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With a shout of joy the young man threw himself at the northerner,
wrapping his strong arms around the man and hugging him tightly.
Tarcil stopped his men who started forward, taken off guard by the
youth’s exuberance. He watched as Thorongil returned the hug,
laughing and speaking to the foreigner in a strange tongue.
“Kidrin, did the Corsairs take you as well?” Aragorn pressed the
boy back and looked him over carefully, much to the young man’s
embarrassment. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine, Adrar. The slavers caught me when I came north
looking for feed and produce to purchase. We have not had enough
rain to get us through the season this year and Father sent me into
upper Harad to search for supplies. I was taken by surprise and
my money was stolen. It has been weeks since they took me. By now
Father must think I am dead. I need to return to him as soon as
possible.”
“Did they treat you poorly?” Aragorn was instantly incensed and
worried. His surrogate family was in trouble and one of his
adopted brothers had been ill-treated by the men of the south; it did
not sit well with him.
“No worse than Rhuddryn used to.” Kidrin laughed. “But
freedom has made us unaccustomed to the ways of slavery I fear.”
“How is the family? Sircyn? Syna? Are they
well? How do Mother and Father fare?” Aragorn asked,
falling easily back into the Haradrim language and the familiarity with
the people he had lived with many years ago.
“They are well, but it has been long since you have visited.
Mother misses you and Syna, well she has a husband and children of her
own now.” Kidrin smiled widely at the surprised look that crossed
Aragorn’s face; “She named her oldest two for you and your elf
friend. They all know the tales of the first Adrar and how he
helped to free us from slavery.” The youth laughed and looked
about them, “And here you are doing it again.”
Tarcil watched, amazed, as Thorongil ruffled the short, bristly hair of
the young Haradrim. Tarcil had never known one of the far
southern people as a friend and his men had not been inclined to treat
this newly freed slave any different than the Haradrim warriors they
had encountered as enemies earlier in the year. And yet here was
his commander freely associating with one, and in an intimate, familiar
way. He listened to the strange language and the fluency with
which Thorongil spoke it and realized for the first time that although
he counted the captain his friend there was very little he knew of the
man’s past. He smiled questioningly when Thorongil reached
towards him and motioned him over.
“Tarcil, this is my brother, Kidrin.” Thorongil introduced him
with a fond smile, forgetting for a moment what kind of a reaction such
an announcement would garner him from his current friends.
“Your brother?” the Gondorian reiterated quietly.
“Yes.” Aragorn did not explain further but simply continued, “And
Kidrin, this is my friend and confidant, Tarcil. I couldn’t have
asked for a better second-in-command.”
The youth touched his fingers to his forehead and bowed in respect
after the fashion of his people. “It is good to meet you. Any
friend of Adrar is a friend of mine and my family.”
“Adrar?” Tarcil whispered as he nodded in greeting to
Kidrin.
“I’ll tell you later.” Aragorn clapped the man on the back.
The last of the train of people was finally leaving the glen and he
knew they had precious little time left. “Tarcil, fetch one of
the
Corsair’s wagons and find an animal to pull it. From the spoils
fill the cart with enough food and grain to last the summer.
Kidrin was taken by the slavers and his family is in the midst of a
famine; they will not last without our help and he needs to return to
them.”
“Of course, Thorongil.” Tarcil moved off, calling orders to the
soldiers who were bringing up the rear of the column. Pulling a
wagon out of line and unpacking it quickly, they loaded it with grain
and medicines and food while Aragorn caught up on what had been
happening back on the Simbani family estate.
“Adrar,” Kidrin touched Aragorn’s arm lightly, a thoughtful look
crossing his features. “You are not the first face from the past
I have seen recently. Have you seen Tyndel?”
“Tyndel?” Aragorn repeated, not understanding for a moment, nor
remembering to whom that moniker had belonged. “Kidrin, I
don’t...” suddenly his words trailed off as recollection of who Kidrin
had known by that name rushed back to him.
Tarcil was ordering the last of the swift preparations in the packing
of the wagon when the tone of Thorongil’s voice caused him to look back
over his shoulder and the distress on his commander’s face immediately
worried the man. He moved quickly to Thorongil’s side.
