Beta by the remarkable Theresa Green.

She rescues me tirelessly from run on sentences, more repetitions than you could believe if you knew how often I edit these chapters before she gets them, and my complete inability to punctuate speech despite having crib charts on the wall beside the computer- Oh, and those blasted anachronisms. She is a saint, and a very good writer.  Hie thee to her web page on fiction.net and read her original stuff. It is great! (She has a wicked slashy sense of humour too, which is very bad for me in this universe as-‘This. Is. Not. Slash.’- said in a voice loud enough to reach from New Zealand to England! LOL)

Evensong Chapter 9

The wooden shaft bearing the banner of Rohan jerked against Earnulf’s shoulder as his horse picked its way down the cart track that led from King Elessar’s camp to the valley. In front of him the path was almost more obscured than revealed by the flickering torches held by the outriders.

Earnulf heard a muffled curse, over the chinking sound of horse tack and creaking leather, as the bearer of the White Tree of Gondor was also assaulted by his standard.

Earnulf twisted round, shared a smile with the afflicted Dervoron, and did a quick visual check of the following six riders. They looked quite comfortable, letting their horses do the work A cheerful glow from the camp backlit the trees on the plateau above. Earnulf faced front again and was relieved to see the torchbearers trotting out onto flatter land.

Once they were all down, Earnulf dressed the company into a more soldierly column and took his bearings. To the west the lights of Crossbourne’s tavern shone welcome into the night.

“Look sharp now, men.” Earnulf clucked at his horse so that it moved into a brisk trot. “Let us put on a good show for the villagers. To the inn, Esgarth.”

“Aye, Sir.” Esgarth sounded amused as they all set off in good order.

A dog erupted into noisy challenge from behind a dark farmhouse, but, apart from the jingle of harness and the beat of hooves, the countryside remained quiet.

The short hairs on Earnulf’s neck began to prickle. The gentle night breeze brought with it the smell of the river but little smell of wood smoke, even as it tugged at the running horse above his head.

The sky still glowed indigo and eggshell in the aftermath of sunset and country folk should be at their meat; the noise of the company passing should have pulled them to their doors like iron flakes to a lode stone. One or two house curs should be snapping at the horse’s hooves with a small boy or two in close attendance.

Apart from the lone hound that bayed unwearied at their backs, there was nothing.

The troop clattered onto the paved street that threaded the village en route to the ferry. The village houses turned blind and shuttered faces to the company. No smoke rose from the silhouetted chimneys.

“Halt!” Earnulf had patrolled these lands in the name of his king for far too long to think this was a normal evening in a country village.

Esgarth, no mirth at all on his face now, rode back to his captain, his bow strung and to hand, his torch extinguished. His fellow outrider remained on point, equally armed and quenched. Still no villagers ventured out to investigate the commotion. The inn’s beckoning lights were accompanied by no sound of merrymaking or even invitingly open door.

“What’s going on, Captain?” Esgarth kept flicking his gaze around trying to spot an enemy. “Where are the people?”

Earnulf was busy furling his banner; Dervoron already had his stowed alongside his saddle.

“Look to your weapons, Sergeant. Dervoron?”  The Gondorian guard moved forward to flank his stirrup.

“What think you?” Earnulf waved a hand at the silent street and the inn.

Dervoron rode forward another two or three paces and peered at the hostelry.

Ironclad oil lamps swung on hooks flanking the stout front door casting shadows that flickered and slid along the whitewashed walls. A wooden sign also swung, creaking lightly in the breeze, under a frowning brow of thick thatch. A row of shuttered dormer windows pierced the roof. Light was leaking around the joins in those shutters and this building, at least, had a column of smoke rising from its chimneys.

Earnulf dismounted and the Gondorian joined him on the cobbles.

"I hope the villagers are sheltering in the inn, Captain."

Earnulf nodded gravely at the man.

"Would you take your men and scout the village? We need to see what incident has scared these people, or perhaps there is some present danger."

Dervoron nodded and then turned and gathered his three men to his side, after a swift briefing they split up and vanished into the ever darkening and still eerily silent night

"Meet me back here," Earnulf called after them, "I will go and see if I can raise aught from the inn. Cover me, Esgarth."

Earnulf strode, with a confidence he did not feel, into the revealing circle of light cast by the lamps, quickly reaching the massive oak door. He knocked loudly shattering the brittle silence.

From inside he could hear a sudden frightened shriek from a very young child, quickly muffled and he had the impression of many people moving with caution. There was a muffled thump.

"Who is there?" The voice was female. "Go away, the inn is closed."

"Mistress, it is Earnulf, Captain of one of King Elfwine's éoreds. Has there been trouble here? Can I help?"

Something like a sob sounded on the other side of the door. Earnulf could hear an intense, low voiced, conversation happening and then the sound of footsteps retreating. He sighed.

"Mistress?"

"Captain." Esgarth's beckoning voice drew Earnulf out from the porch and into the light of the lamps again.

One of the dormer windows was reluctantly pushed open and a woman's face revealed. Her hair, backlit by the light in the attic room, was gilded to a halo of wisps.

