Add Story to Favourites The Weight of Power by Nefhiriel
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Cwén’s face was radiant with happiness when she opened the door to find not only her husband standing without, but Théoden and Thorongil as well. To say she’d been worried out of her mind about them would have been an enormous understatement.

“Araedhelm?” She waited until they were inside and she’d closed the door behind them, then pulled back his hood to get a good look at her husband’s face. No scratches or bruises, a good sign. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding an injury of some kind…

Araedhelm knew he was going to be thoroughly examined before Cwén would believe he was uninjured, but he forestalled the scrutiny by pulling her into a firm embrace. “I’m alright. I really am alright.” When she finally nodded against his shoulder, he released her, and drew her attention to Thorongil and Théoden—who were busy looking sheepish in the background.

Cwén cleared her throat, her immediate worries lessening, and resumed the role of Queen of the Home, wielding her hospitably with an iron will that was impossible to withstand. “After all the trouble the three of you have doubtless gotten yourselves into and out of these last days, you must be exhausted.”

“That we are.” Araedhelm agreed for the three of them. “But…where are the children?”

“They’re outside playing—and don’t keep trying to side-track me, Araedhelm.” She smiled gently at Théoden, and held out a hand. “Come, child, why don’t you come with me the kitchen, and we’ll get you a little washed up, and something to eat right away? You’re far too thin.” Théoden was hungry, but he was starved even more for a mother’s comfort, and latched eagerly on to her attention. Cwén looked more sternly at her husband. “As for you two, I want you to go get cleaned up first.” Her gaze lingered with concern on the bruises scattered across Thorongil’s face, now more visible as he too pulled back his hood. “Captain, are you injured?”

“I am well,” Thorongil hastened to assure her. It was mostly true, after all. The antidote was working like…well, like a cure. The fatigue from the journey, and pain from the beatings he’d received, were both easily endurable without the poison’s insidious effects.

Araedhelm rolled his eyes at the casual lie, but decided against telling the whole saga to Cwén just yet. “We’ll get cleaned up…” he said, obediently. “But don’t we get something to eat, right away?”

“Quit whining and get cleaned up—first,” Cwén called over her shoulder as she guided Théoden towards the kitchen.

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Araedhelm muttered companionably to Thorongil.

“You poor man,” Thorongil said, without an ounce of pity.

“You haven’t been around her on a bad day.”

“Come, let us just do what the woman says.” Thorongil looked Araedhelm up and down. “You do look rather the worse for wear, as far as dirt is concerned. Worse than me, I dare say, and I spent the week in the company of Dunlendings—sitting in the dirt all the while, I might add.”

Araedhelm protested even as he led Thorongil toward a back room. “And I spent most of that time laying in the dirt watching the camp.”

“More like rolling in the mud, from the look of you. I do have to give it to you, though, you do have a Dunlending-proof disguise going for you, Lieutenant.”

“That’s the thing about you, Captain. You’re never short on words of encouragement and praise for your men.”

“Well, for some it’s harder to find something positive to speak of than it is for others, but I try.”

By the time they’d both washed up and exchanged their clothes for something warmer, not to mention cleaner, irresistible smells were coming from the other end of the house. On their way to the table, Araedhelm was waylaid by Rynan and Wynn coming through the door. They charged him, hugging him and talking animatedly all at once, the moment they saw him. Cwén watched them smilingly for a few minutes before herding them all to the table, where the six of them succeeded in squeezing around the table with some effort.

Introductions were hardly necessary between the children. Prince or no, both boys had a love for horses, and once the subject was broached there was no shutting either of them up. And Wynn wasn’t one to allow herself to be left out, either. As a result, the adults ate most of their meal in companionable silence, although several wry glances were exchanged while the children’s chatter reigned supreme.

“Why don’t the two of you take Théoden to your room and make him comfortable? He’ll be staying with us for a while.” Cwén’s suggestion was instantly taken. The children’s voices could still be heard after they’d gone to the other room, their three voices rising excitedly every now and then.

“Cwén…” Araedhelm began uncertainly. “I chose to come here automatically, since I knew our presence wouldn’t be betrayed. But I didn’t think everything through.” Araedhelm glanced at Thorongil, and saw agreement there. “The Prince should stay here. He’ll be easy enough to hide and, risky though it is, I wouldn’t trust his life with anyone else at this point. As for the Captain and myself, we—”

“Are going to stay right here and not say another word about it.” Cwén’s face warned Araedhelm and Thorongil not to interrupt. “I know it increases the danger, and I wish the children weren’t here to be in that danger, but neither of you are going anywhere else. It’s too dangerous for you.”

Thorongil hated this situation more than he could say. Not only would he be endangering women and children, but these were his friend’s wife and children, and the crown prince. He didn’t like it at all. If he were discovered here, Heolstor might very well kill them all. “I can’t stay here.”

“Yes, you can,” Cwén insisted.

