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Chapter Seven: Stumbling Blocks and Stepping-Stones
In which our travelers learn that life is what happens
when one is busy making other plans.
The evening had passed into night, and Erik was bone-tired after a long day in the saddle, when the stone wall around Isengard loomed before him. He approached the main gate slowly, and was not at all surprised to hear the guards on duty there call out for him to halt, and identify himself. Although he couldn’t see them, he suspected there were at least two who had drawn bows on the top of the wall, with him in their sights. Once he had identified himself, a portal in the gates opened, and a uniformed man emerged, flanked by two others carrying torches. After a brief conversation, one of the two was sent to the tower with news of his coming, and Erik was allowed to enter on foot, leading his horse.
Nearly another hour passed before the man returned, bearing the message that the Captain of the garrison himself wished to see this unexpected visitor as soon as possible. Erik remounted his weary horse, and together with two guards, rode down the last mile to the forecourt of the tower, where he was met by a man clothed in the black uniform of King Ellessar‘s service. That individual accorded him a stately nod, and informed him that the Captain was at dinner, and would join him as soon as he could. In the meantime, perhaps Captain Hammason would condescend to follow him, and refresh himself? Captain Hammason could, and would, so condescend; and turning his horse over to a waiting groom, he mounted the steps leading into Isengard‘s main tower. Half an hour later, the door to the room where he had been taken opened, and two men entered. One was obviously the Captain of the garrison by his uniform, and the other, following behind the Captain, looked to Erik like a diplomat or a ranking courtier of some kind. The Captain came toward him, as he rose from the chair where he had been half-dozing, holding out a hand. “Good evening! I am Torquil Grayson, the commander here. You must be Captain Erik Hammason? What news from Rohan, Captain?” Erik shook the hand extended toward him, and replied, “Thank you for seeing me so promptly, and this late at night! Eomer King will be glad to know how swiftly his messengers reach you, Captain Grayson. I am sent by Eomer, King of Rohan, in search of his granddaughter, Princess Arwen Hildeson. I have reason to believe the princess was making for Isengard. Have you, or any of your people, had news of her?” This response caused a brow to rise on Captain Grayson’s countenance, and he replied, “I have had no word or message that Princess Arwen was coming here on a visit. What makes you think we might have word of her?” “Her highness disappeared from Edoras several days ago, and there has been no message or word from her since she vanished. His majesty commissioned me to investigate the princess’ disappearance, and, further, to find her highness, and escort her home.” His speech was interrupted by a huge, involuntary yawn, and Erik reeled a bit as he stood there. “Please excuse me,” he said. “I’ve been following her highness’ trail since early this morning and for several days before that, and I’m a little tired.” Erik’s brain was buzzing with fatigue, and he had all he could do to remain standing, or he might have noticed the alert attention the man behind Captain Grayson was paying to this conversation. In fact, Erik was so tired he hadn’t registered the fact that Captain Grayson had neglected to introduce this man. If he had thought about it at all (which he hadn’t), he would have thought the man was someone subordinate to Captain Grayson in King Ellessar’s service. The man stepped forward, and said, “I think we might suspend this conversation until tomorrow morning, Torquil. Captain Hammason is obviously not a spy; and I think, perhaps, he would benefit from a meal, and a good night’s sleep.” He turned toward Erik and held out a hand in his turn, “I am called Danil, Captain, and I had the fortune to encounter Princess Arwen while on a journey across the Westfold. I brought her here, so that Captain Grayson could see her escorted home to Edoras. She has retired for the night, in the charge of Lady Grayson, and is quite safe.” Captain Grayson smiled, and replied, “I think you are right, Danil! Arnulf, the head of the household staff here, will show you to a bedchamber, and see to a meal for you, Captain Hammason. We can postpone any further discussion until tomorrow morning.” “She’s really here?” Erik asked. “She’s safe, and unharmed?” He shook Danil’s hand mechanically, and looked from one to the other with relief pouring over him. “She’s really here; she’s safe and unharmed; and there’s no way she’s going to leave this fortress except under the escort of a troop of guards,” stated Torquil Grayson. “You have my word on it. You can see her tomorrow morning for yourself.” “I must