"The hospitality of your house is somewhat lacking, Mistress." Earnulf tried for a light tone. "We are at your service, can we be of assistance? Where are your men folk?"

"He is as Rohirric as he sounded, mother." The young woman ignored his upturned face and turned back into the room, to be joined by an older matron at the dormer. "There are others of his éored, there see, and there," she pointed. Earnulf waited patiently, signalling Esgarth and one other to draw close. The old lady peered short-sightedly at them and then muttered something at the girl.

"Is that your camp yonder then, Captain?"

The girl indicated the plateau with an arm; Earnulf followed her arm and then spotted Dervoron trotting into the space before the inn. The sergeant shook his head, and Earnulf gave him a brief nod and then turned back to the young woman.

"That is the camp of King Elessar, King of Gondor, mistress. I have had the honour of escorting him."

"And I am the Queen of the Golden Wood,” she snapped. “I have no time for foolishness, Captain." She started to pull the shutter to.

"Madam, he speaks the truth." Dervoron strode into the light, the white tree on his tabard shining in the orange light. "Let us aid you. Will you not tell us what ails this hamlet?"

The young woman looked at Dervoron, astonished. More low-voiced conversation took place between mother and daughter, and then both vanished from the window.

Shortly Earnulf could hear the sound of heavy pieces of furniture being moved away from the inside of the door. Finally, several large bolts were pulled and the door inched open. The girl with the golden hair slipped out warily. Earnulf judged the top of her head would probably just reach his shoulder but she carried herself with all the hauteur of Gondor's queen.

“Oda Thordisdotter,” she introduced herself.

She examined Earnulf, flicked her eye over his men.

“Earnulf Dernulfson,” Earnulf replied politely.

The young woman held the door open and Earnulf ducked under the door lintel to enter the crowded interior of the inn.

00000

Gimli watched as Radagast greeted Legolas with a mild sort of pleasure.

“Legolas, ah, good of you to come. I have need of your skill with trees. Now here…”

The wizard turned as if to stride off deeper into the wood.

“Radagast, hold a moment.” Legolas voice was filled with affectionate chagrin, “Gladly will I help you, but first let me introduce you to my companions.” He waved a graceful arm that took in both Gimli and Ascallon.

Gimli straightened himself a little in preparation for being polite to the wizard. However with an apologetic look at his friend Legolas led the wizard first to greet Ascallon where she grazed a few paces off. Radagast turned all of his attention on the white mare’s flicking ears; Ascallon returned his regard by bunting him gently in his brown-robed middle.

Gimli, feeling slighted, looked to the heavens for what dole of patience they might grant him. He found, somewhat to his discomfort, that he was used to the respect accorded him by his people. Humbleness was starting to chafe like an ill-fitting hauberk.

Legolas moved up beside him and dropped a comradely hand to his shoulder. His glance was apology and plea all in one, and the ire constricting Gimli’s chest ran out of him like water from a jug.

Finally the wizard turned and sought round the clearing for Legolas, his distracted gaze finally finding them as they waited his pleasure. His gaze narrowed as he rested it on the dwarf, until Gimli felt he was at the end of a glowing poker. Then the wizard huffed a little in his beard and stepped closer.

Gimli looked back impassively, knowing very well that he was seeing only the surface of this Istar, the homespun masking power granted by the Valar themselves. The wizard’s staff had begun to glow illuminating the clearing with an aquatic green light.

Gimli bowed, conceding nothing. “Gimli, Gloin’s son.”

“Hmm, yes. Radagast at your service, master dwarf, somewhat more than my name, as are you. Ascallon speaks well of you.” Radagast smiled, and his face was transformed from imposing to genial, all in a moment. “Hah, a new thing in Middle-earth even in these late days, that a dwarf and a horse should agree.”

Ascallon whinnied a comment at the wizard’s back.

“You have a taste for strange company, it seems, Gloin’s son.” The wizard turned his canny gaze on Legolas.

“I try to be a civilizing influence.” Gimli remarked, aiming his comment at his friend.

The wizard laughed out loud. “Another wonder for this age, a Wood Elf civilised by the axe of a dwarf. How is it going?”

“Slowly.” Gimli retorted.

Legolas tossed his head and stalked away to whisper in Ascallon’s ear. The dwarf and the wizard shared a conspiratorial grin.

The wizard pointed to an up-thrust rock that lumped its way between two gnarled trees. Part of the light from his staff separated then drifted across the clearing like thistledown to settle on the boulder’s highest point, about an arm’s height above Gimli’s head.

“Would you tarry here for a short while, my good Gimli? I would like to show Legolas something deeper in the wood. Ascallon would feel better if she had company.”

“Then it would be churlish for me to refuse, wizard. I will wait.”

The pair made their way out of the clearing and Gimli walked over to the nook formed by the rock and settled his back against the comfort of stone. After he won a small battle of wills with Ascallon, over whether the horse was going to keep him company by standing in his lap, he removed his battle-axe from his back and found a whetstone about his person.

