Add Story to Favourites The Weight of Power by Nefhiriel
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thorongil rohan

Thengel stood in the doorway, stunned and unable to completely process what he was seeing and what it meant. Anborn and Neylor came up on either side of him. Anborn released a slow sigh.

“Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about confronting him.”

Thengel nodded numbly. The room was almost completely barren, save for the largest pieces of furniture. All the color seemed drained from the usually richly-furnished room. Heolstor was gone, and so were all his belongings.

Thengel stood in the center of the room while Anborn and Neylor made a slow circuit of the room, the old healer quickly becoming interested in a large cabinet to one side, and Anborn in painstakingly opening every drawer in the long, dark-wooded bureau on the opposite wall.

The king’s surprise was gradually replaced by curiosity. Apparently, somehow, Heolstor knew they’d found him out. How he knew was impossible to say, but the captain must have had a good and attentive source of information to have found out so quickly.

He followed Anborn’s movements as he turned from the bureau to investigate another corner of the room. There wasn’t much to find, but there was plenty to wonder over. The room was not only stripped completely bare of anything of value, but it was also completely and bewilderingly immaculate. The bed was made, looking as if it hadn’t been slept in, and every drawer and cabinet closed. An overall attempt at tidiness seemed to have been made. Not at all the kind of room you’d expect find in the wake of a traitor making a break for it. It was eerie to look at, and even eerier to think of Heolstor, hiding deceit behind an impeccable mask of smiles.

A grunt of satisfaction pulled him from his dazed thoughts. Neylor was nodding, obviously pleased with something he’d found in the tall cabinet. Thengel came closer, peering over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anything. The numerous shelves that lined the inside of the cabinet were as bare as the rest of the room.

Seeing his confusion, Neylor explained without the usual compulsion any enlightenment from him required. “Can you smell it, Sire?”

Thengel frowned, still confused, but leaned closer and inhaled. At first, he couldn’t smell anything, but then he caught of waft of something. It was a sweet scent, so potently sweet it made him feel instantly overwhelmed. It was only a lingering scent, and yet it made him feel inexplicably nauseated and repulsed.

Neylor witnessed his reaction with a wry smile. “Yes, it is a very powerful herb, especially in its raw form. When processed it loses the strong scent, but the odor from the raw material can linger for quite a long time.”

Thengel stared at him. “You mean then, that it is? Heolstor really did…?”

Neylor voiced what the king could bring himself to say. “Aye. He kept Metalen in here all right.”

“You have no doubts of it?” Anborn asked, coming up behind them, and getting his first whiff of the sickeningly sweet smell. His eyes widened just slightly, an unusual expression to see on the seemingly imperturbable captain’s face.

In response to his question, Neylor answered, his smile even wryer than before. “Could you forget such a scent, Captain Anborn? Even though I’ve only had the opportunity less than a handful of times, I know it when I smell it.”

Anborn nodded wordlessly.

Thengel was beginning to gather some semblance of self-possession again, frustrated at himself for having lost it in the first place. He needed to be moving forward, not living in regret and shock. The decidedness with which he spoke next was not forced as before.

“If you are certain it is Metalen, then I suppose we have no need of further proof.” Thengel moved away from the cabinet, and away from the smell that pervaded it. Even in these few moments, its overpowering properties were giving him a headache. “Heolstor has fled, incriminating himself.”

Incriminating himself of what? his thoughts begged the question. What, exactly, was Heolstor now proven guilty of? Certainly of drugging Eothald. But why had he done it? What did Heolstor want? How could meticulously forming Eothald into a weak-willed puppet possibly do him any good? It all seemed so ludicrous and convoluted. A thought struck him, and he turned to Neylor.

“Heolstor must have given Metalen to Eothald in order to make him open to suggestion, right?”

“It’s the only real reason for using it.”

“Well, then, it would seem the real question is, what was it that Heolstor wanted so badly for Eothald to believe?”

***

Although the hour was growing late, Thorongil could find no peace of mind. The will to be thinking was stronger than the urges of his body to rest. Spacious though his quarters were, there wasn’t nearly enough space to pace properly. Not at the rate his thoughts were moving. Every time he encountered a wall his mind seemed freeze for a second, and then he’d turn around and begin the circular reasoning all over again, matching his circular walking pattern.

