Chapter Text
The climb back down was even more wearisome than the ascent a couple of days ago.
Arathorn somehow achieved it with great toil on his part. Fortunately, he wasn’t pursued by any orc or goblin. Even the winds had somehow stopped in respect of his courage and loyalty to his fallen friend.
By the time he reached the downlands, he was tired. For two whole days, he rested, but he ensured that his friend’s body didn’t decay. He preserved it with some herbs the elves prized a lot. He lit a fire in the alcove and waited out the days and the nights, barely closing his eyes and ever on the watch. But nobody troubled him. Not even the chirping birds perched on the branches of the trees above.
He touched Halberd’s black hair and caressed it. “You’re gone, my friend, left me here to deal with the perils of Middle Earth alone. And you left me early. I thought we still had time together. We spent little enough as it is in the past. Now, you’re gone from me, far away, from where you shall never return hither.”
He looked down at him and clutched his friend’s cold hands. “I’m going to avenge you, know that. The orcs will be driven from the mountains. The Shadow will be defeated. We shall rise again to our former glory. This promise I make you, and to this, my heirs and I shall abide. Hope will come to us then.”
He closed his eyes and let the tears fall.
So out of focus was he that he didn’t hear someone approaching him.
“A man of the Dunedain crying? A thing unheard of!” a voice remarked, teasing almost. Although, familiar.
Arathorn looked up and was surprised to see elves standing in front of him, looking alike.
“Elladan? Elrohir?” Arathorn asked, surprised to see the twin sons of Lord Elrond here. “How come?”
Elladan cocked his brows up. “Do you think that we will sit idly by when you Dunedain declare war upon the Shadow in the East?” the eldest son of Elrond, though he was elder to Elrohir by only a few minutes, questioned. “The orcs of the mountains have been lured out and many were killed. Some fled northward, most probably to go round the mountains by way of Angmar and so on to Gundabad. But they are being followed. Time will tell whether they will be killed or no. After the battle, we were leaving south, homeward, when we came upon your tracks. We followed it to here.”
Arathorn bowed to the twins. “It’s good you came... Halberd is dead.”
Elladan and Elrohir gasped. The former held him by his shoulders and said, “We’re sorry for your loss, Arathorn. May his soul rest in peace. But this is not the time to tarry. It is only your good fortune that you have been able to stay here thus. But a few orcs are still about. Nay, not the ones lured out, but a band of ten or twelve... they have a camp westward, not more than five leagues away from here. We were weary and did not wish to give battle. The first time we felt such a thing. And there was also a huge troll. Perhaps come from the Ettenmoors. That’s trollfells we are told.”
Arathorn nodded. “You’re right. I should take Halberd to Tualdor.”
“Nay, my friend, Tualdor is far away, and despite the arts you have learned from us, his body will start to decay a couple of days hence. He needs to be buried quickly. You ought to have known this.”
Arathorn sighed. “I didn’t know what else to do... I could not leave him in the mountains.”
“No, you couldn’t and shouldn’t. But there’s no time for him to reach Tualdor. The fallen must be buried somewhere near, I think. Maybe when we reach Bruinen, we can find a good place.”
“Yes,” Elrohir agreed with his brother. “Let’s leave now before the orcs catch scent of us. An east wind blows tonight. And Rivendell, our home, is still far away.”
Arathorn nodded. “Yes, let’s move.”
They left the alcove soon and crossed into Rhudaur. As they walked, Elladan asked, “So, tell me, friend, did you learn anything?”
Arathorn looked at the twins and decided to tell them. He could trust the two brothers any time. Ever since their mother had been tortured by the orcs, they had often joined the Dunedain and helped in the rout of the Enemy’s servants wherever they could be found.
“A group of orcs would care for nothing but fun burning our villages. But this time, they were searching for something. Jewels... we found them carrying it back into the mountains a few days ago. Not ordinary ones either, most of the sort that would belong to nobility. The orc captain was talking about the Enemy and how he would be angry with them if they found not the Heir of Isildur.”
Alarm crossed their faces. “Father hinted so,” Elrohir said. “Sauron has clearly not forgotten the line of Isildur. Father believes that Sauron believes the line of Isildur to still flourish in Eriador despite the ruin brought upon it by his servant, the Witch-King of Angmar. If he’s successful in finding you, then his war upon Middle Earth will come soon. We must not let him come anywhere close.”
“But how, Elrohir?” Arathorn asked. “We don’t have the numbers to drive him away from the Greenwood. The Council won’t approve a large scale war. I know Mithrandir has tried more than once. And so has the Lady Galadriel.” He sighed. “But in any case the Enemy does not know of me yet. I made sure of that when I killed them.”
“Are you sure, Arathorn, that there were no other orcs there?” Elladan asked.
“I think so... there was no sign of orc in that hold. If there were, they would surely have interfered in the fight.”
Elladan looked convinced, but clearly Elrohir did not think so. He was frowning.
