Chapter 20    Only the Boy

The storm struck with little warning, sweeping down from the high peaks of the Ephal Duath with frightening intensity. The sky, which had been dim and gray all day, suddenly disappeared altogether as thick blankets of swirling snow closed in tightly, driven by a fierce and angry wind.  Distinct shapes such as trees and boulders suddenly became nothing but shadows, ghostly flickers that were visible one second, then lost to the storm the next. The temperature, though it had been nearly freezing all day, suddenly seemed to drop even further, cutting as sharply as a knife as it was driven by the fierce wind.

Aragorn watched the storm cautiously from beneath the heavy hood of his cloak, his eyes narrowed in concentration and worry.  He had woken this morning with the sure knowledge that it would snow sometime during the day, yet he had not been prepared for the brutal intensity of the blizzard now set upon them.  Even standing between the relative shelter of two tall hills it was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction.  The indistinct shapes of his men drifted ghost-like behind him as they moved about in an attempt to remain at least somewhat warm.  An occasional mumbled curse or low cough could be heard above the howl of the wind, but otherwise all was silent.

Aragorn felt a sharp nudge against his shoulder and turned to offer a distracted pat to his horse’s muzzle.  The large gelding—who was obviously not too fond of storms—stared at him with large, reproachful brown eyes and offered a long, exaggerated shudder to communicate its displeasure at the current situation. Aragorn only smiled in understanding and gently brushed away the thin layer of snow and ice that had accumulated on the beast’s normally glossy neck.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Cierno,” he murmured quietly, the wind immediately grabbing his words and whipping them away into the mass of wildly dancing snow. 

Cierno whickered softly in response, then stamped a single, white-socked foot in a gesture of impatience.  His neck arched slightly as he turned his great head to look behind them to where the rest of the men and horses waited quietly.

With a soft sigh, Aragorn turned and led the gelding further back into the shelter of the high hills, making toward the area where he had last seen Gimli and Kenson dismounting.  Soldiers saluted and bowed as he walked past, and Aragorn made sure to return each salute with a quick nod and smile of encouragement.  He knew well how such a storm could serve to dampen spirits and feed fears, and he did not want the men giving in to despair.

“Over here, Aragorn!”

He turned at the call of his name and found Gimli, along with Kenson and Captain Jeralk, all standing in a tight group.  Gimli was impatiently waving him over, and Aragorn could not stop a small smile from forming as he watched the dwarf crowd so close to Shandarell’s sleek side that he appeared almost to be standing beneath the great horse.  While Kenson and Jeralk’s mounts both stood a short distance away, hindquarters squarely facing into the wind and head’s bowed, Shandarell stood at a slight angle to the storm in an attempt to offer Gimli a small area of protection from the blowing snow and biting air.

Aragorn shook his head in silent amusement.  I seemed as if a true affection had developed between horse and dwarf over the last few days—though Gimli would never admit to such a thing and was careful to grumble and complain loudly if anyone should glance his way.  For his part, Shandarell seemed to have taken on the role of nursemaid concerning Gimli, rarely letting the dwarf out of sight and constantly standing guard over him.  His actions now displayed the same protective behavior he had always used toward Legolas—much to the elf’s amused delight. Gimli did not appear amused, and certainly not delighted, yet he did wear a somewhat smug look and made no indication of moving from Shandarell’s offered protection.

‘I wonder what Legolas would think of this?’  Aragorn though wryly as he trudged through the thickening snow toward his companions.  More than likely the elf would understand the situation better than anyone.  After all, no one had expected Legolas and Gimli to be able to overcome the generations of distrust and disdain between their two races and become friends, and yet they had.   Shandarell and Gimli did not seem so strange when compared to that.

“Good afternoon, sirs,” he greeted as soon as he had reached them, his voice raised to be heard over the wind.  “Lovely storm, don’t you agree?”

Kenson smiled dryly at him, but Gimli and Jeralk only exchanged unreadable glances, then simultaneously grunted and jerked their cloaks more firmly about themselves.

“The only lovely thing about it would be if it were to stop!” Gimli grumbled ungraciously, attempting to brush the heavy flakes of snow out of his thick beard.

“I am afraid I must agree,” Aragorn replied, immediately growing serious.  “This storm presents a delay we can ill afford.”

For the last three days the company had made good time, traveling swiftly east to the mountains before turning South, unknowingly following along the exact same path Tervanis and his men had traveled only a few days earlier.  The weather had been clear and mild, if a bit chill, in no way hinting at the storm that was to come.  Now, only a few hours away from the Poros Crossing, and the Harad Road beyond, their first bout of ill luck had fallen upon them with a vengeance.

Aragorn turned to Jeralk, stepping closer to the man so he could speak without having to shout.  “Have all the scouts returned?” he asked.