Mentally, and physically, he felt at a stalemate. He felt a little foolish, letting worry drive him crazy like this, but he knew lying in bed trying to still his thoughts wasn’t going to work until he had exhausted both aspects. With an inward shrug of surrender to his own mood, he left his rooms behind for the unlimited space beyond, and started walking briskly with absolutely no idea of were he was going.

Perhaps it was the need to escape the somehow ironically confining vaulted ceilings and imposing grandeur of the building, or perhaps it was simply the need to be outside, but he soon ended up in the gardens. He smiled at the subconscious choice, agreeing with it wholeheartedly. A ride might be even better, even if he were just to descend into the city a ways. But he decided against it. He might get rid of his own worries that way, but he’d probably give Araedhelm a whole new source of anxiety.

Thus coming to the decision to stay and walk in the gardens for a time, he had a full ten seconds of peace before his thoughts began the monotonous circle of useless speculation. What? he mocked himself. You actually think you can solve the world’s problems by simply putting your mind to it? He needed answers, many more answers, before he could even begin to put two and two together. He had one half-solid piece of evidence, and a whole lot of thoughts, and feelings, and suppositions.

Apparently, someone was interfering with the royal correspondence between King Thengel and Steward Ecthelion. That could mean a lot of things, none of them comfortable to linger over. If it was a practical joker with an odd sense of humor, he must also be completely insane to try targeting a king’s correspondence. He knew the relationship between Thengel and Ecthelion was as strong as the ties between Rohan and Gondor. But a wrong word here, an implied insult there… It could all create tension, or, at the least, a few hard feelings and misunderstandings.

Maybe that was what disturbed him the most, the subtlety of the thing. This was one patient practical-joker, playing a very impractical prank. Even as he shook his head over thoughts of some hare-brained idiot, he knew perfectly well he was only avoiding the obvious. No one would mess around with something as important as the relationship between two world powers, unless they meant to cause trouble.

Thorongil ran a hand through his hair, feeling as if he’d reached the end of his speculations for the evening. Perhaps he’d been wrong earlier, about not being tired. He certainly felt tired now. And suddenly it didn’t seem as if there was much more to think about—or at least not anything more he wanted to think about.

He made his way back to his room, hardly paying attention to the way, but regardless ending up at the right door. Although he managed to stow all his worries away at the back of his mind, he was very glad to remember that on the following day he and Araedhelm would begin their return trip to Rohan. Perhaps once he’d seen, with his own eyes, that everything was well he’d believe it. A vague, almost taunting, question echoed in his mind as he fell asleep that night. What if everything is not well in Rohan?

***

Thankfully, the return trip to Edoras met with no highway-robbers, hostile forces, evil creatures, or disaster of any kind. Thus, after ordering Araedhelm to get some rest, it was in a pleasantly surprised frame of mind, and injury-free state of body, that Thorongil made his way towards the Thengel’s rooms. He was ushered into the presence of a broadly-smiling king.

“Thorongil,” Thengel motioned him to a seat. “I see you have managed to return to me in one piece.”

“I was just noticing that myself,” Thorongil noted wryly. Despite Thengel’s warm greeting, he could detect a sense of simmering unease, and noted the way the king was fidgeting abstractedly with his signet ring.

Before Thorongil could ask any questions himself, Thengel continued, “I have some grave news. But before I tell you all that I’d like to know about your journey.”

Despite his own curiosity, Thorongil obediently complied. “I fear I have some serious news, myself.”

In painful detail, knowing Thengel would want to know everything, he related the events of the trip without omission. He was treated to the sight of Thengel’s demeanor changing expression numerous times from surprise to anger to relief. When he’d finished they sat in tired, brooding silence.

“Lieutenant Araedhelm is recovering well? He is resting?”

“Under duress…”

Thengel cracked a smile at that. “I am relieved to hear that Ecthelion is as confused as I over our correspondence, and that he knows I intended nothing ill toward him. You said he wishes to meet with me—I assume you discussed that more in-depth with him?”

“I did.”

They launched into a conversation of trivial matters: time, places, escorts… Both of them were content to let weightier discussion elude them for a while. Even if it was an obvious digression to both parties, it was a mutually accepted digression. But at last, when they’d begun to run out of inconsequential subject matter, they were left with nothing but distasteful news to talk about.