“We must reach Rivendell,” Elrohir maintained. “Word of this must reach our father’s ears. Then we can hold a small council and debate what to do next. But perhaps it is time.”
“Time for what, Elrohir?” Arathorn asked.
“Time for your race to declare yourself. Time for you to rise above all your forefathers since the days of Elendil.”
Arathorn looked troubled at the thought. Were the twins suggesting that his father lay claim to the throne of Gondor? Even were their claims proven true, would the Stewards of Minas Tirith accept them?
“Come now, Arathorn, son of Arador, we must now hasten through the forests,” Elladan reminded him. “Rivendell is not that far and yet not quite near. Once the Council is done, you may return home to Tualdor. And there’s the matter of burying your friend as well. We still need to find a proper place for him to be buried.”
Arathorn grunted and then bobbed his head. “Lead on then.”
Two days later, they crossed the Fords of Bruinen where they found a small clearing not far from the Loudwater. There upon a small mound, they dug the earth and buried Halberd in it. Arathorn offered his fallen friend a prayer as was custom among the Dunedain.
Once he was buried, he followed Elladan and Elrohir to Rivendell. There he was welcomed by Elrond’s councilor Erestor and led to a small hall where Glorfindel and Elrond were already there, having been informed that there were things needed discussing. Arathorn was made to recount there his tale again and, as he spoke about the Enemy’s orders to find the Heir of Isildur, Lord Elron stood up.
“So, Sauron is looking for Isildur’s Heir. This is what I’ve feared all along when I heard of orcs and goblins advancing ever westward. If he does find out that the line exists then doom will come on us. He knows about the elves of the north, and he will know that we know that the line exists. His war on Rivendell would come swiftly with nobody that can help us. For Sauron would have decimated every kingdom surrounding the Anduin. Nobody now has the strength to repel him. The Shadow in Mirkwood grows and I foretell great evil will come of it.”
“Ever Mithrandir sought for action against the dark fortress,” Glorfindel said, “but we have done naught. For we heeded Saruman’s counsel. And, in doing that, we have delayed. Mithrandir has told us that the Shadow in Mirkwood is indeed Sauron, our Enemy of old. And now we know that he not only searches for Isildur’s Bane but also his heirs. If he comes to know of the royal line, doom is certain. The North will never be safe and free again.”
“Perhaps then the time has come, Father,” Elladan said.
“Time for what?” both Elrond and Glorfindel posed the question at the same time.
“Time to reforge the Sword of the King. Time for the Dunedain to come out of the shadows. Time for them to march to war against the Enemy.”
“We don’t have the strength to do that, Elladan,” Glorfindel said.
“That I know, Lord Glorfindel, but that’s not what I meant. I’ve a plan, Father, if I may.”
Elrond nodded.
“Arathorn, you must head to Tualdor and bring these words to Arador. Your people must grow and multiply. The Dunedin must grow in strength. I know it is no small task, but you lot have scoured the lands and watched for too long, leaving your families behind. But now it is time for you to concentrate on your family. We elves will watch over the land. Perhaps we can take help of the Wandering Companies as well. When you’re ready, maybe either you or your father can claim the kingship of Gondor. Thus you shall unite the free peoples of Middle Earth.”
Arathorn grunted. “The Council of Gondor has already rejected my forefather, King Arvedui, when he put his claim to the throne in Minas Tirith. Why would they accept my claims? Or my father’s? Neither of us have the king’s title.”
“You still are of the line of Isildur. Besides, you also descend from Ondoher, who was once the king of Gondor. Your claims are strong, my friend.”
“Those very reasons were part of the claim my forefather put before their Council. And yet they were rejected. Why would it be any different this time?”
“Gondor is still a kingdom of Numenor, my friend Arathorn, but now it lies kingless. The Winged Crown awaits one of the line of Elendil and now is the right time to do so. Think about it, Arathorn. You must convince your father.”
Arathorn nodded, rather hesitantly.
“Even then, Elladan,” he said, “it will take time. What do we do about the orcs that constantly harry our lands until such a time arrives?”
“We empty their strongholds in the mountains. We make sure none of Sauron’s evil minions step foot in the west. We keep a heavy watch on the passes.”
Elrond breathed loud that instant. “Elladan is right, Glorfindel, Arathorn. The time nears when the Lost People must rise.”
“So be it, Lord Elrond,” Arathorn said, bowing his head. “I shall make sure my father receives your counsel.”
“Lord Arador is wise,” Elladan said. “He will heed my father’s counsels. He will see the wisdom in what’s been decided here.”
“Hope he does,” Elrohir said.
Arathorn couldn’t tell why but Elrohir still looked doubtful.
“Leave to Tualdor then, Arathorn,” Elrond said, “after you have rested. Night settles outside already. Sleep now. And when the dawn shows its face again, you may leave. For the sun brings hope, so men believe.”
Arathorn smiled. “Aye!”
He then walked out of the room into a silvery glade under the twinkling stars.