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Osgiliath
Legolas and his small band of warriors entered Osgiliath shortly
before dawn.
They had worked their way through the Forest, staying close to
the Anduin, keeping as far from the rocks of Emyn Arnen as the
terrain allowed. They had seen no sign of the dark elves. But
Legolas could not shake the feeling that danger was close by,
and when they reached the abandoned city, he decided to wait until
daylight before attempting to cross the river.
They quickly found a safe place to camp—a small, thick walled,
flat-roofed guard post, built into the city wall and commanding
views of the ruins to the east, and the river to the west, with
the western suburbs of the city beyond.
Haldir volunteered to keep watch.
“We will rest here for two hours,” said Legolas to
Eowyn, Gimli and Arador. “Try to sleep.”
He sat with Eowyn until her slow, regular breathing told him
that she was safely asleep, then he joined the March Warden outside.
…
Haldir had walked a little way north along the wall, and was
standing beside its outer parapet, looking towards the Anduin.
“If they attack,” said Legolas, quietly, “it will
be from over there.” He indicated the ruins behind them.
“Yes…”
“But?”
“They are not here. They should be here—otherwise,
why did none of Eowyn’s messengers reach Minas Tirith? They
cannot be beyond the wall,”—he nodded towards the great
fortification that surrounded The Pelennor—“the plain
within is too exposed.”
“They live in the rocks,” said Legolas. “They
may be beneath us. Or…”
“Or what?”
“They may already be in Minas Tirith.”
Haldir turned to him in alarm.
“Suppose that they have emerged from Mount Mindolluin,”
said Legolas, thinking aloud, “and taken Minas Tirith, as
they took Caras Arnen. It would explain why Aragorn has sent no
aid—for, even without Eowyn’s messengers, he must
know that something is wrong—he has had no communication
from Faramir in almost a month, and there will have been no travellers,
no merchants …”
“Where does that leave us?”
“We will proceed as planned,” said Legolas.
“With Eowyn? And the boy?”
“It is all conjecture at present,” replied Legolas,
“we will not know for certain until we reach the city. And
Eowyn and the boy would be no safer back at the encampment.”
Haldir nodded. Then, turning towards the east, where a faint,
pinkish glow was already spreading upwards over Osgiliath, he
said, “Eowyn and I—the other Eowyn—we—”
“Yes,” said Legolas.
“It must seem…”
“What?”
With an effort, Haldir looked his commander in the eye. “When
it happened, I did not know exactly who she was, but I was
sure that she was not your wife.”
“Oh, Haldir!” Legolas patted his friend on the back.
“Do you think I ever doubted that?”
“You are more trusting than I would be,” said Haldir.
“I know you. And I know my Eowyn.” He nodded towards
the west and the two elves crossed the wall-walk and surveyed,
once more, the shores of the Anduin.
“Do you intend to stay here?” asked Legolas.
“If it is possible,” said Haldir. “And if you
will grant me permission.”
“What is, and is not, possible,” said Legolas, “we
will not know until we try—we may none of us have any choice
but to stay. As for the other: do you really feel you need to
ask?” He shook his head. “But Haldir—”
Legolas stopped abruptly. Then he said, softly, “Did you
see that?”
Haldir nodded. “It is not a dark elf—too tall…”
He leaned across the parapet, observing the figure that had emerged
from the ruins on the farther bank of the river. “It is a
man,” he said, “who has darkened his face.”
“So as not to be seen in the moonlight,” agreed Legolas.
As the two elves watched, the man slipped into the water and
began to swim—working hard to maintain his course across
the swift current.
“He is a good swimmer,” said Legolas, “but he
will need help. Wake Gimli: tell him to take over the watch. Then
join me at the water’s edge.”
…
Emyn Arnen
“Good morning,” said Legolas, awkwardly. He stepped
into Eowyn’s tent, lowering the flap behind him. “Did
you sleep well?”
Eowyn frowned. “Yes, since you ask, thank you…”
“It is just…” Legolas cleared his throat. He himself
had spent a difficult night, slipping in and out of reverie—sometimes
falling into mortal-like sleep—plagued by lurid visions of
the woman now standing before him. “I know,” he said,
“that mortals need sleep…”
“There is precious little time for it here,” said Eowyn,
brusquely. “What did you want?”