Thorongil leaned his head against his open hand, his elbow resting on the table. The thought of more running was hard to even consider at this point, but the thought of being responsible for the possible deaths of these people was hardly better. “I can’t…”

“Captain, where else would you go?” Cwén asked. “Where else in Edoras could you hide? If you do not hide with someone, in the household of someone you trust, you will be found. You cannot stay out in the open. Please, accept our help. If you leave, I know Araedhelm will leave with you, and if you will not permit that, he will follow you. You’ll both be killed, and, as my husband, his involvement in helping you may very well be traced back to me. So you see, by leaving, you are not only throwing your own life away, but endangering the prince, as well as the rest of us.” She finished her argument with confident finality, and began to clear the dishes without waiting for his answer.

Araedhelm snorted at Thorongil’s dazed expression. “I take it you’re not going to try and argue with that very confusing piece of logic?”

Thorongil put up a last, pathetic attempt at disagreeing. “Araedhelm, I just…I don’t think it’s right for me to be staying here… It feels wrong.”

“Didn’t you hear what she said? With that attitude, you’ll get us all killed.”

“Araedhelm—”

“Good, I’m glad you agree. We couldn’t have left anyways. After all, I told Aeron we’d be here—you wouldn’t want to be responsible for driving the poor man crazy with worry, would you?”

Thorongil just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Cwén would tell him…”

“Ah, yes, but then he’d probably have gone after both of us and gotten himself killed as well.”

This time Thorongil did roll his eyes. “Between your ‘logic’ and your wife’s…”

“Irrefutable arguments, aren’t they?”

Thorongil knew he wasn’t going to win this one, and no matter how distasteful the thought of endangering them all, it felt good to be temporarily offered rest. He shook his head at his supremely smug-looking lieutenant. “Irrefutable. Just the word I had in mind.”

***

What was he doing here? What in the name of Bema was he doing here?

Ceryn had asked himself that question on numerous occasions. He’d asked Mehdal the question many times. What am I—what are either of us—doing here? Mehdal had only clapped him on the shoulder, telling him to just follow his lead and not worry about everything so much.

Just follow his lead.

That’s what Ceryn always did. It wasn’t that he didn’t have thoughts of his own. He had plenty of them. Ideas, aspirations, dreams. He had plenty of thoughts of his own. What he didn’t have, was the guts to push for what he wanted, or make what he thought should happen, happen. It just wasn’t in his nature. It was in Mehdal’s, however. And Mehdal had always pushed for what his youngest brother wanted, right along with what he himself wanted. The problem was, Ceryn wasn’t so sure anymore of what he wanted anymore, so how could Mehdal know?

Ceryn hardly had the time to talk to Mehdal in private anymore, much less the time tell him at any depth of his uncertainties. Mehdal was busy, making a place for both of them in the world. Ceryn felt selfish for his resentment, but the truth was, he wasn’t quite as sure now that he wanted that place in the world. He didn’t want power, or even wealth, aside from perhaps enough to exist on.

Heolstor tolerated him, probably for Mehdal’s sake. Heolstor didn’t seem to hold much affection for anyone but himself, but he had uses for other people, and he came close to liking Mehdal, most likely because Mehdal was extremely useful and dependable. Perhaps Heolstor even had something of a father-son relationship with his second-in-command—or, at least, came as close to having that sort of a relationship as Heolstor would ever get. For himself, Ceryn held no such delusions. Heolstor had probably brought him along on this journey more because he liked to keep an eye on him than anything else. Or, even more likely, he hadn’t known what else to do with him.

That answered his question, at least. What was he doing here? Absolutely nothing. He had no purpose here. He was the younger brother of a resourceful and ambitious man, and he was being allowed to tag along after more “motivated” men than he.

Ceryn paced across the camp as he thought, ignoring the cool condescension coming from each man he passed. The mercenaries all thought he was a brainless, clueless idiot, who knew nothing about fighting and war. He might keep his head stuck in a book half the time—or more—but he was far from blind to what was going on.

Ecthelion would meet with Thengel and Morwen, who would alienate themselves from him in order to save their son’s life. Then they’d go back to Edoras, and Heolstor might or might not stay true to his word and let the prince live. The king would eventually be murdered, and his death no doubt disguised as some tragic accident. The queen might well follow her husband if she didn’t cooperate, and cooperation didn’t exactly strike Ceryn as her foremost trait.

Heolstor had such a beautiful, flawless schedule ahead for Rohan, who could help but feel drawn to follow such a man? Oh yes, he’d chosen the right side to be on. Mehdal always chose the right side. The winning side.

When did you become such a cynic about everything? he wondered idly. It was easier to be cynical and off-handed, though, than to think openly about what he was passively sitting by and watching happen.

Increasingly, he was considering confronting Mehdal. But whenever the opportunity was there, his courage was not. He wasn’t cowardly all the time, he was mostly just…passive. He’d never liked to fight. A good thing, growing up with Rador for a brother, and an easy thing to continue to be as an adult, with Mehdal there to guide and protect him.

