3: Pitfalls of Ignorance

The euphoria lasted for precisely two days. During that time, Aragorn and Gilhael were royally feted by the Rohirrim and both men were introduced to the éored with whom they would spend their time. Hilderic, at twenty-seven, was not considered too young to lead the troop and was held in great respect. Aragorn found that most of the men spoke something of Westron, though one or two of the older retainers either did not or would not speak any tongue but that of the Mark.

During the next two days Aragorn learned something of his duties and what was expected of him.

"We will be traveling to the Westfold and into the northern part of the Westmark before the summer’s end," Hilderic told him and Gilhael as the three men sat in the main hall of Meduseld, sipping ale at one of the trestle tables. "Our wise ones claim this winter will be especially harsh and it is important that the harvest is properly gathered and stored away. The recent incursions of the Dunlendings makes it necessary for us to stage a longer than usual patrol through the area. Look you."

The young Rohir pulled out a rough map showing the western part of Rohan from a tube that he had brought with him. Aragorn thought of the elegantly made maps in his adar’s library, the great detail of geography and topography that six thousand years of living had made possible. Yet, this map, crude though it was in comparison, was sufficiently detailed for Aragorn to see immediately what the primary problem would be.

"The villages are well separated from one another," Aragorn remarked, pointing to the various markings that indicated their locations. "It will be difficult to maintain a proper patrol unless you split the éored."

Hilderic looked at Aragorn in surprise. "You realized the problem as soon as you looked at the map."

Aragorn gave the young man a smile. "It is one of my duties among the Dúnedain to recognize such things. The elves of Imladris taught me more than how to ride bareback and shoot with precision, Hilderic."

"I guess so," the Rohir dubiously stated, then shook his head. "Well, anyway, that will be our problem. And splitting the éored will not work, either."

Aragorn stared thoughtfully at the map. "What is this place here?" he asked, pointing to a dot nestled within the White Mountains to the east of Helm’s Deep.

"Hildegrimsdale, the seat of my family’s holdings," Hilderic answered. "Why?"

"How large is it?" Aragorn asked.

Hilderic shrugged. "It’s the largest holding in the Westfold, except for Erkengar’s." He pointed to another holding further west beyond Helm’s Deep. "Erkengar is a doughty warrior and until last year he held the Westfold for Uncle, but he was felled by a Dunlending spear and his legs no longer carry him. Yet, he is wily and knows well the ways of the Westfold and the White Mountains. Father relies on him still for his knowledge."

Aragorn nodded, thinking all the while. "Then the éored you lead once belonged to Erkengar."

Hilderic nodded, looking somewhat chagrined. "I did not ask for it and it should have gone to Erkengar’s son, Erkenhelm, but..."

"But the same ambush that paralyzed Erkengar took his son’s life and his grandson, Erkenscyld, is yet a child."

All turned to see Hildebrand striding down the hall towards them. The three men rose and gave the First Marshal of the Mark respectful bows. Hildebrand gave them appraising looks. "Thus it fell to me and to my sons to guard the King and the Westfold."

Aragorn nodded, still musing. Gilhael recognized the look, having seen it on his Chieftain’s face often enough, usually just as said Chieftain was about to propose the most outlandish scheme affecting the patrols, schemes that seemed to work, though the Valar only knew how.

"What are you thinking about Cousin?" he asked and the two Rohirrim suddenly took notice of the Dúnadan’s expression.

"Something Prince Legolas told me when I was visiting Mirkwood."

"And who’s this Prince you speak of?" Hilderic asked in surprise. The forest of Mirkwood had an ominous reputation even among the Rohirrim.

"Hmm? Oh, Legolas is heir to the throne of Ardh Eryndor, the Woodland Realm of the Elven King, Thranduil."

Both Rohirrim stared at the young Dúnadan who mentioned elven kings and princes with such nonchalance and they saw what they had not seen before — the light of stars in Aragorn’s eyes. Hildebrand was the first to recover. "What did this... prince say?"

Aragorn focused his gaze on the older man and shook his head. "Something about the elven patrols and how they guard the distant villages from the depredations of Dol Guldur."

The other three men shivered at the name, so evil was its reputation, even here in Rohan. Aragorn shook his head. "I am not sure it would work here. I need to think on it some more. See the lay of the land myself before I offer my thoughts as a solution to your problem of maintaining a viable presence in the Westfold."

Hildebrand nodded, stroking his beard. "Then, go with my son to the Westfold and see what needs seeing, then tell us your thoughts."

Aragorn gave the First Marshal a bow, then turned to Hilderic. "When do we leave?"

"Three days from now."

****

But Aragorn was doomed not to leave with the éored with Hilderic. Later that afternoon he was wandering through the corrals where the horses of the Rohirrim were exercised, admiring both riders and horses. He had already given Mithfaron his run and was relaxing, leaning against a post.