The captain shook his head, his features twisting in a slight grimace. “All but one, My Lord.  Toral was scouting the forward path and has yet to return.”  The captain’s tone was matter-of-fact, but a hint of worry lingered in his eyes.  He knew each of his men personally, and though he could be a stern and fierce commander, he was also a man who cared deeply for those placed under him.  The men sensed this and responded to it with a fierce loyalty to the grizzled old captain.

“Perhaps he has found shelter and is waiting out the storm,” Kenson suggested.

Perhaps, yet I doubt it,” Jeralk answered shortly.  “Toral has a younger brother also riding as a scout for this company, and he will want to return to make sure Danen made it back safely.”  Jeralk sighed, then shook his head.  “Toral is a smart lad, and he knows the path we were taking.  I suspect he shall ride in shortly.”

“That is good,” Aragorn commented softly, “For we cannot stay here much longer.  We must find better shelter, and soon.”

“Where will we go?” Kenson demanded.  “Should we continue south in the hopes of finding better protection closer to the river?”

Jeralk shook his head.  “That would not be a wise idea my friend,” he informed Kenson gravely, before turning his attention to Aragorn.  “The river in this area loops and turns often, with many steep banks and high canyons.  Only at the Crossing is the land level.  In this storm we could very well walk the entire company off a cliff before ever realizing it was there”

“It seems to me,” Gimli broke in suddenly, “That the wisest course would be to remain precisely where we are.  At least here we have some protection from the storm and are not out wandering blindly through the snow looking for shelter that may, or may not be there.  If we stay here, we can give the scout a chance to return and hopefully let this storm die out a bit.  Surely it cannot keep raging at this intensity for long.”

“I am afraid you are wrong, Master Gimli,” Jeralk answered seriously.  “Storms from the Ephel Duath do not behave as normal storms should.  They can rage on for days and days with no sign of abating or even relenting in the slightest.  They are ruthless and deadly, and I fear even the protection of these hills would not be enough to save us should this blizzard continue for more than a few more hours.”

“Days!” Gimli gasped, his face going slightly pale. 

Aragorn fully understood the dwarf’s reaction.  It was not fear of the storm that caused Gimli’s distress, but fear for Legolas and Dar.  Each hour, indeed each minute of delay brought more and more danger to their kidnapped friends.  According to Delran they only had three more days in which to reach their destination, and time was quickly running short.

“I am afraid he is right, Gimli,” Aragorn said softly, his voice barely audible above the raging storm, “Though I pray with every ounce of being that this time the case will not be so.  Still, to rest our fates upon such a wish would be true folly indeed.  Come morning this valley will be under several feet of snow.  We cannot stay here.”

“Yet Gimli is right as well,” Kenson spoke up.  “If we leave the little shelter we have now, we will be wandering around blindly.  If we fail to find suitable shelter, we will be worse off than we are here!”

“We could always go back,” Jeralk suggested softly.  “The grove of trees we camped in last night would offer adequate protection, and we would be traveling along a path we already know.  It should not be too difficult to make the journey.”

Aragorn frowned, knowing the suggested plan would only cause further delays.  Still, there didn’t seem to be any other options open to them.  Before he had a chance to reply, however, loud shouts sounded from out of the gray swirl of snow behind them.

Jeralk scowled, then quickly turned to Aragorn.  “If you will excuse me, my Lord,” he bowed deeply, “I will go and see what all this commotion is about.”  Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed his horses’ bridle and stalked off into the swirling snow, his squat form quickly disappearing into the chaos of the storm.

Aragorn exchanged a glance with Gimli, then listened as the shouts continued on for several more minutes before abruptly dying away.  Silence descended, or at least as much silence as the raging storm and howling wind would allow.  The quiet was somewhat unnerving after all the previous commotion.  Beside Aragorn, Kenson shivered violently and pulled his cloak closer about him, while Gimli absentmindedly reached up and began stroking Shandarell’s neck, something which he would have never done so publicly if he had been aware of his actions.

“What do you suppose is going on out there?” Kenson finally asked, sounding as if he only spoke in order to break the uncomfortable silence.

Gimli let out a loud snort.  “Knowing our luck, it is likely a pack of wild wolves who have decided they would like to use these hills for their own shelter. Or better yet, perhaps it is a herd of wild Oliphaunts sent by the people of Khand to squash us flat where we stand.  Or maybe the dark lord Sauron has returned to…”  Gimli abruptly cut off whatever he was saying with a loud gasp.

Aragorn, who had been watching the dwarf with dry amusement, swung around abruptly, following Gimli’s gaze and feeling his own gasp of surprise leave his startled lungs. 