send word to the king,” Erik mumbled. “The royal family must know she’s been found as soon as possible.” “I’ll send a despatch to Edoras tonight, Captain. You can send another in the morning, if you wish. Right now, I think you need food and sleep,” Torquil replied, ringing a bell. The door was opened almost before the ringing sound died away, and the stately gentleman who had met Erik in the tower forecourt entered. “If you will follow him, Arnulf will see that you get both,” he finished. * * * * * * * * * * “You just want to stay so you can spend more time with Melusine! You can’t fool me, Horst!” “Who? What are you talking about, Strider?” “I’m talking about our beautiful captor, Horst! You remember her, don‘t you? The one who put us in a jail cell under guard?” replied Strider, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “No! That’s not the reason I want to stay!” said Horst hotly. “At least, it’s not the only reason,” he added, more temperately. “And her name is Melisande, not Melusine. Where did you get that from, anyway?” “Something I overheard at dinner last night,” Strider replied. “My understanding of the Elvish language is a little faulty. But that’s not important! Horst, we need to get out of here. We’re supposed to be hunting for a certain object, remember? And we can’t do it while we’re locked up in some kind of Elvish prison!” The two friends were seated at a small table having breakfast, in the chamber to which they had been taken after dinner the previous evening. That chamber was spacious, with a pair of comfortable beds, and all the amenities of a good inn. While it was a great improvement over the stone cell in which they had first found themselves, and their backpacks had been restored to them, there were still armed guards outside their door, and Horst’s sword was still absent. Both were well aware that they were still prisoners, albeit in better circumstances. “Look, Strider: I want to find that object as much as you do. But my understanding of the Elvish tongue is pretty good, and those elves last night were talking about Dunland. Something pretty threatening seems to be happening along the border between Dunland and Rohan. I need to find out more about that! If there’s any possibility of a threat to Rohan, I need to get word of it to my grandfather.” “And I suppose you think that hanging around here for an indefinite period of time will give you that information? Be reasonable, Horst! We’re prisoners here. No one is going to tell us anything of importance, and,” he added, “You aren’t going to make any headway with this Melisande lady, if I’m any judge of females: and I am. You are far more likely to give her information than to get it from her!” “You have no confidence in me at all!” Horst said, with a touch of bitterness. “Not when it comes to women, I don’t!” said Strider. “I’ve never seen anyone -- hobbit, man, or elf -- as susceptible as you are to the blandishments of the female sex, Horst!” Horst’s jaw jutted out, stubbornly set in an expression his sister Arwen would have recognized instantly as indicating rising temper. However, Horst, like his sister, was incurably honest with himself, no matter how many fibs and prevarications he might perpetrate on others. The truth of Strider’s words hit home like an arrow striking the gold, and his temper suddenly dissolved into rueful laughter. “You’re right, Strider,” he said. “A pretty woman can turn me inside out with no effort at all.” “I know! I know! That’s the chief reason why we need to escape from here, Horst. And another thing: how did the leader of these elves come to know you? Because he recognized you, Horst; I know he did. I saw the look he gave you while you were busy mooning over what’s-her-name.” “Melisande. Her name is Melisande,” Horst said softly. “Is she not beautiful, Strider? Beautiful, intelligent, and elegant: like a queen. What could such a lady be doing here, buried in the wilds of Fangorn Forest?” “Yes, she’s beautiful, and I have no idea what she’s doing here! I just know that, until we entered Fangorn and got caught in that spell of hers, we were well on our way to finding a rich prize that I, for one, would like to continue searching out.” Silence attended for about three minutes, as Strider mused on the heirloom of Gimli Gloinsson, and Horst mused on the violet-eyed face of Melisande. At length, Horst roused from his romantic reverie, and looked frowningly at Strider. “He recognized me? Are you sure? I’ve never met him, or even seen him, until last night.” “Well, he recognized you, Horst; and that, to say the least, makes me wonder how, and when, and where he has seen you before this, that you don’t know.” While Horst and Strider held their somewhat acrimonious discussion over breakfast, in another room nearby, Melisande and Balin conferred with their leader. “I am leaving this colony to your governance, Melisande,” Legolas said. “You are the one I trust to see that it thrives