Two of the Rohirrim came up to him, one taller than the other. Aragorn recognized neither one. The taller of the two spoke to Aragorn in rapid Rohirric and he was wishing Gilhael were there to translate. The man pointed to some horses and Aragorn thought he recognized the words ‘mearas’ and ‘eoh’ but otherwise the man’s words were incomprehensible to him.

"Ic sprece yfele... þin tunge. Þu spreceð... Westdæltunge?" Aragorn stumbled over the words, struggling to remember them, and hoped he had not mangled them too much.

The two men grinned and the taller one jabbered at him some more in Rohirric. Whether he could not or would not speak Westron, Aragorn did not know. The man pointed to the horses in the corral, obviously asking some sort of question. Aragorn could only guess that he was being asked his opinion of the horses.

He silently curse Gilhael for not being there, though it was not his cousin’s fault. Hildebrand had requested Gilhael’s company to talk of his days riding among the Rohirrim under Erkengar. Aragorn grimaced slightly as he tried to dredge up a suitable sentence in praise of the horses.

"Ic deme... þa Mearas sind... uh... um... unfæge," he said, proud that he had been able to say something praiseworthy. The two men stared at him in shock and Aragorn was a little late in seeing the punch from the taller man. His head went back and he crashed against the railings, the breath knocked out of him.

Before he could respond he felt hands grab him and there was much shouting and confusion and he found himself being pummelled brutally by several men. He did his best to cover his soft spots and protect his head, but his ears were ringing and he felt a rib crack. Then he was being picked up and dragged away by men still shouting. He was not sure where they were taking him but he was in too much pain to care. Eventually, they brought him to a low building, threw open the door and pushed him in. He fell several feet down a flight of stairs. His last conscious sight was of the door above him being shut, the sound of a bolt loud and clear.

He was alone in the dark with no idea why.

****

How long he remained there he did not know though he suspected it was all night. He lost consciousness at one point and so had no idea how much time had passed. He could see nothing and spent a long time stumbling about on his hands and knees trying to find the stairs. He appeared to be in some sort of cold cellar, for the air was cool. Eventually, the cold began to creep into his bones and he started shivering. He finally found the bottom step, but trying to climb the stairs proved too much for his strength and he collapsed against them and passed out again.

The sound of voices and the drawing of the bolt woke him and he opened his eyes just in time to close them again against the brightness that assailed him. Booted feet came down the steps and then hands pulled him up. He hissed against the pain.

"Carefully, Cousin," Gilhael said softly in his ear. "Let me help you."

"Gilhael? H-how did you find me?" Aragorn asked in wonder.

"Long story. Come, Thengel is waiting. You’ve been called to trial."

"Trial? Wh-what... why? Gilhael, what is going on?"

By now they had reached the top steps and Gilhael helped Aragorn over the threshold. Other hands grabbed him and Aragorn saw that Hilderic was there, looking angry, but whether at him or something else, he could not guess.

"Is there time to clean him up?" Gilhael asked the young Rohir and Hilderic shook his head.

"Nay, it is best we take him directly to my Uncle’s court."

It was slow going for Aragorn was in considerable pain and his eyes refused to focus on anything for very long. The climb up the terrace was excruciating but at last they made it and then they were inside the hall, walking towards Thengel who sat in regal silence on his throne. Around him Aragorn could see several warriors including the two who had accosted him the day before. He flinched slightly at the sight of them and Gilhael gave his arm a squeeze.

Thengel took one look at the Dúnadan and ordered a chair for him and Aragorn sank gratefully into it, still unsure what was happening or why. Then Thengel began speaking in Rohirric and Hilderic translated softly for Aragorn.

"What is his crime, Grimbold?" Thengel asked and Aragorn was not surprised to see the man from yesterday step forward.

"He insulted the Mearas, Thengel King, and therefore, he insulted you." Grimbold sounded suitably affronted but there was a hint of smugness that did not go unnoticed by the king.

"And how did he come to insult anyone, Grimbold son of Háma?" Thengel asked coldly. "Lord Thorongil is gently bred and would never willingly offer insult to anyone."

Here, the man was less sure of his standing and muttered something that Hilderic did not catch. Apparently, neither did Thengel, for he turned his attention to Aragorn and spoke in Sindarin, while Gilhael translated for the Rohirrim.

"Tell me what happened, Lord Thorongil."

Aragorn took a shallow breath, trying to remain focused. "I was admiring the horses and riders when... when this man and another approached me and began speaking to me in the tongue of your people. I asked if they understood Westron but they denied it and insisted on speaking to me in Rohirric. I did not understand what they were saying but guessed they wanted my opinion of the horses in the corral. I thought I was giving them praise but then... Grimbold attacked me and...."

Thengel held up his hand. "Do you remember what you said, young man?"

Now Aragorn hesitated, fearing the king’s wrath if he were to repeat what was obviously not words of praise. He swallowed nervously. "Ic deme þa Mearas sind unfæge," he muttered, mentally cringing, and reddening with embarrassment.