“My lord, what is it?” he asked softly interrupting.
Kidrin immediately switched to speaking common. “I told Adrar
that I have seen Tyndel.”
Tarcil glanced in confusion from the man to the youth. The name
meant nothing to him.
Shaking his head as he explained, Aragorn’s frown deepened. “Tyndel is
Legolas. Kidrin says he saw Legolas loaded onto another slave
ship. Tarcil, Legolas is alive and definitely not free. He
must have been and taken in the battle or betrayed by Alcarin.
That is why we found no trace of him. Think, please, is it
possible that there were two slave ships here yesterday?”
The soldier glanced about them, suddenly at a loss. If Legolas
had been here and by their own ignorance they had lost him... Looking
at
the wrecked and burning hulks of the ships behind them and trying
vainly to remember if there had been another small-sized ship docked
when last they were here, Tarcil shook his head at the absence of the
memory. “It...it is possible, Thorongil. I don’t remember
clearly. All the warships are accounted for.”
“Are you sure it was him you saw, Kidrin?” The fear that had
welled up in the pit of Aragorn’s stomach hardened into a knot as he
turned back the young Haradrim. If the ship were not here then it
had a head start on him and finding Legolas would be more difficult. At
least he knew his friend was alive, but a slave? It couldn’t be;
Legolas couldn’t be put through that again.
“Yes I am sure, it was him. The slavers travel in twos for
protection. They left yesterday, early evening. We were to
leave in the morning.” Kidrin tugged on Aragorn’s sleeve
redirecting his attention from Tarcil. “He did not look good
Adrar. He was unconscious and in heavy chains. That ship
was headed for the Poros.”
“The Poros?!” Tarcil questioned quietly.
“What is it, Tarcil?” Aragorn caught the note of concern in the
under-officer’s voice.
“The only ships that forge the Poros are headed for Mordor. There is no
other river in or out of that forsaken land and it is its only
destination.”
“It is true,” Kidrin conceded softly, “They go to the slave farms that
serve the dark lord of Mordor’s needs. It is where we were headed
as well. The guards liked to taunt us with that knowledge.
They say to be a slave in Mordor is worse than death.” He
shivered silently, thinking of what he had been saved from and dreading
what he feared Tyndel was going into.
Relief warred with fear inside Aragorn’s heart and urgency caught
inside of him, threatening to choke his thoughts from
concentrating. Legolas was a captive, and headed for Mordor in
chains. The northerner shuddered involuntarily and his revulsion
solidified into resolve. Mordor could not have that fair being as
long as Aragorn lived and breathed. His time for being with the
Gondorians had come to an end sooner than even he expected. He
needed to get the people back to Pelargir and transfer leadership to
Tarcil. He intended to be on the road by this evening. He glanced
quickly at the rising sun, trying to judge how long it would take him
to backtrack.
“Do you wish us to send men after the ship?” Tarcil questioned
softly.
Looking up the river Aragorn seriously considered the offer. Then
his gaze fell back to the path the refugees had taken. He
couldn’t risk their lives, he needed all the soldiers to accompany them
back and see them safely home. Besides... if the trail led into
Mordor, then taking a contingent of Gondorian soldiers with him would
be cause enough to open hostilities between the two lands and Gondor
did not need any more war, especially not with their dark, ruthless
eastern neighbors. No, this was something he would have to do by
himself, although he was grateful to Tarcil for asking.
“No.” His answer was strained and quiet. He hated the
feelings of helplessness that his position constrained him with.
“The refugees are our immediate concern.”
“Adrar?” Kidrin gently touched his arm, redirecting his
attention.
With a small smile he pulled the boy against him and held him tightly,
whispering in his ear in Haradrim. “You need to return home, and
quickly. It will be well. Tell Cabed and Mambre I send my
greetings and I miss them all very much. Hug Sircyn and Syna for
me, and all my little nephews and nieces I haven’t seen yet. If
the seasons permit it, I will return again for a visit, but I must
follow Tyndel and free him. I won’t let them take him, don’t
worry.” He felt the youth nod against his shoulder in
understanding.
