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Evensong  by Rose Sared

Ch8

Aragorn woke in the grey wash of dawn to the raucous screams of sea birds. He lay disorientated for a moment, his gaze idling around the familiar inside of his campaign tent, trying to place himself in time.

Lebinnin, the Corsairs? No. South Gondor, the Haradrim? He propped himself up on an elbow and heard the damp croaking of innumerable frogs.

His back pinched him, and suddenly, as the minor aches and pains of morning flowed over him like a detested robe, he knew where and when he was.

“But, gulls?” His breath caught. “Legolas.”

With less grace than determination he rolled out of his bedroll and clambered to his feet, snatching his leather coat off its peg on the tent-pole and shouldering it on. He stood for a second, swaying slightly and taking in the inside of his quarters, he saw his battered black-enamel chest that doubled for wardrobe, desk and table, Anduril on its stand, the cunningly wrought oil lamp, a gift from Gimli.

Gimli.

Aragorn scrubbed his hand through his hair as if pushing sense into his head. The sucking flap of the wind plucked at the canvas of his tent; the gulls called again.

He splashed water onto his face from the bowl on the washstand, and then thought back to last night as he sat in his folding chair to lace his boots. The baggage carts had caught up with the main party shortly after supper and then there had been the usual turmoil of pitching tents and ordering the camp.

Gimli had retired to finish the night under cover, out of the cold. At first the old dwarf had looked mulish, but then Legolas had looked inflexible, and Gimli, after token resistance had acquiesced.

Legolas had indicated he would join his friend after checking on Melusina and Aragorn had been happy enough to leave them to it. The captain of his bodyguard, Duilin, who had been hovering, hurried to report, and then there had been a dispatch case of documents to deal with and the messenger to send back to Minas Tirith.

Aragorn pushed his way out of the door-flap, nodded to the two guards who snapped to attention as he passed, paused for a moment to assess the day and then ducked his head into the neighbouring tent. Legolas was not there, but then the bedroll that should have contained Gimli was empty as well.

The King stood up and looked into the east. A swirl of white and grey gulls swooped through the neat rows of the camp, twisting in their flight like swallows, chasing a leader who trailed some scrap from the midden. More stood sentinel on the top of the riverbank, sharp beaks all facing the wind.

Dervoron, Duilin’s sergeant, marched up to stand beside his King.

“Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli?” Aragorn hoped the man was more awake than he was.

Dervoron waved an arm indicating the riverbank, “By the Lord Legolas’ captive, Sire”.

“Alone?” Aragorn’s voice was a little sharp.

“Earnulf, and some of his men are covering them, Sire. ”

Aragorn felt his shoulders relax a little, he nodded to Dervoron, “Anything else?”

“Breakfast, Sire?”

Aragorn waved away the notion, “After I have checked on the Lords of Ithilien and Aglarond, Dervoron.” He set off towards the riverbank.

 Dervoron signalled one of the door guards to attend him, and sent the other off towards the cook fires.

Aragorn made his way, via the privy, to the riverbank.

The wind tugged at his coat as he breasted the small rise revealing the sun-bright Entwash and its near bank. A string of gulls lifted into the air like the tail of a kite, clearing his path to Melusina.

He could see Legolas, with Gimli standing like some ancient rock behind him, and behind them, ranged in a rough semi-circle, Earnulf and three of his men, bows strung but at alert ease.

The red ribbon in Melusina’s hair shone like a flame in the new-minted sun. Legolas was leaning towards her, intently, as Aragorn drew close he caught the end of their discussion.

“I cannot trust you,” Legolas waved his hand at the fens, glinting gold in the morning light, stretching to the horizon across the river, “your charge is vast but still you will do mischief, Lady.”

“Mischief? She does mischief; she draws on the fabric of our world, Elf. Magic calls magic – you can feel it if you would. If you would attend to your proper work and leave these mortals alone. You accuse me of meddling and mischief, what do the elves do about her.”

“Her, who?” Legolas paced to one side then back, glaring at the sprite. “You talk in riddles, madam.”

“Free me.”

“Tell me.” Legolas toed the line of her binding.

“Ask him.” Melusina shifted her dark gaze to the dwarf.

Legolas moved so that he intercepted her line of sight. The river-daughter frowned, then smiled and shrugged.

“I have all the time left to Middle-earth, Elf. Have you?”

She lifted a finger and a flight of gulls spiralled into the sky, calling. Gimli moved a pace and touched his shoulder to Legolas’s side. The Elf who had not sagged, nonetheless straightened.

Melusina’s smile warmed, she lifted her whole arm and most of the gulls lofted, wheeled, and then streamed away south, for the sea. Involuntarily Legolas’ eyes followed them.

“Free me, Elf. You know I could break this binding if I must.”

“And let your fen carry the cost? Not willingly, madam.”

The river-daughter’s gaze intensified, “So now you begin to understand, Legolas. Free me,” she paused, seemed to fight some internal battle. “Please?”

“Lend me a guide, if you know the source of this discord.”

Melusina looked thoughtful, “As you will.”

 She nodded at the riverbank behind the elf. Two grey-winged gulls fluttered down and landed. One screeched at the other, arching its neck, the smaller crouched and moved away a pace or two.

“They will do.” Melusina’s expression calculated the cost of her gift. “Free me.”

Legolas sighed, a sound echoed by both Aragorn and Gimli.

The elf turned his head slightly and Aragorn thought he could see the sea surging behind the brilliance of his eyes.

Aragorn moved a step closer and laid a supportive hand on Legolas' shoulder. The elf leaned into him for a moment, and then drew breath and sang one clear note.

There was a surprised, “Harrumph!” from Gimli, and a yelp from one of Earnulf’s men.