There was a collective gasp from the onlookers and even Hilderic looked appalled. Gilhael gave his cousin a pained look and rolled his eyes. Only Thengel remained unmoved.

"What did you think you were saying, son?" Thengel’s voice was gentle and there was a hint of humor in it that heartened Aragorn.

"I thought I was saying that the Mearas were undying... I mean, their line would never die out in Middle-earth." He paused and took another breath, feeling faintly ill. "Th-that’s not what I said, is it?"

"No, son, it isn’t." Thengel’s tone was still gentle and a small smile graced his lips. "What you said was that the Mearas were loathsome to you."

Aragorn felt the blood rush from his head and the room started to do a slow spin. "B-but that’s not what I meant to say! I swear to you, my lord, I meant no insult...I would never..."

Thengel rose from his chair and went to Aragorn, placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. "Peace, Thorongil. I do not lay any blame upon you. Your error is understandable and others would have taken your ignorance of our language into account and would have simply corrected you. You used the word ‘unfæge’ when you meant to say ‘unfægere’. A slight difference in pronunciation, a major difference in meaning."

"I am sorry, my lord," Aragorn said in remorse. "I never meant to cause any trouble."

"I know that, young man," Thengel said, clapping him on the shoulder, "but such errors cannot always be easily overlooked or ignored."

He stared down at the Dúnadan who sat in obvious misery, both from shame at his gaffe and pain from the beating he had received. "Hilderic, take our young guest to the healers, see that he is well tended. I will think on a suitable punishment for you later." This last was directed at Aragorn, who nodded miserably but said nothing as Gilhael and Hilderic helped him up.

As they were leaving the hall he heard Thengel speak to the one called Grimbold in Westron. "I know you understand more than you let on, Grimbold son of Háma. I will not tolerate such actions from you or anyone else. You are more at fault in this than young Thorongil and I hold you to the greater blame. You will start learning to speak the Westron tongue and show me that you are proficient in it by Yule or you will be stripped of your rank and removed from the éored."

Aragorn indicated to Gilhael and Hilderic that he wished to stop and the three of them paused to look back at the tableau before the throne. They saw Grimbold standing there pale and sweating before Thengel’s rage, all the more terrible for it being so quietly spoken.

"And one more thing, Grimbold," Thengel said. "Lord Thorongil is a guest under my roof. When you attacked him, you attacked me. I will demand a suitable wergild for the insult against our person. I will consult my Witan and let you know what the amount will be."

If Grimbold had looked pale before, he went absolutely white now, his lips compressed into a thin blue line of barely concealed rage, but he knew better than to contradict Thengel and only bowed in acknowledgment of his king’s will.

"Let me be clear on this," Thengel said, speaking so all could hear. "Lord Thorongil and Lord Gilhael are under my protection. Harm them at your peril." There was a steely tone in Thengel’s voice that had even Aragorn shivering in sympathy. He made a mental note to himself never to do anything to bring Thengel’s wrath down upon him. That seemed to be the end of the court and in a matter of minutes Aragorn was being led to the healers who began to minister to him.

****

All words and phrases are Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) unless otherwise noted.

Ardh Eryndor: (Sindarin) Woodland Realm; Thranduil’s kingdom.

Ic sprece yfele þin tunge. Þu spreceð Westdæltunge?: "I speak badly your tongue. Do you speak (3^rd person singular verb conjugation with 2^nd person personal pronoun) Westron?" Obviously, Aragorn’s command of Rohirric at this point is not good. What he should have said was Ic sprece nealles gearwe þin tunge. Þu sprecest Westdæltunge? "I speak not at all well your tongue. Do you speak (2^nd person singular verb conjugation) Westron?". Westdæltunge, literally means ‘west-quarter language’.

Ic deme þa Mearas sind unfæge: "I judge the Mearas are loathsome." This is what Aragorn said; what he meant to say was Ic deme þa Mearas unfægere beon: "I judge the Mearas to be fated not to die," i.e., their line will never die out in Middle-earth. Mearas is the Anglo-Saxon nominative plural of mearh, meaning ‘horse, steed’ and is from this word that we get our modern English word ‘mare’. Tolkien used it as a proper name for the horses of Valinor and thus I use it here. Eoh, of course, is yet another word for ‘horse’.

Wergild: Compensation paid for injury done to another or when one person dies at the hands of another. As a guest under Thengel’s roof, any insult or injury done to Aragorn would be considered an insult or injury done to Thengel, who could demand a wergild as atonement for the crime. The amount of money paid would depend on the gravity of the injury and the social status of the victim. Under Rohirric (Anglo-Saxon) law, no one has a higher wergild than the king of the land, including foreign rulers.

Historical note: Erkengar’s (OC) young grandson, Erkenscyld (OC) (scyld = shield) will become the father of Erkenbrand (CC), who, as Lord of the Westfold, will play a prominent role in the defense of Rohan during the War of the Ring. Erkenbrand would later become Marshal of the Westmark.