“Yes, he is your brother as well. I am sorry that I did not have
better news.” Kidrin returned the hug, answering just as quietly, his
words for the northerner’s ears only. “I pray that you find him in
time.” Pulling back, the Haradrim smiled widely. “It has been
good to see you again, Adrar. Do not let so much time pass again
till we see you once more.” He grasped Aragorn’s arm at the elbow
in a formal farewell before stepping back and taking the reins of the
large bull that pulled the heavily laden wagon. “The family
thanks you for the supplies and the animal. May your journeys be
safe ones.”
“And yours as well. It was good to see you again. You need
to go, your journey is long.” Aragorn handed the young man a set
of official looking papers, pulled from an interior pocket of his short
overcoat. They were creased and wrinkled from being carried
around a long time but the seal of the king was stamped onto the
front. Stepping aside he allowed Kidrin to lead the animal south
heading back for home. “Those papers will see you safely through
southern Gondor,” he explained quickly. The last thing he wanted
was for Kidrin to be waylaid by well-meaning Gondorians, still edgy
from the recent wars with the Haradrim. “I’ll send word as soon
as I can!”
“You do that! You keep your word, brother!” Kidrin called back,
laughing
at the inside joke.
When Aragorn turned back to Tarcil his second-in-command was staring at
him strangely.
“What?”
“Adrar? Tyndel?” Tarcil raised and eyebrow in question, “You
speak fluent Haradrim? Is there anything else I should know about
you that I don’t?”
Aragorn shrugged and smiled.
“Your brother?” the Gondorian pressed.
“It’s a long story, Tarcil.”
“Well we have quite a walk ahead of us I suggest you start
explaining.” He laughed as Thorongil laid an arm around his
shoulders and steered them after the retreating line of refugees that
was no longer in sight. The last of the men that had stayed
behind trailed after them, their job of destroying the thrown-together
city accomplished. As they left, the remainder of the buildings
and boats were engulfed in flames, the ruins leaving traces on
the sky as the smoke drifted heavenward in thick banks – a marker for
the Corsairs, Gondor was off limits.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Aragorn laughed, dusting
himself off. The dread in his heart had not left but he would
speak of his intentions later, privately with his friend, not out in
the open where the men would hear. It would do their morale no good
after such a great victory and he had no wish to dampen the celebrating
that would most certainly take place after they had rested.
“Try me,” Tarcil muttered good-naturedly, his intrigue stirred.
~*~
Aragorn tied the last of the laces off on his leather boots and stood
watching as the soldiers helped bed down the newly freed slaves for the
night, striking campfires in the midst of the huddled groups of
Gondorians. Their thankful faces watched the soldiers carefully,
unwilling to lose contact with one another even though the threat of
their captors was now but a distant thought.
The Corsairs had been dealt a serious blow; they would have to think
long and hard before attempting any such invasion again. Gondor
would be safe from their encroaching warmongering for some time
now.
The young captain breathed a heavy sigh; his job was done here.
These were his people no longer, at least, not for now... possibly not
for a long time, if ever. Gently Aragorn set his ornate helmet on
the rock that braced his own fire pit and ran his fingers through his
sweat-drenched hair. The cool night air felt good on his face.
His heart lay elsewhere; his duty to Gondor was complete. His
friend was in need and he could remain in the company of men no
longer.
Tarcil was watching his leader closely as the Captain slowly undid his
bracers; Thorongil’s dark, fiery gaze was fixed out toward the south
beyond the fields of Pelargir to the far side of the Anduin.
Tarcil tried to see what his commander was watching but it escaped
him. He walked quietly to the man’s side.
“Thorongil?”
Aragorn started slightly at the soft sound of his name. He smiled
slightly; that was something else he was giving up as of this
night. He was no longer Thorongil, he was simply Aragorn... No,
he had had enough of men for quite some time; he was Estel and it was
time for him to go. The halls of Imladris called to his heart, it was
time to find Legolas and return home.
“Tarcil,” Aragorn gripped his second-in-command’s forearm tightly in
greeting. But when the soldier pulled away, Thorongil did not
release him. Instead the Captain of Gondor’s army gently strapped
his bracers to the soldier’s arm, tightening the straps, the ornate
gold finished designs flashing dully in the fading light.
