Meleth-nin

Disclaimer: Not mine but J.R.R. Tolkien’s.
A/N: Thank you for the encouraging reviews, it’s good to know that the previous chapter met with your approval. :) And please feel free to make comments, suggestions etc. for I’m very interested in knowing what works for you and makes you think this fic is worth reading.
matilda: Many thanks for your review. :) I have to admit that you have a point there; sometimes I have difficulties in describing the feelings of the characters. This may be due to the fact that English is not my native tongue… But whatever the case I’m glad you pointed that out since now I can pay it extra attention in the future. Also I’m happy that you have liked this fic so far. :)

thoughts


Chapter eighteen

Somewhere in Rohan…


Aragorn was exhausted. They had hunted those blasted Orcs for what seemed like months instead of mere weeks. So far they had only met very small groups of them and slaughtered the dark creatures at the spot. They had at first tried to interrogate them in order to find out where the rest of them dwelled, but it was of no use. Either the Orcs they had encountered knew nothing or had been sworn to silence. They fought fiercely, though, and already many of the Rohirrim had suffered quite serious injuries.

Aragorn breathed deep and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He winced as the dirt on his fingers stung his eyes and he realised that he really hadn’t bathed in weeks. It didn’t really help that in the daytime it was very warm, hot even, and men and beasts alike were soaked with sweat without the possibility to bathe.

“Aragorn, we need to continue!” Éomer shouted from the back of his horse. “Our scouts just informed me that they have seen a party of Orcs in north. We cannot linger!”

“North, you say? How many?” Aragorn asked wearily. All he wanted right now was a bath, a bed, and his beloved mate. Unfortunately there wasn’t time to bathe, no beds in sight and his husband was somewhere in North, probably already at Imladris. He hoped dearly that their journey had been a safe one and they had managed to avoid the Orcs.

Aragorn knew that there were hundreds of Orcs to be found and killed and at this rate they would accomplish the task no sooner than sometime next spring. And he really couldn’t afford the delay, since Legolas would be in childbirth before Yule. Determinedly he pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to think of Legolas – or the child, for that matter – while there was work to do. Distraction when in battle could prove fatal, he knew that of experience. He had seen that in the battlefields far too many times.

“About a dozen, I was told. I think we should divide our force in two. The first group should approach them from East and the other from West. I don’t think we should give them any chance to escape; they’d most probably warn the head group and they could prepare us some kind of ambush. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Éomer looked very tired as well. These past two weeks had taken their toll more on him than anyone else. He was their King and they all were counting on him to make the plans, to ensure their safety, to lead them in the battle. He didn’t think he could’ve made it this far without Aragorn. The King of Gondor was a magnificent ally and friend, and once again Éomer felt deep gratitude and admiration for him.

“Dozen? We hardly need all of our men to kill a dozen Orcs”, Aragorn said and sighed. “The men are exhausted and so are the horses. I’d hate to push them on the brink for a small amount of Orcs. Who knows when we’re going to run into the main group? We cannot fight them if the men are too tired to wield their swords properly. It would serve us well to have our men well-rested.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Éomer asked. “I agree that the men could really use a good rest. Who would have thought that this Orc-hunt could prove this tiring? It’s not even like we’ve had any great battles yet or ridden far from Edoras, we’re still within the borders of Rohan. I do not understand it.”

“The filth of Saruman is not that easily wiped off”, Aragorn said. “His evilness has tainted these lands. I think that has affected us all.” He kneeled and touched the soil with his fingertips and smiled faintly. “But the earth is healing. It no longer speaks of his evil deeds. So fear not, Éomer, that these lands are ruined forever.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, my friend”, Éomer said and looked at Aragorn affectionately before remembering the Orcs that needed to be taken care of. “But what say you of our plan to attack those blasted Orcs?”

“I shall gather some of your men and approach the filthy creatures from East. They will be placed between us and the Fangorn Forest; they cannot escape. I shall need no more than twenty men. We should be back before nightfall.” Aragorn spoke determinedly. He wanted to get rid of the filth that still dwelled on this land.

“I will come with you. After all these lands are under my rule and those are my men that I’m sending to the battle. It’s the King’s responsibility to join his men and meet the battle head on. I shall not be left behind”, Éomer said and Aragorn nodded. He was glad to see that Éomer had grown to fill the role he had been forced to accept. He knew that Éomer had never wanted to become King, but after Theodred and Theoden’s deaths he had had to accept the demanding role and the responsibility that came with it.