“You mentioned some bad news, my Lord?” Thorongil queried.

Thengel looked away, more ill-at-ease than before as he continued to fidget uncharacteristically. “I probably should have came out and told you this right away, Captain, since it is of vital importance, but it is very surprising, and very…disturbing and sad news, and… And you’re bound to say ‘I told you so’ as soon as you hear it.” The slight amusement in his voice waxed and waned quickly. “You were right about Captain Heolstor.”

The simple statement was straightforward enough to send a chill down Thorongil’s spine, and vague enough to make his head spin with questions. “How was I right about him?”

“Let me put it this way: every suspicion you’ve voiced about him is more than accurate. He drugged Eothald.”

“Drugged him? With what?”

Thengel told him about his visit with Eothald in the dungeons, Neylor’s assessment and description of the drug, and of their search of Heolstor’s empty room. “After that, I decided to pay Eothald another visit, in the hopes the drug might have worn off and he might be able to give us some details about his interaction with Heolstor. He was dead, Captain. Poisoned.”

In conclusion to that macabre statement, the incongruous sound of a child’s laughter echoed in the hall without. Thengel’s face softened from its hard look of a moment ago as he recognized the sound of Théoden’s chattering voice.

“Oh please, Fel, just tell me you’ll help me if he says yes. Please? It would be so much fun, and I know I’m big enough now…”

“We shall see what your father says.” Feldon’s quiet, patient voice was much harder to hear. “Ah, no, wait, my Lord. Your father may be meeting with someone. Best to knock first.”

A small rap sounded on the door at about knee-level.

“Come in, Théoden.”

The door swung inward with an energetic push, and Théoden bounded in. Feldon’s long stride made up for his lack of exuberance as he kept up with the child. The riding-master bowed to Thengel even as Théoden began to chatter animatedly, his small hands gesturing and mouth moving at an extraordinarily rapid rate. There wasn’t a marked beginning or end to the tirade, the words pouring out endlessly with no sign of there being an end.

“…I know you said no last time, but I’m older now, right? I’m big enough, aren’t I? Fel would come with me, and…”

“Hold on there,” Thengel interrupted smilingly. “I’m not about to say yes when I haven’t a clue what I’m agreeing to.”

Catching his breath, Théoden continued his pleading with a bit more composure, although his brown eyes remained wide with anticipation. “Master Feldon’s been teaching me nearly every day in the pens, and I’ve been working so hard, you said someday I’d be able to go out…”

“Ah, so your skills have progressed beyond these limiting walls, is that what you’re telling me?” Thengel asked, his voice only half teasing. He knew Théoden, young though he was, was deadly earnest about his riding, and to laugh at his enthusiasm would mortify him. He felt a warm pride flood his heart as he looked into the earnest face of his son. At seven, Théoden wasn’t quite ready to ride to war, but someday he would be. Making a decision, he turned his attention to Feldon. “So, is it true? Is your pupil ready to advance?”

Feldon smiled warmly, and paused in thought, but wasn’t so cruel as to leave Théoden in suspense for too long. “Yes. I think my student has done admirably well these past few weeks.”

The praise brought a huge grin to Théoden’s face. He looked expectantly back at his father. “I’d be really careful, and not go too fast, or too far, and Master Feldon would be watching, and…”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. But in addition to Master Feldon, I want two guards with you.” Thengel leveled a meaningful look at Feldon. “I want you to keep a close eye on him, and don’t stay out too long.”

Feldon inclined his head. “I will, my Lord.”

Théoden’s whole body seemed to vibrate with excitement. “Will you come and watch?”

Thengel hesitated. Several of his more over-excitable courtiers were waiting to talk to him, and he knew Anborn wanted a word with him as well. The search for Heolstor was being overseen by the captain, unfortunately with no luck so far. “Perhaps in a bit, but there a few things I must do first.”

Thengel’s face only fell for a second before he turned expectantly on Thorongil. “Can you come?”

Thorongil smiled. How could you say no to a face like that? “I’d like that very much, after I’ve finished talking with your father.”

As soon as he’d received the answer, Théoden bounded out of them room, leaving Feldon to bow again and follow in his wake.