Legolas narrowed his eyes—everything was suddenly blurred—and
his head seemed too heavy for his shoulders. “May I—sit
down?”
“Over here.” Eowyn—most inappropriately, he thought—put
her arm around his waist and led him to a chair. “Are you
alright?”
“I…” Legolas sank into the seat. “To tell
the truth, I…”
…
“Berengar!” Eowyn struggled to stop the unconscious
elf falling. “Berengar!”
The tent flap rose, but it was not Berengar who came rushing
to her aid. “Perhaps,” said Hentmirë, supporting
Legolas from the other side, “we could lie him on the floor…”
“Yes.” Eowyn allowed the little woman to take the lead
and, together, they lowered Legolas’ inert body to the ground
and rolled him onto his side. “Where is Berengar?” muttered
Eowyn. “We need a healer—what are you doing?”
“I am loosening his clothing,” said Hentmirë,
opening the elf’s suede jerkin. “It is what Master Findecáno
did when Legolas—my Legolas—swooned the other day. And
he gave him some smelling salts…” She hesitated briefly
then, blushing deeply, she lifted the elf’s silken tunic
and unlaced the waistband of his leggings.
“Smelling salts?”
“Yes.” Hentmirë quickly lowered the silver fabric.
“Perhaps there is a healer with the elves. If you can watch
over him, I could go and see…”
“No,” said Eowyn, “you stay with Legolas—you
seem to know what you are doing. I will find Berengar, and ask
him to fetch an elven healer.”
…
Osgiliath
“Haldir…?”
Despite the elf’s best efforts, it had been impossible to
rouse a fully-armed dwarf and get him out of the guardhouse without
making enough noise to wake Eowyn. Haldir raised a finger to his
lips. “Arador is still sleeping,” he whispered.
She nodded. Then, stretching, and gathering her cloak around
her, she rose and led the elf out onto the wall-walk. “What
is happening? Where is Legolas?”
“We saw a man trying to cross the river—it looks as
though he may be a messenger from Minas Tirith—”
“From Aragorn.”
“Possibly.”
She smiled, suddenly. “With a message for my double!”
“If it is a message from Aragorn,” said Haldir,
gently, “it is more likely to be for Faramir.”
“Because no one knows that poor Faramir is dead—”
She looked up in alarm. “He will be heading for Caras Arnen!”
“Yes. But Legolas has gone to intercept him,” said
Haldir, “and he ordered me to follow. I must go, Eowyn.”
He bowed his head in a brief salute and turned to leave—
“No, wait!” She caught his wrist.
The elf stopped, staring down at the little hand restraining
him.
“I will come with you,” she said.
…
Knowing that the drow could see better in the dark than in the
light, Legolas ran down to the waterfront, bow in hand, keeping
to the brightest, warmest parts of the embankment, scanning both
sides of the river for any sign of the enemy.
The man was a good swimmer but the Anduin was in full flow and
Legolas could see that he was already tiring. What is keeping
Haldir? he wondered. Without someone to provide covering
shots, it would be madness to enter the water…
He surveyed the area again—looking, listening, and reaching
out with that elven sense that can feel imminent danger. Nothing.
And now the man was starting to drift…
Legolas slipped his bow into its strap and dived into the river.
…
“What did you want to say?” asked Haldir as they approached
the city gate.
“Say?”
“Is that not why you came with me?” He stopped walking
and turned to Eowyn, looking her directly in the eye. “Legolas
is happy for me—he trusts me—but we both know
better.”
“I do not know what you mean.” Eowyn ducked past him.
“I thought I was free of you,” said Haldir, raising
his voice. “I thought that she… I thought that I had
found my Eowyn. Then you came into her tent and everything—”
“Please!” Eowyn rounded on him. “We have
had this conversation too many times, Haldir.”
“I am fond of her,” said the elf. “And I will
stay with her, if I can.”
“I hope you can,” said Eowyn, softly. “I really
do. But be careful, Haldir.” She placed her hand upon her
breast. “Be careful with your heart. She is too like
m—”
But Eowyn never finished her warning, because the big elf suddenly
gathered her into his arms and held her tightly.