well.” “I am honored, Cousin! Have you my uncle’s agreement?” “Oh, yes,” replied the prince. “My father is glad to have you here in charge! It means he won’t have to send anyone to oversee this place, and can deal with the goblins who threaten his kingdom without having to divide his attention.” “What about our two guests? What shall we do with them, my lord?” Melisande asked. “Do we continue to hold them here? Or do we let them go?” Legolas turned a smiling look on her. “You may let them go, if you wish, Melisande. They are no threat to us. The man, at least, I know by his looks: he is of Eomer Hildeson’s lineage. I believe he is Eomer’s grandson. He’s a prince of Rohan, and none of that line would ever betray us.” “What of the other, your highness?” asked Balin, with suspicion writ all over his face. “Is he also no threat?” “He’s a hobbit of the Shire-folk, Balin,” answered Legolas. “I don’t know him personally; but he is the young man’s friend and companion, so I would think he is both discreet and trustworthy. Use your own judgment. Just remember that, if you release one, you must release the other as well, or risk having the one released return to get the other. Neither one is likely to abandon a friend.” “And what of you, Prince Legolas? What are you planning to do next?” Legolas directed a frowning look at Balin. “I suppose the rumors have started, have they? Well!” He stared into the distance, at nothing in particular. Melisande and Balin waited in silence: the dwarf, in an internal furor of speculation; Melisande, with all the patience of Elven-kind. After perhaps two minutes or so, Legolas re-focused his attention upon his companions. He sighed deeply. “You may as well know now as later. I am leaving here within a day or two for the court at Minas Tirith. I am to meet with an old friend there, and then we will go to Dol Amroth. I do not expect to return.” “You are sailing into the West, aren’t you?” Melisande said softly. “The last of the Havens is on the southern coast in Dol Amroth.” Legolas nodded. “I am taking my old friend with me,” he said, “If Gimli Gloinsson chooses to go: a special gift of the Lady Galadriel.” Balin sucked in his breath in astonishment. “So! A dwarf to be allowed to go to Valinor!” “She has given him a great gift,” Melisande said wonderingly. “I have not heard of any dwarf before being so honored!” “It is an honor he has well earned,” Legolas said. “Yes: a great honor,” said Balin heavily. “But it means I will never see my uncle again, either here in Middle Earth, or after, in the Halls of Mandos.” * * * * * * * * * * Once again, Arwen awoke with a sense of bewildered disorientation: this time, the disorientation came from finding herself in a wide, comfortable bed, instead of being wrapped in a heavy cloak, lying on a pile of brush in the open air. Then memory returned in a cascading flood. She was in Isengard, in a spacious, elegant bedroom turned over to her use by the garrison commander. She had been led to it last night by the commander’s wife; and the young woman who had assisted at her bath the previous evening had been assigned to act as her personal maid. A handbell on the table next to her bed would bring the young woman -- what was her name? Ah, yes: Kirsten -- to take care of any need Arwen might have. She stretched lazily in the bed, enjoying the clean sheets and a sense of extravagant well-being. She was being accorded all the deference and courtesy due to a princess of Rohan, and nothing could be more vexatious! A tiny frown crossed her face; she thought, with a touch of desperation, that she was more watched and guarded here than ever she was at home. Getting free of all the royal trappings in order to follow after Horst was going to be difficult, indeed, and it had to be done; because Horst wasn’t here. He had left early the previous day, and no one seemed to have any idea where he had gone. Arwen had gotten a pleasant surprise when the lady for whom the fourth place had been set joined the dinner party. Her chaperone turned out to be the commander’s wife: a tiny brunette not much older than Arwen, with a laughing face and a merry disposition. Arwen liked Lady Grayson, and was a little regretful that their acquaintance was going to be so short. Since the marriage of her sister a year ago last spring, she had been a bit lonely for female companionship. Conversation at the dinner-table last night had revealed her brother’s absence, and the lack of any knowledge on the part of her host of Horst’s whereabouts. Even worse, from Arwen’s point of view: no one seemed to be concerned about his disappearance in the least, both Danil and Captain Grayson taking it for granted that Horst was just off on some inconsequential business of his own. Incurably honest with herself, she acknowledged that she would have thought the same, if it hadn’t been for the growing sense of some danger threatening him; and the unaccountable urgency within her that kept pushing