“Now he’ll never be satisfied with riding in the pastures,” Thorongil commented, breaking the ensuing silence.

Thengel chuckled. “He never was satisfied with riding in the pastures.” A shadow of anxiety clouded the king’s face.

“You are concerned about him leaving the city?” Thorongil guessed.

“Yes, but I can’t very well change my mind now.” Thengel shook his head and the shadow passed. “Besides, Heolstor is probably a long way from here by now, and I have a good number of men out scouring the country for him. I doubt I have to fear anything from him. And he’ll have Feldon, two guards, and you to keep an eye on him.” He raised an amused eyebrow. “Though, with your record of near-catastrophes, I’m not so certain I want you around my son…”

Thorongil barely concealed a grin. “Ah, but, as you pointed out, I did return in one piece this time. Perhaps my fortune has changed.”

“One can always hope, my friend.”

“Before I go, Sire, are there any orders you have for me? I assume there are already men searching for Heolstor. Perhaps you would like me to aid the hunt? If the immediate area has already been searched I could take a few of my men and—”

“Captain,” Thengel’s voice was filled with exasperated incredulity. “You’ve only just returned today. Rest for a day or two—or three. Anborn and his Eored are thoroughly covering the countryside for miles around. Set a good example for your lieutenant and stay put for few minutes at a time. I need at least one of my captains here in full strength and health. Men I know I can trust seem to be becoming increasingly scarce lately.” He could tell by the gradual relaxing of his broad shoulders that Thorongil was listening and, hopefully, planning on obeying. “There is one thing, though, before you go. Although I told Théoden not to stay out too long, I think I’ve changed my mind. Eothald’s funeral is to be held today, and I think I’d rather not have him there. I have no doubt he could handle it well enough, but…” His sigh was long and weary. “But I’d like to let him have day of fun for a change. Sometimes he seems far too serious for a child his age.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

“And you: go have some fun yourself, Captain,” Thengel urged. “Go distract my son for an hour or two. We can get back to our gloomy brooding on a day when the sun is shining less brightly.”

“I won’t argue with that, Sire.”

***

Sun and wind and a sturdy mount beneath him. Théoden had often imagined himself in this position—only riding off to war and conquest instead of a pleasure ride. Still, his imagination had never felt quite so free as now, with an ever-expanding horizon in front of him, in contrast to the usual confining pasture gates.

What did it matter that he had no weapon, and was being carefully baby-sat by a handful of guards and his riding teacher? And so what if said “sturdy mount” was only a pony? She was a brave and loyal companion, and Théoden was convinced she would have done fine in battle—if not for her size. Come to think of it, her situation was much like his own. Too small. Too little to be of much use. Yet.

The next time Théoden focused in on reality, and his companions, they’d reached their destination, and they were riding into the inviting shade afforded by the gnarled branches of the old tree—the only tree for some distance. It presented an odd, but striking picture against the backdrop of golden plains and, beyond that, the white-capped mountains. Théoden had always thought it looked lonely, isolated on its solitary hill.

“Théoden?”

Feldon was beckoning to him, and he realized that their escort of soldiers was already beneath the tree, dismounting. He trotted his mount over to his teacher, sitting atop his pony as if she was a war-horse, and he a full-grown warrior, little realizing the humorous picture he must present.

Feldon looked away to the horizon quickly to hide a mixed look of pride and amusement. “Shall we ride, your Highness?” He continued to watch Théoden, as the child easily maneuvered his small mount with a dexterity and grace that only left room for pride on his teacher’s face.

However well he’d taught the young prince, though, he knew Théoden’s ease in the saddle was mostly inherent rather than learned. He’d probably have done very well without his help. Of course he would have, he mocked himself mentally. He’s Rohirrim—and Thengel-King’s son no less—of course he doesn’t need to be taught how to ride. I’m just a formality. A safeguard. Riding is in his blood. He didn’t mind being a formality though, he thought, smiling his approval as Théoden finished a circuit and gazed up at him, hopeful and ever-eager for his praise.

Théoden hardly noticed his teacher’s silent mood, for he soon became lost in his single-minded routine of going through the paces, and the challenge of making every movement flawless and carried out with a sure hand. He enjoyed the feeling more than he could express. However, his exuberance was momentarily checked. He slowed his pony and turned in his saddle to face Feldon, who’d been following at a slow pace, allowing him to go ahead.