…
As Legolas closed in on him, the man—who had been floundering—suddenly
discovered an extra reserve of strength and, turning northwards
(against the flow of water), tried to swim away.
“No,” cried the elf, following him. “No! Wait!
I am here to help you!” Then, “I am King Elessar’s
friend!”
Whether the man heard him the elf could not tell but, suddenly,
all strength seemed to desert him and, although his arms were
still moving, he began to drift once more, overwhelmed by the
current.
It was easy, then, for Legolas to come up behind him and, grasping
him beneath the arms, and supporting him against his chest, strike
out for the shore.
…
By the time Legolas reached the bank, Haldir and Eowyn were there
to lift the exhausted man out of the water and lay him on the
stone wharf.
Legolas, clambering up by himself, quickly scanned the surrounding
buildings for any sign of the enemy. “You should not have
come, melmenya,” he muttered. Then, “How is he?”
When neither Eowyn nor the March Warden replied, fearing the
worst, Legolas looked down at the man and, for the first time,
had a clear view of his handsome face.
“Sweet Eru!” he gasped. “Berkin!”
…
Emyn Arnen
“I do wish they would hurry,” said Hentmirë. The
two women had covered the elf with a blanket and, at Hentmirë’s
insistence, had folded a cloth and placed it beneath his head—“To
keep it tilted, in case he vomits—I think,” she explained.
She lifted Legolas’ hand and attempted again to check his
pulse. “I am not sure that I am doing this right…”
Eowyn patted her shoulder. “You are taking very good care
of him, Lady Hentmirë—thank you.”
“He is not my Legolas,” said Hentmirë,
“but I do not want anything to happen to him.”
“Berengar should be back with help at any moment,”
said Eowyn. “Yes, thank the gods!—I can hear him
coming.” She turned towards the tent door as an unfamiliar
elf appeared at the opening. “Quickly, please—over here.”
The elven healer ducked inside and—without even pausing
to greet her—went to work immediately, examining his patient
from head to foot. Though her inclination was to stay at Legolas’
side, at least until the healer had given his diagnosis, Eowyn
saw that Berengar—one step ahead, as usual—had also
brought Lord Fingolfin and Captain Golradir and she knew that
her responsibilities as commander-in-chief must come first.
She forced herself to rise and greet them—“Thank you
for coming my Lord, Captain,” she said, inviting them to
sit down. “You will be acting as Prince Legolas’ deputies,
I presume.”
Fingolfin bowed his head in assent. “Captain Golradir will
assume command of our warriors, should that prove necessary, and
I will help you all I can—but I confess that I had another
reason to accompany Master Findecáno—”
“You were right, my Lord,” called the healer, suddenly.
“What is it?” asked Eowyn, immediately returning to
Legolas’ side.
“Poisoning, my Lady—”
“Poisoning!” cried Hentmirë. Then, “So
you cannot use the smelling salts?”
“Not this time, my Lady.”
“But he will be alright?”
Eowyn, equally—though not so visibly—worried, looked
to the healer for his answer.
The elf patted Hentmirë’s hand reassuringly. “Healing
sleep is all that he requires in this case, my Lady. That is how
elven bodies recover.”
Eowyn let out a sigh of relief. “Can he be moved?”
“Of course,” said the healer. “I will arrange
to have him carried up—”
“No,” said Eowyn, “he can stay here, of course.
I meant that perhaps the Captain would help you lift him onto
my bed.”
“But what has poisoned him?” persisted Hentmirë,
as the elves lifted Legolas and carried him into the bedchamber.
“Was it something he ate?” She picked up the blanket
and followed them. “Is anyone else likely to be poisoned?”
“No,” said the healer. “Thank you Captain.”
He turned Legolas’ onto his side and carefully arranged his
limbs. “Someone has been feeding Prince Legolas small amounts
of poison over a long period of time, my Lady, and his body has
grown accustomed to it. Now that he is no longer taking it, he
has had a severe reaction to its withdrawal.”
“But who would do that?” asked Hentmirë, carefully
draping her blanket over the sleeping elf.