Two giant shapes loomed up out of the darkness before them, moving forward with a slow purpose.  In the wild distortion of the storm, Gimli’s tale of Oliphaunts suddenly seemed far less far-fetched than it had moments before, and Aragorn found himself taking a reflexive step back, his hand immediately flying to the hilt of his sword.  He blinked once, and in that moment the two dark shadows seemed to take form, stepping from the inky gray blanket of swirling snow and shrinking down to a more acceptable size—though they still towered over Aragorn and his companions. 

With a startled jerk, Aragorn realized he was looking at two horses, though the creatures were much larger than any he had ever seen before.  Their hair was thick and shaggy, their long mains falling down massive necks corded with muscle.  Aragorn suspected that if he put his arms around one of those necks, his fingertips would not even come close to meeting. Legs appearing as thick and strong as small tree trunks lifted high in the air as the animals moved forward through the snow, leaving behind hoof prints as large as dinner plates.  Streams of vapor shot from their nostrils in a manner which reminded Aragorn much of the tales of dragons he had been told by his foster brothers, Elrohir and Elladan, when he was a child growing up in Imaldris.

The massive horses came to a halt several feet away, and it was only then that Aragorn noticed the two heavily cloaked figures standing in front of the animals and holding on to what appeared to be short, thick lead ropes attached to the horses’ wide halters.

“Sir!” Jeralk’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the two large horses, and a moment later he appeared, skirting a wide birth around the animals to come and stand before Aragorn.  “Toral has returned, and he has brought some…err…guests with him.”

“Guests?” Aragorn questioned numbly, unable to tear his eyes away from the giant creatures before him. 

“This is Edan and Emnar,” Jeralk said by way of introduction, gesturing to the two cloaked figures standing in front of the horses.  To Aragorn’s dismay, the two men immediately dropped their lead ropes and took a step forward, bowing their heads in greeting.  “Their family lives on a large homestead a few miles east of here.  They were out hunting and got caught in the storm same as us.  They ran into Toral as he was trying to find his way back here, and they have offered us all the shelter of their home until the storm blows over.”

Aragorn returned the men’s nod of greeting, keeping a careful eye on the horses behind them.  “There are thirty-three of us,” he informed the men truthfully.  “Are you sure you will be able to handle shelter for us all?”

“Aye, sir,” the figure on the right spoke up, his voice sounding young but strong.  “Our father has built quite a large barn, and though you will not exactly be sleeping in luxury, at least you will be dry and warm.”

Aragorn nodded, unable to keep the relief from his voice.  “Then I offer you my most sincere thanks.  My name is Strider, my companions here are Kenson and Gimli, and at the moment a barn sounds wonderful.  However, the storm has grown quite strong, and your home is several miles distant.  Are you sure we will be able to find the way?”

The second figure let out a low, joyful laugh, and Aragorn found himself smiling, so infectious was the sound.  “This is our home, sir.”  This figures voice was even younger sounding than the other.  “We have lived here all our lives.  Edan and I could find our way home in a storm twice as bad as this.”

“Stop boasting, Emnar, it is impolite,” Edan scolded his brother, before turning to offer Aragorn an apologetic bow.  “My brother is right, however, and I am confident we can find the way home.  Yet even if we couldn’t, Kitten and Dove would show us the way!”

“Kitten and Dove?” Aragorn asked uncertainly.

Both men turned and motioned to the two giant horses standing behind them.  “Kit and Dove get fed every evening at dusk, and they aren’t about to let a little flurry like this keep them from their trough.”  Edan explained matter-of-factly.  “Even if Emnar and I somehow get turned about, they will lead us straight home in no time.”

“Well in that case,” Gimli’s loud voice suddenly sounded from behind Aragorn, “If I am to trust my survival to…to… to two things, then I would very much like to know exactly what they are!”

“They are horses, Gimli,” Kenson said slowly, as if talking to a slow witted child.  “Surely you can see that even with that great red beast standing in front of you.”

Aragorn smiled at Kenson observation.  Ever since the two giant horses had arrived, Shandarell had been doing a sort of prancing dance around Gimli, trying to stay between the dwarf and the two newcomers, his ears laid flat and a series of threatening grunts escaping in steamy plumes from his widely flared nostrils.  Gimli kept slapping at the horse’s sides in a futile and somewhat comical attempt to push him aside, but Shandarell was having none of it. 

“They are called Gemni’s, sir,” Edan spoke up, watching Gimli’s struggles with interest.  “Or Hill Ponies as some people like to call them.”

“Those are no ponies!” Gimli exclaimed, slipping beneath Shandarell and sending a sharp glare in the direction of the two Gemni’s.

“I know they are rather large,” Emnar said, sounding almost apologetic, “Yet they would never hurt a soul unless provoked or if someone tried to hurt Edan or I.  They are really quite gentle, and their size comes in very useful for the type of work we need them for.  If you would like to examine them closer…”  The young man stepped toward the horses, reaching out to pick up the discarded lead rope.