“Captain?” This sudden turn of events startled the soldier.
“They’ll need a good captain to see them all home.” Aragorn’s
voice was soft and his gaze darted quickly out to the fields before
fastening on Tarcil’s. There was no one underneath him that he
trusted more. “It’s a long road back. But no one will oppose you
this time. The Corsairs have been beaten back and will trouble
Gondor’s borders no more for a time. The land will have peace
now. For a while at least.”
“I don’t understand.” The soldier did not resist as Aragorn
fastened the second vambrace to his other arm and stepped back,
smiling.
“I am leaving. It is time for me to go.” Aragorn moved away from
the soldier and grabbed a small knapsack that sat in the shadow of the
rock next to him, slinging it over his shoulder before picking up his
old ranger’s coat from where it lay draped over the boulder near the
fire. He had had little use for it in the past few years, but had
kept it handy nevertheless. He reached into an interior pocket in
the leather overcoat and withdrew a silver ring, slipping it quickly
onto his finger.
Tarcil frowned, trying to glimpse the piece of jewelry. Save for
the star-shaped brooch that his captain continually wore, he had never
noticed a ring on the man’s fingers. Aragorn picked up his coat,
obscuring Tarcil’s view.
“Where are you going, my lord?”
“I have to find Legolas. He cannot be left to enslavement in
Mordor; he is my friend.” Aragorn kicked the small fire out and
turned back to the Gondorian. “I owe him more than my life.”
“I thought as much. I will get a contingent together and we
will...” He stopped talking as Thorongil gently shook his head
no. “You will go alone then, but after that...?” Tarcil was
eyeing him worriedly; he feared what the captain would say next. “After
that you will return, will you not?”
“No.” Silver eyes met and held the brown ones that stared
questioningly at him. Tarcil’s fingers absently traced the
intricate patterns on the bucklers.
Aragorn retrieved his helmet and passed it to the soldier.
“No. After that I will return home, to my home in the
north. The war is over; there is no need for me to remain.”
“But what will I tell Lord Ecthelion, or Captain Denethor?!” Tarcil was
beginning to panic. He had not thought that he would lose the
friendship they had developed over the past ten years working with each
other. He did not want to let go of it now.
“Tell them the truth.” Aragorn shrugged into the worn and ragged
ranger’s coat, fastening the star brooch to his shirt beneath it before
smiling warmly at his friend, “Tell them I went after Legolas.
They will believe you. And I doubt that Denethor will spend much
time in regret.”
A frown crossed his second-in-command’s face and Aragorn couldn’t help
laughing at the scowl. “Tarcil,” his tone reprimanded slightly.
“Denethor will be a good Steward someday, you’ll see. He just has
a lot to learn and...”
“A lot is an understatement,” the Gondorian warrior interrupted.
“Yes, a lot, but with good men like you at his side he will learn
quickly and easier. Help him, Tarcil. He will find in you a most
worthy captain indeed, and, if he allows himself, no truer
friend.”
Aragorn stepped forward and quickly pulled the confused soldier into a
warm embrace before stepping back once more and turning to leave.
Tarcil grabbed the ranger’s elbow, stopping him, “But, my lord, how
will
I tell Lord Ecthelion, surely...” He desperately wanted to stop this
farewell and played his last card. “It will break his
heart. Do not force me to be the one to tell him such ill
tidings. Return with us yourself and let him know your
intentions. I have been your messenger on many occasions,
Thorongil, and have never minded before, but please do not make me
carry
this one out.”
Knowing what his friend was thinking, Aragorn smiled softly, unclasping
the new captain’s hand with his own. “He already knows, Tarcil.” The
ranger stared into the brown eyes, begging him silently to accept what
had to be. “I spoke with Lord Ecthelion before we ever left and
he granted me his permission. He knows I have intended to leave for
some time. And with Legolas taken I cannot spare the weeks it
would take to return and inform him in person that that time has come.
I must go now. Simply tell him that other tasks now call me and
much time and many perils must pass ere I come again to Gondor, if
that be my fate. Trust me, Tarcil, he will understand. Tell
the men in the morning that I have left to follow Legolas and rescue
him. I will do my best to free whatever slaves I find in that
ship that has spirited them away and with any luck they will all return
to you unharmed.” He pulled gently away and stepped back.