at her to find him. When she had ventured to mention her feeling, she had received what amounted to verbal pats on the head, and the reassurance that there was no need for her to worry about him. She had accepted this with a smile, while grinding her teeth at the condescension. For the first time since meeting with him, Danil had spoken to her as he would to another adult, instead of a spoiled child: a pleasant change from his previous attitude, although she retained the suspicion that he was simply humoring her. She would have some questions for that gentleman when she saw him, probably sometime this morning. Arwen had to admit she felt more comfortable in the garments the Captain had caused to be given to her. A disguise was all very well on the open plain, but one could never look one’s best in it, and Arwen discovered that she wanted to look her best when next she confronted Danil. Seeing him clean-shaven and in dress clothes last night, instead of grimy in trail leathers, had been a revelation. He could, Arwen mused, have appeared to advantage at a formal court function. Briefly, she wondered exactly who Danil really was... A good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed, after a proper bath and the attendance of a decent ladies’ maid, had done much to restore her to her normally sunny disposition. Her brain was in first-class working order this morning, as she sat up in bed and considered her current position. The light pouring through the window nearby beckoned alluringly, and she slid out of the bed and padded with bare feet towards it. The room allotted to her use was high in the tower, and its windows looked down on the wide, tree-lined roads that radiated in a circle outward from the tower. This early in the day, she could see the garrison and the corps of cadets in training as they mustered for their first parade. She could also see the encircling stone wall some distance away; and the main gate, which had loomed so large when she and Danil had ridden through it last evening, looked like a child’s toy. The dwarfed figures of moving men, patrolling along the top of the wall, brought home to her suddenly that this was a fortress, and not merely a palace. She tugged thoughtfully at a lock of her sleep-tousled hair. She would have her work cut out for her getting out of Isengard, now that she was finally in Isengard! Well, if Horst could manage to get out of the fortress here without any apparent problems, so could she! First, of course, she would have to find out where he went. After all, she could hardly follow him otherwise. Someone here must know at least in which direction he had set out. She had to find out who that someone was, without alerting Danil, or Captain Grayson, that she hadn’t given up her little quest to find her brother. How much time did she have? No doubt, Danil and the Captain were planning to send her back to Edoras as soon as possible, probably within a day or two. Could she persuade Lady Grayson to delay her departure, and let her stay for a visit? If she could, that would give her more time; and time was what she needed, in order to find out where Horst had gone. It was worth a try, anyway, she thought; and with that resolve, she picked up the handbell and shook it. * * * * * * * * * * One hand pushed a greasy lock of hair out of his face as he looked over the underbrush where he lay concealed by the side of the road. The Rohirrim was obviously heading for the main gate at the fortress; and it was just as obvious to him that only an urgent, secret matter could have taken the head of the royal bodyguard alone and in secret to Isengard. He had been sorely tempted to use his knife on the back of the man; the head of one of the Rohirrim would bring him great reward at home. Something had said he should wait, however, and so he had followed the man instead. Now, watching him approach the gates of the fortress, he rubbed a hand across his mouth. If he could learn what had brought the man here, it could mean an even greater reward than the man’s head would. Another night, or even two or three more, spent sleeping in the open was a small price to pay for the chance at such a coup. He would watch and wait, and surely his patience would pay off. Then, he could cross over the secret passes, back to Dunland, and report to his chief. His chief might even choose to let him lead a war-party after the Rohirrim. An attack on their city was doomed to failure, and not to be thought; but an ambush on a small party, traveling from Isengard to Edoras stood every chance of success. He saw the torches emerge from the gate, and the dismounted rider and horse enter. He would learn nothing more tonight. He eased himself back from the underbrush, and taking his horse’s tether from the branch where he had tied it, he sought out a concealed copse where he could sleep in peace for the night. to be continued... |
Courtyard
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