“Perhaps that would not be a good idea,” Aragorn quickly interjected, glancing behind him at Shandarell and Gimli.  He had always viewed Shandarell as a large horse, and yet the two Gemni’s completely dwarfed him, making him seem nothing more than a small pony.  Even so, Shandarell looked ready to attack should either of the horses come a single step nearer, his eyes rolling dangerously.

Emnar looked startled for a moment, but then his eyes followed Aragorn’s gaze, and he quickly dropped the lead rope in understanding.

“Quite an impressive horse you have there yourself, sir,” Edan pointed out, eying Shandarell appreciatively.

“He is not mine,” Gimli huffed, letting out a frustrated curse as Shandarell once more tried to crowd in front of him.  “Stupid beast!” he shouted, “I do not know how that elf stands you!  Confound it, MOVE ASIDE!”  Gimli brought his palm down in a sharp slap on Shandarell’s rump, yet instead of moving away as the dwarf had obviously hoped, Shandarell let out a grunt and moved even closer, one hoof coming down firmly on Gimli’s left foot.  The dwarf let out a howl of surprised pain, falling backward into an undignified heap in the snow.  Shandarell quickly moved away then, followed by a loud stream of very colorful dwarven curses.

“Perhaps we should be moving on now,” Jeralk suggested wryly as Kenson rushed forward to help Gimli to his feet.  “It may take us several hours to reach this homestead, and I wish to be out of the storm as soon as possible.”

Aragorn nodded.  “Gather the men then, and make sure they know to stay close.  It will be easy to become separated in this mess.  And make sure Delran is under close watch at all times.”

“I have my best man guarding him, my Lord,” Jeralk assured him.

Aragorn shook his head sharply and glanced toward Edan and Emnar.  Both men seemed completely absorbed in watching the unfolding drama between Gimli and Shandarell, but Aragorn lowered his voice to a whisper anyway, his voice barely audible over the wind.  “No titles, Jeralk, remember.  Call me Strider, or Sir, if you must.”

Jeralk didn’t look very happy, but he nodded, understanding Aragorn’s need for secrecy. 

“And make sure the men are on alert for anything out of the ordinary,” Aragorn continued, lowering his voice even further and causing the Captain to lean closer in order to hear.  “These men seem friendly, and I do not expect treachery on their part.  Yet we must be cautious.  Especially this close to the border.”

Jeralk nodded again, then quickly hurried away to be about his appointed tasks. 

Aragorn turned to find Edan and Emnar watching him expectantly, their forms seemingly secretive and distant, wrapped as they were in their heavy cloaks, their features hidden by heavy cowls.  It was somewhat unnerving to be placing his trust in someone he had just met and whose faces he had never seen.  Still, Aragorn had long ago learned to trust his instincts concerning others, and the two young men seemed honest and sincere enough in their offer of help. 

“If you would be so kind as to lead our group, then I and my companions will ride with you,” Aragorn suggested brightly.  “That is, if Shandarell approves.”

“I am not riding that horse, Strider,” Gimli fumed, shooting a furious glare in Shandarell’s direction.  “It is likely the fool thing will get it into his head to attack these other beast, and with me on his back!  I will ride with you!”

“You could ride on Kitten with me,” Emnar suggested with something very much akin to childlike excitement.  “He wouldn’t even notice the extra weight and you could get a feel for just how powerful and strong Gemni’s really are.”

Gimli’s eyes grew wide, but Aragorn doubted it was due to surprise at the young man’s generous offer.  The dwarf’s mouth opened, but Aragorn quickly broke in before the expected tirade.  “I think Gimli will ride with me,” he stated firmly, “I have things I need to discuss with him and it will be easier not to have to shout in order to converse.”

Emnar’s shoulders dropped slightly in disappointment.  “Perhaps another time, then,” he offered Gimli.

“Perhaps,” Aragorn said in reply, since Gimli seemed too overcome with relief to form any answer.

“Since we have that settled,” Kenson spoke up, his voice full of amusement, “Shall we be on our way.  It seems everyone is ready but us.”

True enough, Jeralk had gathered and organized the men quickly, and they were now all mounted and forming an expectant circle around Aragorn and his companions.  Emnar and Edan quickly moved over to their own horses and pulled themselves atop the giant animals.  Kenson also mounted quickly, and Aragorn and Gimli headed toward Cierno. 

As soon as Shandarell realized the dwarf’s intention, he bolted forward, sounding a plaintive whinny.  Both Aragorn and Gimli attempted to push him away, but to no avail.  Shandarell refused to allow Gimli anywhere near the brown gelding.

