Ch. 16 - Difficult Decisions

She saw the pale white of Baranor’s face and knelt by his side. Looking into Gorlim’s eyes, she saw there was no hope. The soldier laid his hands over Baranor’s eyes and closed them. She wept bitterly.

At last, she laid her head back upon Gorlim’s chest. He held her for a moment then helped her stand. They walked back towards Siriondil. Gildor’s eyes asked for hope, but she had none to give. He closed his own eyes in loss.

Listöwel stood and pulled Indis aside. “Gildor needs help. Siriondil has done all that is possible, here in the field, but Gildor needs more.” She had her own thoughts, her own course of possible action, but she respected and trusted Indis. She would wait until she was asked for her opinion.

“Again, we come to hard choices, do we not, my sister-friend?”

“We do, Indis. You will make the right one.”

She motioned for Gorlim to join them, and then sat before the fire. “The garrison of Amon Dîn is near. Siriondil and Listöwel will take Gildor to the fort, along with Baranor’s body. Gorlim, Théodred and I will wait here for Siriondil and Listöwel to return.” She shook her head. “I cannot abide this waiting when my very heart screams for speed, but we cannot go alone, the three of us.” She turned to Gorlim, “Or can we?”

“It would seem foolhardy, my Lady. Faramir has had no attacks since we started out. Mayhap we could wait a day.”

“It has only been one day and two nights, Gorlim. The attacks are not daily. Tomorrow may find him weaker.”

They sat in silence. Siriondil joined them. “We must be away immediately, if we are to save Gildor’s life,” the healer said quietly. He was wrapping his own hand with bandages. Listöwel clucked and helped him. He looked at Indis. “I know you wish to continue. I do not think it a wise course.”

“You did not think it a wise course before we left,” Indis said crossly. She sighed. “I know you only think of our safety, but I have given up any thought of that. I only deem Faramir’s welfare to be paramount. He will not recover sitting here by the side of the road waiting for you to return. I have made up my mind. We are going ahead.” She stood up and they stood with her.

“Théodred!” she called and the boy stepped out of the wagon. She motioned for him to join them. “Siriondil and Listöwel. You will take Gildor to Amon Dîn. Taking Baranor’s body with you will slow you down. Gorlim, we will burn Baranor here in the clearing. We cannot bury him for the ground is frozen, but we will build a pyre for him.” Théodred choked; she put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Listöwel, you will ride with Siriondil. Gildor will ride his own horse. We will hitch Baranor’s horse to the wagon.”

She looked about her at the grim faces. “I wish there was another way. Siriondil, when you reach Amon Dîn look for Durahil. I believe he was made captain of the garrison at Amon Dîn. He can be trusted. If he is there, ask him to send help. But only someone he trusts. Tell him we are continuing westward, but will now use the Great West Road. I would prefer to keep to the hills, but winter has hit this area hard and more hungry beasts will be about. Hopefully, they will avoid the road.”

Siriondil stood. “I cannot say I approve this plan, my Lady, but I will obey. I will prepare Gildor for the journey.”

Théodred stood. “I will hitch Baranor’s horse to the wagon.”

Gorlim took a shovel from the wagon and began to chip into the hard ground, trying to dig the base for the pyre. Turning towards Indis, he said, “There is not enough dried wood for a pyre, my Lady. I believe we must try to dig a shallow grave.”

She looked at him in horror. If they did not burn Baranor, the wolves would dig up the shallow grave and desecrate the warrior’s remains. There was nothing she could do. She nodded, turned and climbed into the wagon. She took Faramir’s hand in hers and sobbed.

~*~

To say that he was surprised was an understatement. The young lad before him stood still, waiting for Imrahil’s response. The Prince was dumbfounded.

“I have not spoken clearly enough, my Lord?” the boy wondered.

“Would you say again before the Lady Ragnhild what you just told me?”

“Aye, my Lord.” The boy waited as Imrahil sent an aide to fetch Ragnhild. She was usually in the Houses at this time of day. She should be along shortly. He motioned for a chair and then, when it was placed before him, he motioned for the boy to sit.

“You are how old?”

“I am almost sixteen, my Lord. I have been esquire for Lord Aglahad since I was fourteen.” The boy blushed, not sure if he should go on.

Imrahil noted and motioned for him to continue.

“Lord Aglahad is captain of the garrison at Edhellond. Your father stationed him there immediately after I became his esquire. I have not been to Lamedon nor to my father’s house since I was twelve.”

Imrahil smiled. ‘So the boy is saying he knows naught of the intrigues of his father!’

“Let me say, my Lord, that I love my father dearly. He is… sometimes he finds himself frustrated with the state of Lamedon and its vulnerability to attack.”

‘And now the boy makes excuses for his father.’

“He is a good man,” the boy said plaintively. “He can be swayed by other’s words. Words that he deems wise for our land. He sometimes forgets we are of Gondor.”

‘More excuses,’ Imrahil grimaced.

“There is naught to say more for my father. Know that once he was a great man. Well-respected.” Tears glistened in the lad’s eyes and Imrahil took pity.

“Fathers are difficult to deal with,” he said quietly. The look of hope in the boy’s eyes was disturbing. Ohtar had committed treason – no matter his reasons, he had committed treason. And punishment for treason was death. Imrahil stood from the Chair, walked down the few steps, and looked towards the windows. The light of the afternoon sun shone through and it lifted his heart a little.

‘I should not be the one having to make this decision. Yet, I must. Ah! Ragnhild at last,’ he thought as she walked into the Hall.

He waited until she stood directly before him. “I believe we had best retire to my study. This is a difficult time. Lord Ohtar’s son has come to me with some disturbing news. I would share it with you, but in a more private setting.” He turned towards the foyer; the boy and Ragnhild followed.

A guard opened the study door, let them pass inside, and then stepped inside himself. He would not allow his Prince to be alone with a stranger, even though the stranger was but a mere lad.

“Please sit, Lady Ragnhild.” He went behind the massive oak desk that once was Denethor’s, Steward of Gondor, and sat. His hands rubbed along the smooth top. The motion brought back many memories of Denethor. He had spent time here, studying with the Steward, playing ‘Kings and Stewards,’ listening to stories with Boromir and Faramir of ancient times. He had loved this study, this desk. Now, it bespoke sorrow and loss. He swallowed and looked at the lad before him.