Aragorn shifted his gaze from the crease that had appeared between the elf’s eyebrows and glanced at where Melusina had been. The circle was gone, she was gone and the grass looked untrampled, as if no one had ever been there.

Everyone looked at the empty space in the ringing silence created by the cessation of the frog song.

“Would you join me for breakfast, Legolas, Gimli?” Aragorn asked, eventually, stepping back after giving Legolas’ shoulder a final supportive squeeze.

Legolas smoothed elven serenity over his features with all the grace of a cook scraping a plate, and Gimli snorted, amused

“Why not?” said the elf.

They made their way back to the comfort of Esgarth’s campfires.

The gulls lifted as they passed, spiralling up into the breeze, to hang over them, sliding like living beads back and forth along the wind.

00000

They had been given their guides so it made sense to follow the Entwash and the birds and make their way over the plains of Rohan towards Fangorn.

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli with the rest of the main party set off by late morning. They moved at the pace of the baggage wagon as they really had no timetable and Aragorn wanted a quiet day for Gimli, who would have disdained any such consideration had he been consulted.

The gulls flew before them and the grasses of the great plain of Rohan grew lush and long, brushing the bellies of their horses and filling the air with the smell of growing things.

Legolas took a deep breath, like one who drinks a deep draught after a long thirst.

“Ah! The green smell of Rohan is still the same, it is still better than sleep; it sooths my spirit.”

“Fool of an elf.” Gimli said for form’s sake. But he shared a gratified look with Aragorn.

Legolas’ horse, Ascallon, shook his gleaming head and snorted at the grass seed, happily.

The wind blew them on their way, combing the grasses into flowing patterns in front of them. A warm sun shone from a sky decorated with puffs of cloud, the freezing autumn temperatures of last night and even this morning were a hard to credit memory.

Earnulf and his men rode as outriders, Duilin and his men rode behind the King’s party, Dervoron and another flanked the two horses.

As the day’s shadows lengthened behind them the gulls led them slightly south of the Entwash to an area of gently rolling hills, the grass shortened and the way grew a little steeper, until late in the afternoon, the whole party stopped on top of an escarpment.

 The vantage point showed the valley of the Snowbourne, picked out in rich golds, with every fold in the land outlined in shadow by the sinking sun. The fertile valley bottom was cultivated and the patchwork of golden fields and nestled villages reminded Aragorn strongly of the Shire.

“Shall we go down tonight, Sire?”

Earnulf cantered back to the main party having left his troop by a small wood that crested the slope and guarded the cut that the party would use to descend to the valley floor.

“There is a ferry, yonder?”

“Aye.” Earnulf pointed at a slightly larger group of ten or more cottages strung out along the river bank facing a smaller group of four on the west bank of the tree lined river, “At Crossbourne.”

Aragorn pondered for a moment and then twisted around so that he could see the baggage wagon labouring up the incline behind them. He could hear Duilin’s encouraging shouts as the rear guard helped the wheel over a small obstruction.

“Nay, I think we will rest in the shade of that wood tonight and make the ferry tomorrow. What say you, Legolas?”

Legolas tilted his head, “Trees are rest enough for a wood-elf, Aragorn. You will get no argument from me.” He looked over to the trees and then narrowed his eyes.

“What ails Peep and Squawk?”

Gimli had irreverently named their guides for their behaviour, at their lunch stop.

The birds were wheeling in and out of the trees calling.

Aragorn squinted into the sun. “There is someone there. Can you see Legolas? Under the trees, away to the left of Earnulf’s men?"

Legolas looked intently into the woods, and then, with a cry of pleasure he jolted Ascallon into a canter and rushed towards the wood.

“What!” Gimli cried, trying to see around Legolas. “Who do you see?”

“Radagast, Gimli. Radagast the Brown, the companion of my youth. Radagast! Hail friend and well met.” Legolas raised his musical voice in delight.

Radagast was standing in the shade of the trees talking to the gulls that were strutting on the turf in front of him.

Aragorn watched Legolas stop Ascallon, drop down to the springy grass and run the last few steps to meet the brown-robed, bearded, wizard. Gimli dismounted more carefully and waited by Ascallon as his friend approached the old man.

Aragorn saw the wizard look up and note Earnulf’s armed company approaching warily. The little group of Legolas, Gimli and the wizard faded gently from the King’s view, the wizard and his guests seemingly melting into the shadows of the trees from whence he had come.

Aragorn groaned and dropped his head. It appeared that it was his fate on this trip to tangle with every magical being left in Middle-earth.

Earnulf shouted in anger and spurred off towards his confused men. Dervoron drew his sword and rode protectively a few paces in front of the King.

Aragorn stiffened his back and sat taller in the saddle.

“No, Earnulf, hold!”  Earnulf stopped obediently but looked in confusion between the King and his men milling near the trees.

Aragorn felt every one of his years; these children had not even been born the last time their people had interacted with one of the Order of Istari.

“One does not meddle in the affairs of wizards, gentlemen. Not if you want to be the same shape in the eve as you were in the morning, anyway. Radagast is no threat, Dervoron. Earnulf, bring back your men to me, now!”

Earnulf cast a sceptical look Aragorn’s way but then saluted and clattered off to carry out the King’s orders. Dervoron reined his horse back so that he was only a little ahead of his King and sheathed his sword. He did not take his eyes off the wood.

Aragorn raised his voice so that the whole company could hear.

“Radagast, the Wizard, is an old friend and known ally of both Gondor and Rohan, but of a retiring humour. I have no doubt the Lords of Ithilien and Aglarond will return safely to our side in good time. Meanwhile, let us set up camp for the night, we will probably have company to entertain.”

 

TBC

 Rose Sared

 





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