“GREAT AULË!!”  Gimli finally exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.  “You are as stubborn as your master!  Fine, I shall ride you.  Yet if you so much as twitch an ear in the wrong direction while I’m on your back, you will feel the flat of my axe between your ears!”

Aragorn let out a relieved sigh and hurried to boost Gimli onto a suddenly calm and docile Shandarell.  As soon as the dwarf was safely settled, he turned back to Cierno and swiftly mounted.  “If there are no more delays, let us be on our way,” he commanded with as much dignity as he could muster.

Edan and Emnar quickly turned their two giant horses and began leading the way at a slow walk.  The rest of the company crowded in close behind them, even Shandarell, who suddenly seemed completely unconcerned about the two mammoths walking only a few paces to his right.

The minute they passed from the protection of the two hills, the storm swept over them with a raging vengeance.  A white wall of snow seemed to slam down on them, and the wind grabbed and ripped at their cloaks, howling with wild glee.  It became impossible to see any further than a few feet in front of the horses, and the entire company crowded close for fear of becoming separated.  Aragorn felt his already chilled body go numb with cold, and he wondered idly if they all would have to be pried, frozen, from their saddles when they finally reached their destination.  He was suddenly very thankful for the two brothers and their giant beasts plowing on confidently directly in front of them.

They rode in silence, for the rage of the storm would not allow conversation, and time slipped by unnoticed and unmeasured as each person lost themselves in their own cold world of misery.  Little over an hour had passed—though to the weary company it seemed more like days—before the group at last passed into the relative shelter of a large copse of trees.  The wind had a harder time reaching them through the dense maze of thick trunks and wild brambles, and the snowfall was lessoned somewhat by the mass of stark branches interlocking over the riders’ heads.  Conversation was once more possible, and even the horses seemed to breathe a deep sigh of relief for the brief respite from the violent storm.

“You say that horse does not belong to you,” Edan commented to Gimli, immediately jumping into the conversation as if he and the dwarf had been talking the entire time.  “Does his master now ride in this company?”

Gimli shook his head, large junks of snow falling from his beard at the motion.  “Legolas does not ride with us at the moment,” he answered somewhat stiffly, “Though if all goes well, he will soon.”

“And do you think, perhaps, that he might be interesting in selling the beast,” Edan asked, motioning toward Shandarell.

Gimli looked surprised, but did not hesitate in his answer.  “Nay, Legolas would not part with this horse, nor do I think Shandarell would care to part with him.”

“This Legolas, he is an elf, right?” Emnar spoke up, leaning forward in his saddle to peer past his brother.

Aragorn felt himself stiffen in surprise and suspicion before he remembered that Gimli had mentioned this fact during his tirade against Shandarell.  He relaxed once more.

“Yes, Legolas is an elf,” he answered for Gimli, “And a very dear friend to us all.”

Both Emnar and Edan nodded.  “I have never met an elf before,” Edan said with a hint of wistfulness.  “Nor do I ever expect I shall.  Of course, I never thought I would meet a dwarf either!  We do not get many visitors around here.  At least, we never used to.  Lately, though, it seems as if we have strangers popping up everywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked sharply, feeling an unexplainable chill that had nothing to do with the weather run up his spine.  “Have you come across other travelers such as ourselves lately?”

Edan turned slightly in his saddle to look back at Aragorn, and though he could not see the young man’s face, Aragorn got the impression that Edan was startled by his sharp tone.

“It’s more like they came across us,” Emnar answered when his brother made no reply.  “Rode right up to the homestead out of nowhere!  About seven of them, and all looking as mean as wild dogs!  Asked for some supplies, they did, and spooked my folks fiercely.”

“Shut up, Emnar,” Edan snapped.  “You talk as if you were actually there, but you know good and well that you and I were gone down the river that day.”

“What day?” Aragorn demanded, leaning forward excitedly in his saddle.  “How many days ago was this? 

Aragorn sensed both Gimli and Kenson leaning in close in order to hear better, their own forms stiff with excitement.

Edan shrugged.  “About four days ago,” he answered dismissively.

“Was there a large man with scars on his face?” Gimli demanded at almost the exact same moment that Kenson asked, “Did they have a young boy with them?”

Edan and Emnar both appeared slightly confused.  “I am not sure about the man,…or the boy,” Edan finally said slowly.  “As I said, my brother and I were gone down the river that day, and only heard about it later from our sister.  Are you looking for someone?”

“Perhaps,” Aragorn said sternly before either Kenson or Gimli could answer.  “We had a group of riders rob us a few days back, and I was thinking perhaps it is the same group.”  He hated lying, yet at the same time understood the necessity of caution.  He had learned long ago that out in the wild, it was caution that separated the survivors from the fallen fools.