“Then so be it. I shall go and ask for volunteers for this task. Meanwhile the others may build a camp and get some rest”, Aragorn suggested and it was fine with his fellow King.

*~*~*~*~*~*

They returned soon after the sunset. They had been successful and managed to kill all the Orcs. They had paid for it, though. Three men were severely wounded and one had been killed. Éomer felt like he couldn’t meet his warriors’ eyes. He felt he had betrayed them. He knew that no leader could promise his men a certainty of success and victorious return home, but the death of one of his warriors weighed heavily on his mind. The man’s wife was at Edoras, waiting for her husband and the father of her children to come home… and yet the man would never return.

Éomer wiped the tears off his face angrily. He had asked for a moment of solitude and after seeing how distraught their King was no one had refused him. That was what hurt him the most. No one blamed him. No one thought this was his failure. He cursed silently. Of course none of his men would speak against him; he was their King and they owed him their loyalty.

The problem was that Éomer was not used to that. Before he was crowned King he had been the Captain of the Rohirrim, and while he was obeyed and respected, his men had not hesitated in telling him when they thought that he was wrong and the course he wanted to take was unwise. Éomer respected that. He knew that his uncle, Theoden King, would not have approved of this but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the safety of his people and that was the reason why he allowed, welcomed even, the opinions of the others, even if they differed greatly from his own. But that was not the case any longer.

He glanced at Aragorn who was tending to Brego. King Elessar was one of his true friends. He was practically the only one whose attitude toward him hadn’t changed after the coronation, and for that Éomer was deeply grateful. He is a born leader whereas I’m not. I’m merely the King’s nephew who was only crowned King because there was no one else, the King of Rohan thought angrily. He wasn’t angry at Aragorn but himself. Because of him one of his men had died and several others carried injuries. I am no real King. I have neither the courage nor the strength to lead them properly. I will only lead them to ruin.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by Aragorn. “You look exactly like I feel”, Aragorn said. “May I?” At Éomer’s nod he sat down and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and rubbed it calmingly. “I can see that you’re blaming yourself. Éomer, ‘tis useless. Your men need you to be strong for them. They need a King who can lead them despite his doubts and fears. I should know.”

“What do you know about doubts and fears?” Éomer all but snapped. “You were destined to become the greatest leader of Men of our Age. You have always known of your destiny and fulfilled it with grace and dignity. What would you know about what I feel right now?”

“I know a great deal”, Aragorn said quietly. “I was told of my heritage when I came of age. I didn’t want to become the King of Men. I knew I was not the kind of man who could successfully lead others; I am Isildur’s heir and carry the same weakness he did. So I became a Ranger, forsaking the path my foster-father wanted me to take.” He smiled a little, amused smile despite himself. “It wasn’t until I met Legolas that I realised that by attempting to run away from my destiny I was actually fulfilling it. He helped me to find the strength within myself; he stood by my side when I doubted my ability to resist the temptation of the One Ring. Do you see where I’m coming from, Éomer?”

“I think so”, Éomer said slowly. “You mean that all of us doubt ourselves at some point of our lives, and it doesn’t mean that we’re any less capable because of it.”

“Exactly”, Aragorn said and smiled. “I think it makes us better leaders. Also I think that no one should bear the burden of leadership alone. Being a King is very hard and demanding.”

Éomer nodded at him and clasped his hand in gratitude. He then rose to his feet and looked at his men who had built fires and were sitting around them. “I shall go and speak to them. You are right, Aragorn. I’m of no use to them if I just sit here feeling sorry for myself. Good night to you, let us hope tomorrow is a better day.”

Aragorn nodded and lay down on the ground. He couldn’t help his thoughts moving on to Legolas and his well-being. Where are you, Legolas? Do you fare well? Does our son fare well? Ai, I wish I could be there for you… Aragorn’s heart broke as he thought that he might never see his husband again and would never hold his son in his arms. He had lost his mate and his child because of his own stupidity and that was a very bitter thought. I will never see my own son… was his last despairing thought before exhaustion claimed him.


A/N: Poor Éomer and Aragorn… But anyways, thanks for reading. :)
PS: Please don’t despair. Things will start happening soon enough, I promise. :P