Eowyn frowned—that was exactly what she had been wondering.
“It was a love potion,” said Lord Fingolfin (putting
it tactfully, for the little woman’s sake).
“His elf lady!” said Hentmirë. “I
knew that she was not good enough for him.” She smoothed
the blanket over Legolas’ chest.
“Alatáriël,” agreed Fingolfin, “but
not, I think, on her own. I imagine it was her father’s plan.”
Eowyn drew the healer aside. “He will recover?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How long will he sleep?”
“It is hard to say, my Lady. A day or two; perhaps more—I
have no way of knowing how long he had been taking the poison,
nor in what dose,” said Findecáno.
“Thank you.” Eowyn turned to Golradir. “You must
assume command of the elven army, Captain. And,”—she
addressed Fingolfin—“and I would be most grateful, my
Lord, for your assistance in certain matters.”
“We are both at your service, my Lady,” replied the
elf.
…
Osgiliath
“P-princess Eowyn, is P-prince Faramir with you? I have
n-news…” Teeth chattering, Berkin sat, bunched up, trying
to rub some warmth into his upper arms. “Oh! I am sorry—I
r-really must get up and g-get moving,” he stammered.
“Your cloak, Haldir,” said Legolas, “thank you.”
He draped it around the young man’s shoulders. “This
should help.”
“Th-thank you, Prince Legolas.” He bowed his head respectfully.
The elf helped him to his feet. “Come, Berkin. We must find
you some dry clothes. And then we can talk.”
…
“But—wait—h-how do you know my name, y-your Highness?”
Still shivering, Berkin followed Legolas across the embankment.
“I will explain when we are safe,” said Legolas. He
led the young man through the city gate and gestured towards the
steps leading up to the guardhouse. “Up there.”
Berkin stopped suddenly, and eyed him cautiously.
“You do not trust me,” said Legolas.
“I… I do not know how you can p-possibly know my name,
unless…” He sighed. “But, s-since you are an elf,
it does not matter whether I t-trust you or not—I have no
ch-chance of escaping.” He began to climb. “And I d-do
not think that Princess Eowyn would betray us…” He stepped
up onto the wall-walk. “But w-where is Prince Faramir, your
Highness?” he asked, “I m-must speak with him.”
Eowyn shook her head. “We have bad n—”
“Berkin, lad!” cried Gimli running up to the
boy and giving him a mighty bear hug. “My, you have filled
out! There is muscle on you now! But you are soaking wet!”
“Lord G-gimli!” Berkin looked from the dwarf to Eowyn
and Legolas, and back again. “W-what is going on? What are
you d-doing here? And how do you all know me?”
“Come inside,” said Legolas. “Before you freeze
to death.”
…
They found the boy some dry leggings and a tunic and, whilst
Arador and Haldir stood guard outside, they sat down to talk.
“How we know you, I will explain later,” said Legolas,
“that is a long story. But as for why we are here… Three
weeks ago, Caras Arnen was invaded and Prince Faramir was killed
in the attack—”
“Oh gods!”
“Princess Eowyn led the survivors away from the city and
took refuge in a natural stronghold, south of the hills, where
she is now under siege. We have come to ask King Elessar for help.”
He looked intently at the boy. “But I begin to think that
something has befallen Aragorn, too—is that not the news
you were carrying to Faramir? What has happened in Minas Tirith?”
…
On the wall-walk
“She is beautiful,” said Arador, gazing out across
the ruins, “really beautiful, like a princess—well,
she is a princess, of course—like a princess in a tale.”
Haldir frowned. But he already knew the boy well enough to sense
that he was not teasing.
“So it is easy,” Arador continued, “to see how
things could happen that should not have happened.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I am talking about.”
Haldir said nothing for a moment. Then, “So you saw us.
What do you want Arador?”
“Want?” The boy turned to him in surprise. “You
think that I…?” He shook his head, his expression deadly
serious. “I am not the one who is going to wreck three
lives.”
…
“It started about two weeks ago,” said Berkin. “My
father—”
“Your father is still alive!” exclaimed Gimli.
“Yes, of course… Oh! No, not my real father—I
mean Lord Olivan, who adopted me. I call him my father, because—well,
he is.”