“It more than likely was them,” Emnar chirped up,  “From what I heard, if anyone were to rob you, these fellows would be the most likely.”

“Yet we were not there,” Edan reminded his brother firmly.  “I am afraid if you have any questions you will have to wait and ask my father.”

Aragorn nodded, but before he could speak the company moved from beneath the shelter of the trees, and the howl of the wind once again made any conversation futile.  Aragorn settled back in the saddle resignedly, suddenly feeling a great impatience to reach the homestead and question the two boys’ father.  He felt almost certain that the riders Emnar had mentioned were the ones who had taken Legolas and Dar. Excitement coursed through his veins, making him unaware of the chill of his body, and a glance at Kenson and Gimli riding beside him revealed that his companions were feeling the same excitement.  He was unsure what benefit this discovery might reap, yet merely the thought that something concerning their lost companions might be learned was rather encouraging.

Each minute seemed to drag into long hours, and Aragorn was just beginning to think they would never reach their destination, when a shout from in front of him caused him to jerk upright in the saddle.

“Welcome to our home!” Emnar bellowed joyfully, and a second later Aragorn felt Cierno come to a jerky halt.  He blinked in surprise, and looked around expectantly into the wildly blowing snow.  At first he could see nothing, but eventually his sharp eyes began to pick out the indistinct squat shapes of buildings.  A fuzzy glow seemed to suddenly appear almost directly in front of him, and he realized the horses had come to a halt in front of what appeared to be a the porch of a large, two story building. 

“Edan?  Emnar?  Is that you?” A woman’s voice bellowed from somewhere on the porch.

“Yes, ma,” Both the boys shouted back in unison.  “We’re home, and we’ve brought some visitors.”

The fuzzy glow grew brighter, and Aragorn managed to make out the cloaked frame of a large woman holding a lantern and peering up at them from the top step of the porch.  “Good, good,” the woman cried.  “You’ve come just in time for supper.  Come in, come in, all of you.”

“Ma, there’s thirty three of them!” Edan shouted, still sitting atop his horse.

The woman seemed slightly taken aback, her eyes going round.  “Thirty three,” she bellowed, “Why, they’d never all fit inside.”

“That’s alright ma,” Emnar assured.  “We’ll just take them to the barn and get them settled, then come right in.”

“Yes, yes, good!” the woman hummed, reaching forward to hand the lantern she held to Edan.  “Should I send your father out to help?”

“We’ll be fine,” the boys assured her, and the woman nodded and quickly hurried inside.

Edan turned to Aragorn.  “Why don’t you and your companions stay here,” he waved a hand toward Gimli and Kenson. “Go inside with Emnar while I take the rest of your men out to the barn.  I know you wish to speak with my parents and now would probably be as good a time as any.”

Aragorn hesitated, torn between his desire to speak with Edan’s parents as soon as possible and his need to see his men safely settled.  Jeralk, who had ridden up beside Aragorn, reached out and touched his arm to get his attention, then jerked his head toward the house.  “Go, sir,” he ordered, using the same no-nonsense tone of voice Aragorn had heard him use on his soldiers.  “I’ll see to the men.  We’ll be fine.  You go inside and find out what you can about…well, about this whole mess.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, still feeling somewhat reluctant.  Emnar had already dismounted, handed the reigns of his horse to his brother, and now stood on the porch waiting patiently for them.

“We’ll be out shortly,” Aragorn promised the captain.

“Take your time,” Jeralk said dismissively.  “We won’t be going anywhere!”

Aragorn quickly swung from Cierno’s back, his cold skin tingling as the blood began to flow through his legs once more.  He motioned for Gimli and Kenson to join him, then handed Cierno’s reigns to Jeralk, knowing the captain would take good care of the gelding. 

Shandarell put up a slight fuss when Gimli attempted to hand him over to another soldier, but after a little cajoling and much swearing on the dwarf’s part the horse reluctantly allowed himself to be led away after Edan.  The three friends joined Emnar on the porch then, and the young man quickly led them inside.

Upon entering the house they were met with a blast of warm air that flickered across their numb faces in a comforting caress.  The mouth-watering smell of simmering stew drifted down the hall to them, causing Aragorn’s stomach to growl loudly.  The sound was completely drowned out, however, by the loud rumble that seemed to suddenly explode from Gimli’s own midsection.  Both Aragorn and Kenson turned to look at the dwarf in surprise, but Gimli only shrugged and began working to free himself from the claspings of his heavy cloak.

Aragorn turned to find that Emnar had already shrugged out of his own cloak and was hanging the soggy material on a hook behind the door.  The young man glanced over his shoulder and shot Aragorn a welcoming grin, his face revealed for the first time.  Aragorn gave a slight start to realize their guide was actually much younger than he had originally suspected.  Emnar looked as if he couldn’t be much older than fifteen, with curly blond hair that framed a narrow, friendly face with wide, expressive green eyes.  From the boys voice and actions earlier, Aragorn had believed him to be at least twenty, possibly older.