Deep in the tangle of trees Radagast perched on a branch, one lower than the elf, and interrogated him.

“Do you agree then, Legolas? There is wrongness about this blight. No disease would be described a boon but this seems more fell. Do you feel this?

Legolas landed lightly beside the wizard, holding a twig and a couple of yellowed leaves. He lifted a quizzical brow at the wizard and then raised the leaves to his nose and inhaled deeply - met Radagast’s steely gaze and then took an assessing audit of the surrounding oaks. He picked his way past the wizard then leaned against the main bole of the tree and closed his eyes.

“The trees are uncomfortable, aye, Radagast, but this blight poses no real danger to these mature trees. The saplings maybe.”

Legolas opened his eyes again and peered at the forest floor, then dropped out of the canopy to investigate the health of a young tree waiting hopefully in its parent’s shade.

Radagast followed him, rather more slowly, disturbing the fragrant leaf litter of the forest floor as he hit the ground. Legolas had his ear pressed to the young oak’s trunk.

“And if I told you that a very similar blight has recently felled trees near my home, Rhosgobel, aye, hard on the eves of Eryn Lasgalen. If I told you that leaf fall has come a day earlier, each year for the last decade so that laer is barely past when the trees turn golden. If I tell you that echuir arrives similarly later, by day, by year, would you then increase your concern?” Legolas looked at the mottled leaves in his hands.

“Have you spoken of this with my father?”

Radagast shrugged. “His own power is more than adequate to save all but the fringes of his demesne. I doubt he notices the seasonal creep. But I do.”

Above their heads, above the trees, Squawk and Peep cried mournfully as they rode the day’s last thermals.

Legolas gasped.

Radagast leaned on his staff and examined him, Legolas waved a dismissive hand.

“I am so open, for the trees, master. Forgive me.” He shut his eyes and tugged his control about him like the ragged ends of a worn cloak.

“Are you on your way to the havens then, Legolas? Is the calling the reason for your timely arrival?”

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, I will not sail yet. The river-daughter’s gift was given with barbs for my flesh, that is all.” The elf looked embarrassed to have been caught in weakness.

Radagast’s lips thinned and he looked as if he would speak and then, instead, he turned and started walking briskly back to the edge of the forest.

“Come, Legolas, we have left your good friends long enough and I would take counsel with Aragorn.”

They quickly reached the tree line, and then Legolas surged ahead of the wizard as if eager to be in Gimli’s solid company again. The dwarf clambered to his feet as he saw them breasting the trees, and Peep and Squawk fluttered into the same space, screaming at each other.

Gimli saw his friend’s already pale features go chalky and the elf faltered, again.

“Enough of this,” said the wizard.

 Radagast’s staff glowed and the wizard made a pinching motion with his fingers. The gulls called once more then arrowed off to the south.

Legolas dropped to one knee in a movement so graceless it was as if a string had been cut. Radagast stooped over him and placed one splayed hand on the bowed golden head, bending all his attention onto the elf.

The wizard suddenly became very still as the keen edge of Gimli’s axe rested, as gently as a kiss, on the soft skin of his neck.

“What do you think you would be doing to my friend now, master Radagast?”

Gimli’s voice vibrated with barely contained outrage. A thin trickle of red ran down the wizard’s neck from where the weight of the axe split his skin. Gimli felt a grim satisfaction at the sight.

Radagast slid his eyes sideways to engage those of the furious dwarf, “Let us let Legolas judge me, Gimli.”

With excruciating care the wizard raised his hand from the elf’s blond hair.

Legolas steadied himself with a hand to the turf - then rose to his feet with all of his usual fluid grace.

He turned to see the tableaux behind him and his eyes widened in alarm.

“Gimli” he said very softly. “Gimli, I am well. Please friend, I promise. Radagast is as much my friend as you are. He means me no harm.”

Gimli eased the pressure on the axe and searched Legolas’ face. The wizard also stood and took a prudent step to the side, dabbing at his neck with his hand.

“Look to your song, Legolas.” The wizard’s voice was encouraging, “I think I have given you some time.”

The elf seemed to go away behind his brilliant eyes, and then came back to the glade. The look of radiant joy that transfigured his face was simply too much for the dwarf to bear; he turned his own head away blinking back tears.

“Radagast, thank you.” Legolas stepped forward and touched the wizard on the arm.

 Gimli gathered himself enough to walk away, towards the rock, sheathing his axe and stooping to gather his tools into their oilskin. He felt lower than a mushroom and about as worthy.

“Gimli?” Legolas voice came from over his shoulder. The dwarf refused to turn.

“Gimli, we are going to Aragorn’s camp now. Would you ride?”

Horse breath blew damply, if sweetly, into his ear, ruffling his hair. Gimli straightened and met Ascallon’s liquid eye. Nothing could have persuaded him to meet Legolas’.

He reached up for his friend’s hand and swung; in a move so practised it was automatic, into his riding position behind the elf. He said nothing, and Legolas, merciful at last, allowed it.

TBC

Rose Sared