“Whoa. Wait up there, young prince. I think we’ve gone far enough in this direction. We’d better keep circling back within view of the guards.”

Although he would have much rather have kept on riding, Théoden knew better than to complain and possibly ruin any hopes of a return trip. They wheeled around, this time with Feldon taking the lead.

Théoden loosened his grip on the reins and trailed behind, allowing his smaller mount a break. He loved her dearly, but what he really needed was horse. A big, fierce, stallion, perhaps—like his father’s. Well, maybe not a stallion to begin with, but surely even the most malleable, sweet-natured mare in all the stables would be better than a pony. Not for the first time, he wondered if he might not be granted his wish for his upcoming birthday.

Théoden barely looked up in time to catch the change in Feldon. First, he was leaning back in the saddle, full of the easy confidence that marked him as a seasoned horseman. Then, suddenly, his back went rigid and he cried out in surprised pain, and just as suddenly his shoulders went slack as he fell sideways. Without a thought, Théoden scrambled from his own mount and hurried to the older man’s side. Feldon was conscious, but his face was taut with pain, one hand clutching weakly at his chest where a white-fletched arrow protruded. Théoden landed hard on his knees beside him.

“Feldon…”

Feldon blinked once or twice, realization of what had happened sinking in, as well as a desperation to clear his mind and get his point across before it was to late. “Théoden, you need to listen to me. Get on my horse and ride. Ride like you’ve never ridden before. Get to Edoras.”

Théoden listened, but didn’t answer, eyes wide with horror and small hands trembling as hovered helplessly over his teacher.

Feldon’s soft, patience voice was rough with intensity and pain. “Do. You. Hear. Me?” he pressed, stressing each word. A horror of his own washed over him as he heard hoof beats. “Go!”

Théoden still didn’t respond, but he scrambled backwards and onto his feet. He was still trying to get his shaking foot into the much-too-high stirrup when the horses surrounded them.

“Come, Highness, surrender and we won’t have to hurt you,” a cool voice demanded.

Théoden’s eyes darted between the hooded speaker and Feldon. The same speaker dismounted and strode over to tower above the helpless man. A brave, foolish resolve filled him. Under the protection of his cape, his fingers automatically found their way to the dagger at his side. A pitiful weapon, but the nature ingrained him wouldn’t let him leave his teacher lying there, vulnerable. Besides, a part of him knew he was already trapped.

And so, his small figure bristling with righteous anger, he charged the hooded figure—who side-stepped easily and caught him by the back of his cloak. Struggling with all his might, he nearly sliced his attacker’s wrist before being disarmed. But disarmed he was, and his hands pulled behind his back and secured by a rope. Fingers tangled in his shoulder-length hair, tilting his head back, and he found himself staring into a steely pair of eyes. Still, he strained against his captor’s hold, fighting for another moment of freedom. Surely the guards who’d ridden out with him would come soon…

“Stop struggling now and no one else will need to die, young one.”

The words paralyzed him. No one else will need to die? That meant…

“Yes, they are dead. Don’t count on your escort saving you,” the man stated, his voice flat and emotionless. “And if you want to be the cause of his death as well,” he jerked his head in Feldon’s direction. “then keep on fighting, by all means. But it will not get you anywhere.”

Feldon was struggling upward, shakily supporting himself with his elbows. It was as futile an endeavor as Théoden’s pitiful charge, but even as his body failed, his mind struggled against the thought of lying back down and letting his prince be captured without a struggle. However, that decision was taken from him. Théoden’s voice, calling his name, was the last thing he heard before his vision blacked out and he lost the painful battle with gravity.

Théoden watched in anguished helplessness as the hilt of the sword slammed into Feldon’s temple, and he slumped, nerveless, to the ground. At Théoden’s outraged glare, the hooded man merely began to drag him towards his horse.

“I only said I wouldn’t kill him if you cooperated. He is not dead.” The man’s voice was disturbingly casual, as if he was talking about the weather, not another human being’s life. “And need I point out that him being alive means he is still capable of being killed?”

The threat was obvious, and effective. Dejectedly glancing over his shoulder at the inanimate form of his teacher, Théoden allowed himself to be towed along by his captor toward the waiting ring of mounted men.

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