“I’ll take your cloak, sir, if you don’t mind,” Emnar offered politely, and Aragorn quickly shrugged out of the sodden material and handed it to the boy.  Emnar hung it with the rest, then turned back to them, looking slightly embarrassed.  “Sirs,” he began hesitantly, “I don’t suppose it would be rude of me to ask you to leave your weapons here?  They might frighten my family, and my mother doesn’t like us to bring knives or swords or anything into the house.”  He sounded apologetic.

Aragorn hesitated only a moment before unbuckling his sword belt and handing the weapon to the young man.  He somehow felt certain that no danger awaited them within this house, and Emnar’s request seemed perfectly reasonable and acceptable. 

Emnar looked relieved, and he took the proffered sword carefully, almost reverently, and placed it in a long cabinet next to the door.  Gimli and Kenson also handed him their weapons, and they were carefully stowed in the exact same manner.  Then the young man rose and motioned them all to follow him down the hallway.  The sound of laughter and several young voices drifted from a brightly lit room at the end of the corridor, and it was from here that the delicious smell of food was wafting. 

Emnar bounded into the room enthusiastically, throwing his arms out wide and shouting, “Hey everybody, I’m home!  And I brought some visitors for you all to meet!”

A loud chorus of excited shouts met this announcement, and as Aragorn and his companions stepped into the large room they suddenly found themselves completely surrounded.  Children ranging from the age of ten to barely able to walk swarmed around them, all talking at once, their eyes wide with wonder that quickly turned to awe when they caught site of Gimli.  Behind the crowd of children Aragorn spotted the woman who had met them on the porch earlier straightening from over a large pot simmering on the hearth.  A tall man stood next to her, a smoking pipe held in one hand and a thick book in the other. 

“Are you a real dwarf?”  A boy of about ten asked Gimli excitedly, while a small girl looking no older than three stood on her tiptoes to reach up and grab a handful of his beard.

“Don’t be rude, Elias!”  The woman snapped, stepping forward and sweeping through the crowd of children like a large ship gliding through water.  “Elsi, release the poor man…err…dwarf’s beard at once!  Now everyone just take a step back before you end up chasing our poor guest’s right back out the door!”

“This is my mother,” Emnar said unnecessarily, motioning toward the woman.  “And the man back there is my father.  Over there are the twins Erain and Edell.  There’s Elias, Elsi, the baby’s name is Emma…oh, and my older sister Eleana.”  A young woman of about sixteen had entered the room from a side door and stood watching the newcomers shyly.  “Everyone, this is Mr. Strider, Mr. Kenson, and Mr. Gimli.”

“Welcome, welcome!” Emnar’s mother exclaimed, holding her hands out wide.  “Don’t let all the children intimidate you.  Come in, come in.  You’re just in time for supper.  Emnar, where is your brother…oh never mind, he must be taking care of the other thirty of them.”

Before Aragorn could even blink he found himself ushered firmly to the table in the center of the room and a large plate of stew placed in front of him.  Emnar, Kenson and Gimli were similarly directed to their own chairs and plates, with the children still swarming about, arguing over who got to sit next to the visitors.  It seemed that with their arrival, there was suddenly not enough chairs for everyone.  Undaunted, the little girl Elsi marched directly up to Gimli’s chair and pulled herself into his lap, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

“Thank you, ma’am…”

“Del, you may call me Del,” The woman interrupted Aragorn.  “And my husband’s name is Fandon!  Now eat, eat!  All the little ones have already eaten, and there’s still plenty left in the pot, so help yourselves to as much as you want!”

Aragorn opened his mouth to say thank you again, but Del had already turned and hurried from the room, calling over her shoulder for some of her children to come and help her get drinks for their guests.  Aragorn turned instead to the woman’s husband.

“Thank you, sir,” he said sincerely, “both for your warm welcome of us into your home, and also for the use of your barn.  You will be repaid for your kindness, I promise.”

Fandon waved his hand in dismissal.  “Bah,” he grunted, “Don’t mention it!  Now I suggest you take your companion’s lead and eat.”

Aragorn turned to find that both Gimli and Kenson had started in on their plates of stew with enthusiasm, Gimli seeming not even to notice having to eat around the little girl still perched in his lap.  With a small shrug, Aragorn turned his own attention to the steaming plate in front of him.  He took a quick bite and found the food to be not only hot, but also extremely delicious, and he set into it with as much enthusiasm as his two companions.

