The Exile's Daughter

Silver linings

"What would you council?"

We stood on a veritable wasteland. In the churned-up mud, a few half-rotten wargs lay to our left, with the bodies of their riders, often dismembered and incomplete, trapped underneath, or else dumped on top. To our right, in grief I had been forced to point out something even more sinister. Aragorn and Galdor's mortal eyes had not espied them.

Three men's decomposing bodies were laid, side-by-side. They were half-burned, but it seemed something had interrupted the fires set about them. Perhaps a storm had come.

The darkness of the north seemed even more absolute than usual, while a week of night watches passed. Though it was midwinter, there was something deeper in the way it sat oppressively upon the shoulders of the land. Legolas and the sons of Elrond could sense it too. Aragorn, though mortal, had grown up among elves, and he also knew the signs of unnatural darkness which plagued the nights. He listened with increasing worry to our reports, and, that night, had decided to accompany me and Galdor on the watch, despite the fact he was well overdue for some rest. Elrond's sons and Legolas with Halbarad went in opposite directions.

Both men glanced across uncertainly at me. I wondered what caused their hesitation – an unwillingness to disturb the corpses of their fellows, or worry for me, given how they appeared to have died. The idea of what must be done brought me no great satisfaction, but we needed to push past our fears.

"These bodies may show the nature of the death of these men, whether they died in fire, or before they were set alight." I set a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "We have to do this."

"We will do it. You shouldn't see this, dear friend." Aragorn said

I shook my head. "You asked for my leadership, and now I will give it. Galdor, assess the bodies of the orcs and see what you can guess about the manner and times of their deaths. Aragorn, we will assess the men's bodies and track whatever remains of our enemies in the area. There may have been more than orcs and wargs about."

"Let us swap." Galdor urged, but paused before he said more. Perhaps, in his youth and inexperience, he could not voice the unspeakable horrors of the scene. My decision seemed all the more sensible for his hesitation. He could barely keep his wide eyes away from the bodies.

"Galdor, go to the orcs. Aragorn, with me."

Aragorn sighed. "Do as she bids you. Let's get this over with."

Galdor stumped off and he raised an eyebrow. "What is your reasoning?"

"How old is that boy?"

"Twenty-two. He is of age."

"And yet I cannot bear to contemplate putting him in this situation. He must seem young to you, so imagine how he seems to me. Come on. We need to do this, brother."

He nodded, satisfied by my explanation, and hesitated again, but I held out a hand for him to take. Together we walked over the squelchy ground, reaching the men and pausing for a moment. He let go of me and bent down slowly, and I followed him, ignoring my sweaty hands.

I clamped my hand over my nose, watching Aragorn heave. He held out an arm to stop me, but I bent in, examining the flesh about the necks. There was a slash across each, now full of maggots. 

I had never seen corpse older than a day, and I could never have prepared for the stench, nor the hardly human look of them. Once Aragorn had collected himself, he took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. "Their throats-" he choked. I only nodded. "We have to raise a cairn. I cannot leave my kin lying here like carrion."

I nodded again. "Do you know them?" I asked softly.

He shook his head. "No but look at their clothes. They are Dúnedain."