrambled for our arms and to our horses but before we could as much as draw bow, a sound like the wind in the forest was upon us and into the camp strode … a tree!”

The wonder on Earnulf’s face was transparent, even so long after the event. “We were transfixed to a man, my lord. Poor Healfred, the screamer you understand, was dangling from a hand that looked like a branch, the Ent had an arrow bobbing in its bark near to its eye, and it did not look pleased, my Lord. I am not sure how I knew that, but it is so.” Earnulf lifted his chin, as if daring his fascinated audience to disagree. He was not challenged.

Aragorn made a slight noise of encouragement and Earnulf continued.

“It rumbled at us, my Lords, a noise like hoom, hoom. Then put Healfred down, and stood, well, like a tree, in our midst. I remember the arrow bobbing a little in the breeze from the river. I approached it, and when those golden eyes fixed on me I thought I would not see my home again, but it seemed to have calmed down. Our healer scuttled forward and dragged Healfred away, and then it spoke to me. It took a long time you understand, it did not seem to be able to say anything without many pauses and hoom-hooms, but the gist of the message it gave me was that it requested help from you, Sire.”

Aragorn looked startled. “From me? An Ent asking for assistance. Did it say what the problem was?”

Earnulf smiled slightly. “It was a long day, Sire. I think in the end I am correct in relaying that there is some long-standing darkness in Fangorn that has now started to advance on forest that was previously well, it also seemed to be saying that Fangorn was lost – but I don’t think it meant the forest, Sire. Is there an Ent named for the forest?”

Aragorn looked alarmed but then nodded confirmation of Earnulf’s guess.

“I think this Ent was asking for help from the elves, as well, but in the end it just seemed to lose patience with my inability to understand it and come sunset it turned and strode off. We did not try to detain it.”

Aragorn shared a glance with Legolas, and then turned back to Earnulf.

“And your King has sent you to place this puzzle in my lap?”

Earnulf blushed again. “It did ask for you by name, Sire. Several names in fact. It was the one area in which we had no difficulty understanding it. It asked for Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, the Elfstone, Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor. I think it approved of your names, Sire.”

“I collect them with the same facility I collect white hairs, these days, Captain. Thank you.” He turned a thoughtful look on the Lord of Ithilien.

“What think you, Legolas? Shall we go see if we can help the most ancient of our allies?”

Legolas’ blue eyes fairly sparkled with interest. “Gimli and I were going that way anyway. Shall we make a party?”

Gimli shuddered as the aura he had felt in his dream re-visited him, blurring the animated scene briefly.

“Gimli?” Legolas turned to his friend and then frowned at the expression on his friend’s face. “Gimli, are you well?”

Gimli blinked and looked disoriented for a second, and then covered Legolas’ reaching hand with his own warm strong fist.

“Aye, I think Fangorn is on our way, Legolas. Are you coming in person, Aragorn?” He patted the elf on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. “I am going to finish packing.”

Legolas looked anxiously between Gimli and Aragorn. Aragorn frowned a little after the elderly dwarf and, with a look, gave Legolas permission to follow him.

Eldarion spoke from the end of the table, raising his voice over the clamour of chairs being pushed back. “I will arrange it with my father, Lord Gimli.”

Gimli waved an acknowledging hand and vanished into the corridor, closely followed by Legolas.

Aragorn stood also along with Eldarion and Earnulf. “Earnulf, you have lodgings?”

“With my men, if it please you, Sire.”

“If you would remain at my call. It will take some days to arrange this expedition. Your men are the same as were on that patrol?”

Earnulf nodded.

“I may get Cirion to ask them and you some additional questions as they occur. Will your King allow you to escort us on this quest?”

“Those were my orders, Sire. I, and my patrol, are at your disposal.”

Aragorn reached up and clapped the man on his back. “Just so, Captain. Until later. Eldarion?”

Earnulf was escorted out of the room, wondering whether to be elated or worried over the success of his mission. At least he would have a tale for the taproom this evening.

TBC

Rose Sared