He was just starting to work on his second helping when Edan came in, the shedding of his cloak revealing him to be a handsome young man of about eighteen, with the same expressive green eyes as the rest of his family.  A few flakes of snow had snuck beneath the hood of his cloak and taken nest in his hair, and his face was bright red from the cold.

Aragorn felt a pang of guilt when he thought of his men packed into an undoubtedly crowded and cold barn eating pieces of dried meat while he sat here next to a warm fire and supped on a meal tasting fit for a king.  He started to rise, but Edan quickly motioned him back into his seat.

“Your men are fine, sir,” the young man said firmly.  “We cleared a space in the back of the barn and built up a nice fire.  Emnar and I caught a large, young buck just the other day, and their roasting it up right now.  Captain Jeralk told me to tell you ‘to take your time, because the men are having a good time and they would just have to calm down and behave if you went out there.’”  Speech delivered, Edan sunk down in a chair one of his younger sibling quickly vacated for him, and reached for the pot of stew his mother had placed in the center of the table.

Aragorn sunk back into his own chair, smiling slightly at captain Jeralk’s message. 

Del hurried back into the room, miraculously balancing several goblets in her hands at once and glaring at her children until they rose to help her.

“So what brings you to the Poros River Valley?” she asked when she had finally delivered all the goblets and taken her own seat next to her husband.  “We don’t get very many visitors around here.”

“Actually, ma’am, that is something I wished to talk to you and your husband about,” Aragorn replied, carefully avoiding the woman’s question.  “Your sons tell us that you were visited by a group of riders asking for supplies several days ago?”

Both Del and Fandon nodded, their faces darkening. 

“Scared the children to death, they did,” Del said heatedly, “And I can’t say I wasn’t a little spooked myself!”

“Could you tell us a little about them, ma’am,” Aragorn asked slowly.  Both Gimli and Kenson had stopped eating and where listening to the conversation intently.

Del seemed a bit surprised at the question, but Emnar quickly spoke up.  “They think the men that came here the other day might be the same group that robbed them a while back,” he explained to his mother.

Fandon and Del both nodded once more in understanding, then Fandon began to speak.

“They rode up out of nowhere about mid-afternoon four days ago.  There was seven of them, all rough looking men with swords and daggers and faces as mean as dogs.  I was out in the field when they came, but the minute I saw them I rushed in as fast as I could.”

“They wanted supplies,” Del continued, “And though they offered to pay for them, it wasn’t nearly what they were worth!”

“Still, we gave it to them and sent them on their way,” Fandon broke in.  “I wanted no trouble, and was only relieved to see them gone.”

“There was no one with them?” Kenson asked worriedly, “I mean, no one who caught your attention as not really belonging?”

Fandon shook his head.  “Fraid not,” he said simply, “They all just looked mean and cruel to me.”

“Was there a large man with lots of scars on his face?” Aragorn asked.

Del nodded fiercely.  “There was!” she exclaimed hotly.  “It was him that frightened me the most, though he didn’t say nothing, just let the other fellow do all the talking.”

“What did the other fellow look like?” Gimli asked, repositioning the little girl on his lap so he could lean forward in his chair.

“He was somewhat tall and lean,” Fandon explained.  “He had a soft voice, and he moved real graceful and smooth like.  He had short brown hair and a somewhat narrow face with a sharp nose and high forehead.  I suppose some women might even consider him handsome if he didn’t put off such a distant and cold air.”

Aragorn nodded, thinking hard.  “Is there anything else you can tell us about them? Anything at all.”

Fandon shook his head.  “I tried to strike up a conversation with them, find out where they were headed, but they wouldn’t say a word to me except to tell me what they wanted and how much they would pay for it!  But if I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Aragorn nodded his thanks, than sat back in his chair, his mind a crazy whirl of thoughts and emotions.  It felt as though suddenly a great weight had been lifted from him, and he breathed easy for the first time in days. The information he had just received was very important to him, for it lent at least some validity to Delran’s tale.  Up until now he had been moving forward blindly, in no way knowing whether he was following the correct path or a path of deceit and lies. Yet the fact that Legolas and Dar’s kidnappers had indeed passed this way filled him with hope and excitement.  The fact that neither of their companions had been seen was actually not surprising.  It was likely that those who took them would keep them carefully hidden from all eyes.

“Have you had any other strange visitors within the last few days?” he asked at last, without any real hope of an answer.

Del and Fandon exchanged looks, seeming suddenly wary, and Aragorn sat up straighter, watching them intently.

Fandon shrugged and dropped his eyes to the floor, while Del seemed suddenly extremely interested in a small snag in her skirt.

“Who?” Aragorn prompted gently.

Dell finally lifted her eyes to meet his, and Aragorn was taken slightly aback by the sorrow he saw in the woman’s expression.

“Only the boy,” she at last whispered, softly, sadly.  “Only the boy.”

TBC