Ch. 10 - Lies and Deceit

They camped for the night, pulling cloaks about them to protect against the fierce winds of Rohan. The horses had been loosed and a fire started. Both Elves smiled as their brother lit his pipe.

“I do not know where he picked up this odious habit, Elrohir. Do you?”

“Seems to me ‘twas from some maiden in that town of Bree. I recall him taking her to his…” A sharp hiss from Aragorn stopped the elder Elf from continuing. 

“Seems to me he is uncomfortable when that incident is brought up.” A quick duck saved Elladan from a thrown stone.

“Not uncomfortable, brother. Mortified.” And the elder had to roll to the right ere a lighted log from the fire passed too close to his left side.

A grumble from Aragorn did nothing to sway his brothers from a full frontal attack. Foolishly, he had not expected it, thinking they were content with their jibes, but he had been wrong. He found himself with his head pushed into the snow, one Elf sitting on his back, the other on his legs. He fought furiously to free himself, but quickly gave up the effort. A full éored of Rohirrim could not dislodge two Elves bent thus on subjugating their brother!

After a moment, peals of laughter rang through the folds of the valley as both brothers let their erstwhile victim regain his freedom. They moved back quickly as he grabbed a burning log from the fire and held it in front of him. Swishing it back and forth, he kept them at bay, wondering if they had more mischief planned for him. His thoughts turned dark; they were attacking him. Orc perhaps; he struggled to see in this ill-fated darkness.

Both Elves stepped back, hands held in front of them in gestures of peace. Their smiles had vanished at the look of determination on Aragorn’s face. “Be at peace, brother!” Elladan cried. “‘Twas a jest, no more.”

Aragorn shook his head but kept the log whooshing from side to side.

“Brother!” Elrohir commanded.

Aragorn’s scowl grew deeper as he advanced upon them. The log came dangerously close and Elrohir once again cried aloud. “Estel!”

Elladan tripped and fell and Aragorn pressed forward, his eyes wild, his arm still shoving the weapon in front of him. Elrohir, beside himself with fear, attacked, pushing his brother backwards and stripping him of the bludgeon. He gave a swift look towards Elladan to make sure he was safe, then sat on Aragorn’s chest. A quick gasp left his lips as he looked into eyes that were not his brother’s. As Aragorn struggled, Elrohir began to speak slowly and quietly, using his father’s tongue and words of succor. Elladan sat, stunned and silent.

~*~

A servant had died in the early evening. Much to her chagrin, Indis realized this was a blessing from the Valar. All in the Citadel knew of the death for the servant was much loved. The likwain had arrived. The body would be taken from the City into the fields of Pelennor and buried near the man’s ancestral home. But the corpse would not be in the cart, Faramir would as would Indis, Listöwel and Théodred. The others would ride ahead, ostensibly sent on an errand by Prince Imrahil.

As they climbed into the cart, Indis’ heart fell. Fervently, she prayed to the Valar to not make this cart a true likwain, carrying the dead body of Faramir back to the White City. Listöwel saw her hesitation and held her hand as she settled into the transport. Siriondil placed Faramir on Indis’ lap, passed his healing kit to Théodred, kissed Indis gently and left them. He would ride with Baranor and company until they rendezvoused at the North Gate.

The likwain made its way down through the levels to the Great Gate. There, an emissary of Prince Imrahil’s sang the parting song in Isildur’s Square and the cart moved onto the Pelennor. Indis breathed a sigh of relief.

“You believe there are still those who wish Faramir dead?” Listöwel asked in grief.

Indis looked at the little body in her arms and cried. “I do,” she whispered hoarsely. “I do.”

“Will we ever be free?”

Théodred stirred in his sleep, the first he had had since the decision to leave Minas Tirith had been made, and Indis looked at him in pain. “He has grown so, in such a short time. When we left Edoras, he had seemed a child. Now, he bears the face of a man.”  Her thoughts went to Boromir. “My beloved nephew would look the same, with the sorrow that we have endured of late.”  Then, she held her finger over her mouth in silent warning. “‘Tis not the time to be speaking of such things. We know not what Faramir can hear. We go in hope, Listöwel. We must, else we die.”

“Will you leave…?” Listöwel began, thought better of her next words and grew silent. Leaning over, she took her friend’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Faramir will be safe with us.  No untoward event will take me again by surprise, Indis. I will die before I let him be harmed.”

Indis’ eyes grew dark. “As will I, my friend, as will I.”

The cart rumbled along, carrying its four passengers into the night.