Sword and Arrow

Chapter 30

It was late afternoon when Aragorn fell out of his quick-paced run and held up a hand to the three behind him. He tilted his head to the side, listening. It was hoofbeats, the hoofs of a hundred or so horses drumming against the dry, cracked ground. Aragorn motioned to the side and the four of them quickly hid behind a large rock that protruded from the prairie. Aragorn pulled the hood of his cloak over his face to seemingly melding into the rock, but Beruthiel did not have the energy to do so and simply collapsed against the dark rock.

Aragorn peered out from behind the rock, his cloak keeping him hidden, as the hoofbeats drew closer and the company of horsemen came around the rock. A look of surprise crossed his face and he almost immediately jumped out from behind the rock, letting his hood fall. "Riders of Rohan!" he shouted above the thundering hooves. "What news from the Mark?" Legolas and Gimli, who had warily followed him, jumped closer to the Ranger and pulled Beruthiel, still very stiff and injured, into the center so she was against Aragorn's back. The riders had checked their horses with astonishing speed, wheeling around and surrounding the four with three tight circles. Spears and lances were freed from their sheaths and leveled over shoulders at them in a bristling circle of blades.

This is it, Beruthiel thought. This is the mistake that costs us our lives.

A rider with a plumed helmet, presumably their leader by the golden edges on his sword's scabbard, looked at them with piercing eyes from his saddle. "What business does an elf, two men, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he said sharply, his gaze roving over the four of them. To her shame, Beruthiel still cowered behind Aragorn, half-hidden in the folds of his cloak. She felt his arm skim across her upper arm, then reassuringly squeeze her forearm before dropping to rest on the pommel of his sword. "Speak quickly!"

Aragorn opened his mouth to answer, but Gimli spat out a response first. "Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine!" Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment and let out a silent sigh, placing his hand on the dwarf's shoulder to hold him back.

The leader smoothly dismounted from his horse and stalked closer. "I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher than the ground."

In a flash, Legolas had drawn, nocked, and aimed an arrow straight at the man's heart. "You would die before your stroke fell!"

Aragorn sighed loudly and pushed a hand against Legolas's arm, pushing his bow down. Legolas took the hint and lowered the bow, letting the string go slack, but still tightly grasped the arrow in his hand and glared up at the mounted man.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he said, showing his hands with the palms facing outwards as a sign of peace and friendship. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Beruthiel, daughter of Gwaedhon." He touched each of their shoulders in turn as if there was even a slight chance that it was possible to mistake an elf for a dwarf or a bedraggled woman.

The plume-helmeted rider gave a start at Beruthiel's name - perhaps he had mistaken her for a man. An easy mistake, she thought wryly. I don't even need to cut my hair or bind my chest to pass for a man.

"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king," Aragorn finished. Indeed, it was true: in his earlier days, Aragorn had journeyed to Rohan and had fought under King Thengel, befriending a young Théoden in the process.

The leader of the riders tipped his head back and raised his eyebrows with scorn. "The king no longer recognizes friend from foe," he said. He reached up and took off his helmet, revealing long waves of golden hair. "Not even his own kin." The sorrow in his eyes, alongside the golden trim on his possessions, told Aragorn that he himself was kin to the king. The king's son, perhaps? Boromir had spoken of him - the two of them had secretly dated for some time.