“What of your uncle?” asked Legolas.
“My uncle? My uncle was a murderer and we do not
speak of him.”
“That explains a lot,” said the elf. “But we interrupted
you, Berkin. You were telling us what had happened.”
“Two weeks ago,” said Berkin, “the King suddenly
dissolved the High Council and started using his Powers of Decree
to introduce new laws. At the same time he dismissed all the Captains
of the Gondorian Guard and replaced them with men who—”
The boy searched for the right word. “Well, my father calls
them ‘scavengers’. No one is allowed to leave his home
without a special permit—”
“Issued by these scavengers,” said Gimli.
“Exactly, my Lord. All public gatherings are banned—even
the taverns are closed—and anyone who speaks out is immediately
punished. Several of my father’s friends have been arrested
and had their fortunes confiscated. Poorer citizens just—vanish…
If anyone is caught out of doors without a permit, or—even
with a permit—is found outside after curfew, he is summarily
executed—run through with a sword.”
“How did you get out?” asked Legolas.
“Well, I know certain ways, your Highness.”
“The tunnel network,” said Gimli.
“Yes—but how do you know of that, my Lord?”
Gimli smiled. “Can you take us in the same way, lad?”
“I should think so…”
“And your contacts in the underworld,” said Legolas.
“What do they make of all this?”
“They bide their time. But they complain that their livelihood
is threatened,” said Berkin.
“Perhaps we can persuade them to help,” said Gimli.
“If numbers prove necessary,” said Legolas.
…
“My uncle,” said Arador, “that pig who
is claiming to be my father,” he gestured angrily in the
vague direction of Emyn Arnen, “pestered my mother for years—telling
her he loved her, giving her gifts, turning up whenever my father
was away. My mother is a kind, gentle woman and could not bear
to hurt him, so she tolerated his—attentions—until my
father began to believe that she was being unfaithful to him—with
his brother.
“He threw her out of the house!
“We spent four nights hiding in the stables.”
…
“How did you cross The Pelennor without being seen by the
Guards?” asked Legolas.
“I did not—not exactly,” said Berkin. He smiled—revealing,
for the first time, that confident self-reliance that was so marked
in his double. “There is an underground tunnel running northwards,
following the line of Mount Mindolluin, that issues a few hundred
yards beyond the Rammas Echor,” he explained. “My family
owns a herd of wild horses, which we keep corralled just south
of the Grey Wood. I set them free, knowing that they would head
for the water, and rode amongst until I was close enough to Osgiliath
to dismount and crawl the rest of the way. It was an expensive
plan…”
“It is good,” said Gimli, “to see you so active,
lad!”
Berkin frowned. “What do you mean, my Lord?”
…
“That,” said Arador, “is all I wanted to say.”
He turned to leave.
Haldir caught his arm. “Do not say anything to her…”
“Do you think I would?” He shook off the elf’s
hand. “She is not at fault—unless being too kind
is counted a fault.”
…
“There is not much else to tell you,” said Berkin,
“except that I fear for my father and mother’s safety.”
“So you came to ask Faramir for help,” said Legolas.
“Does your father know what you are doing?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“Just Olemi—a servant.”
“You have not told your mother?” asked a new
voice, from just inside the doorway.
Berkin looked up at Arador. “She cannot keep a secret…”
he said.
“The fewer people who know, the better,” said Legolas,
“for them as well as for us. Come and join us, Arador.”
“But what has happened to Aragorn?” asked Eowyn, suddenly.
“None of this can be his doing—they must have taken
him prisoner.”
Legolas slipped his arm around her, and hugged her briefly. “We
will find him, melmenya; we will free him and help him put things
right.” He looked up at Berkin. “Have you seen the King
recently?”
“No, your Highness. No one has seen him since all this began.
My father requested an audience—when such a thing still seemed
possible—but he was refused. And no one has seen the Queen,
or the royal children, either—”
“The children,” growled Gimli. “They have
taken the children! The dogs!”
“What dogs, Lord Gimli? Who are they, my Lords? What
is happening?”
“I think,” said Legolas, “that it is time we told
you everything, Berkin. And then, we will need a plan…”
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