“You have been a good friend to me, Tarcil, and I will not forget
you. I promise that if ever you or Gondor needs me, I will come
back. I will miss our nights around the campfires and your sorry
excuses for jokes. Tell your brothers you need new ones.”
He laughed softly, his smile widening as the man before him smiled in
spite of the heaviness weighing on his heart.
“And if you ever pass back through Gondor you know where my hearth is
and you are more than welcome there at it, my lord.” Tarcil
saluted him in the high Gondor fashion, his smile broadening when
Aragorn returned the farewell greeting.
Quickly, before the man could see the tears forming in his eyes,
Aragorn turned and walked out onto the grassy plains, the Anduin
rolling ever on towards the sea flanked his left. Night had just
fallen and the mists were even now beginning to gather on the flat
meadows, their soft, grey insubstantial tendrils wrapping around his
leather boots.
Tarcil watched him go. He knew it was right but the suddenness of
the moment still felt wrong. Aragorn seemed to become a part of
the night around him, blending in slowly with his surroundings.
“May the Valar keep you, Thorongil, until we meet again.”
The whispered blessing floated across the glen picked up by the sharp
hearing of the ranger and he smiled, his step faltering slightly as he
resisted the urge to turn one last time and look on his men. It
was hard enough to make friends in this world, it was harder to leave
them behind and move on, but his time here in Gondor was at an end and
he knew his destiny lay elsewhere for the present. Thoughts of
Legolas’ safety tugged at his heart and his pace quickened.
“Where is Captain Thorongil going?” The voice at Tarcil’s elbow
startled him and he turned to find Castamir wiping his hands on the
apron that the cook had given him to wear earlier. He was still
working off the punishment that Aragorn, as the remaining active
captain of Gondor’s army, had given him, but he had taken to the hard
labor easily and readily. He counted himself lucky to be alive;
he didn’t think Captain Denethor would have been so lenient.
Tarcil smiled slightly as he eyed the soldier. “Thorongil goes to
find Legolas,” he stated simply with a deep sigh.
Castamir nodded, watching as the man he had come to consider his
captain faded into the deepening night his face turned towards
Mordor. “I truly hope he finds him.” His voice was quiet.
Tarcil glanced back at the soldier next to him, surprised by the
genuineness he could hear in the warrior’s tone. Thorongil was
right, all men needed help growing up, even the worst of them, Castamir
and Lord Denethor included.
“Have you finished digging the holes for the camp waste?”
“No, sir.” Castamir rolled his eyes.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Tarcil glanced at the soldier, a
slight frown marring his face.
“Just you to ask me why I was waiting?”
“Castamir.” The new captain cautioned his man.
“I’m going. I guess I was just too late.” The soldier
turned as Tarcil laid his arm around the man’s shoulder and headed him
back to camp.
“Too late for what?”
Aragorn stopped walking, listening to the conversation that ghosted to
him on the slight night breezes.
“Too late to thank Captain Thorongil for giving me a second chance when
I didn’t deserve it. Not many men would.” Castamir
answered.
“I think he knows...”
The rest of the conversation was lost as the men moved out of the
ranger’s hearing. He smiled to himself; yes he knew. He
breathed the air in deeply, it felt good to be walking once again in
Middle-earth as nothing more than a mere ranger, a human raised by
elves, no responsibilities, no power to wield, and no one to quarrel
with about the affections of a Kingdom he did not even wish to call his
own.
“I’m coming Legolas. Hold on mellon-nín,
I swear to you, you will not be Mordor’s slave.” The elvish words
frosted on the cool night air and he quickened his pace. Kidrin
had said that the ship which had taken Legolas was called the Merry
Goblin and had been headed to the Poros, making for Mordor with her
cache of slaves. That then, was where Aragorn’s path would lie
also. He hoped to make the tributary before the ship unloaded her
goods. Breaking into a run, the ranger tracked the river’s edge
through the night, fueled by his promise to rescue his friend, no
matter what the cost.
The
End
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