Mehdal gave him all the support of both absent mother and father, as well as the provision. As children, their definition of “provision” had been anything that was enough to keep them alive. Now, they had all they needed and more. And all that he needed to do was watch and do what Heolstor told him to do, which was little enough.

So, he had food, and shelter, and a brother who took enough care of him to almost make up for never having had parents. Then why was everything so wrong? He knew the answer to that question, but he wished he didn’t. Passivity was only good if you didn’t care, and he was beginning to do just that.

Before that conclusion could lead him on to a decisive resolution, something slammed into him. Dazedly, as he regained his balance, he realized that perhaps he had slammed into the other something, just as much as the other something had slammed into him. Nothing like walking into a tree to increase your reputation for intelligence and awareness. As his eyes focused on the object of his collision, however, he saw that it was not a tree, but the Lady Morwen—looking equally dazed. He also noticed there were the marks of recent tears on her cheeks.

Automatically, he held out a hand to help her, as she hadn’t been so lucky as to stay on her feet. “Pardon me, my Lady, I was not watching where I was going.”

She stared incredulously at his hand without taking it, and raised red-rimmed eyes pierced into him with a dark look. Her eyes accused him, and he knew what they accused him of—and he knew he was guilty as much as anyone in the camp. He couldn’t deny it.

“You’re one of Heolstor’s men?”

“I…suppose. Yes…” Ceryn stammered, even more ashamed of the fact now that he was face-to-face with one of his leader’s victims.

“You kidnap my son, and torture my husband and me with his fate—and then you offer me your hand.” She shook her head, looking as much bewildered as angered. And tired. “Why? Why does everyone continue to call me ‘my Lady’, and you help me up when you knock me down—why? So you can knock me back down again?”

He swallowed, more guilt than he’d realized he felt on the subject rising to the surface. “My Lady, I didn’t mean to knock you down in the first place. As I said, I wasn’t watching where I went, please take my hand…”

Morwen stared at Ceryn with reproach, refusing his hand as she gathered the folds of her dress and gained her feet again. “If you can look at me, and see how my heart is breaking for my son, and care even a little, then how can you still follow that man? How can you? You apologize for knocking me down, yet think nothing of threatening to kill my son?” She shook her head in angry disbelief at him as she stumbled away, wiping away fresh tears with the back of her hand.

Ceryn had no reply for that, so he watched her leave without saying more. How could he be doing this? How could he be part of a plan that took children away from their parents? He couldn’t. Not anymore.

***

When Ecthelion had been told there was a young man waiting to see him, several possible reasons had instantly sprung to mind. Maybe Thengel had been restored to his senses, and had sent one of his men to ask him if he would meet with him again. Or maybe Morwen had sent a messenger to explain things to him. Either way, he was hoping for an explanation of some kind, because his best blind guesses were getting him nowhere.

An explanation, as detailed as he could possibly have hoped for, was exactly what he got, although not in the way he’d expected. His explanation arrived in the form a shy and nervous young man, who was apparently there quite on his own initiative.

“My Lord Steward.”

Ecthelion nodded his greeting. “The servants could give me no name to call you by.”

“I would rather not give my name at the moment, nor tarry here long over such trivial matters. I do have something to offer that will make my intrusion worth your while, my Lord.”

“It is no intrusion.” Ecthelion gestured to the tent around him. “As you can see, I left most of my responsibilities at home. Please, have a seat.”

The young man did so hastily, as if complying might satisfy the Steward’s apparent need for decorum first, so they could move on more quickly. “I have important news…serious news…about Rohan. About the king and queen…and the prince.”

Ecthelion didn’t have to fake his interest. “What is the source of this information?”

The man’s voice was resigned and urgent at the same time. “I am an eye-witness of what I speak. To my shame. My Lord…Captain Heolstor has betrayed the country he has served for all these years. Even now, he holds Prince Théoden hostage against the obedience of the king and queen.”

A chill swept through Ecthelion at the news. “Obedience in what matter?”

“I do not know everything, Heolstor shares his full plans with very few, but first of all he wishes to weaken, or end, the alliance between Rohan and Gondor. I can only assume he means for Thengel to offend you just enough to keep you away from Edoras. At least for a while. I think he only expects to buy time. What he has planned after that is harder to define.”

“I think I understand.” Though full comprehension was still a ways off. “With all of Rohan for all purposes captured, and Gondor apathetic towards her, who would interfere?”

“Precisely, my Lord.”

“Do you know where the Prince is being held?”

“Somewhere in the foothills of the Ered Nimrais. Vague, but that is all I know. Heolstor himself has been watching Prince Théoden in person until now. He has his own small army hidden away in the mountains, part of which he has brought with him, and the rest of which will most likely soon follow. Heolstor likes to have resources nearby—a back-up plan.”

“Who is guarding Prince Théoden now?”

“A…man he trusts very much.” There was an odd combination of bitterness and wistfulness in the man’s tone. “His right-hand man, you could say.”

Although far from understanding all the undercurrents here, Ecthelion was perceptive enough to know better than to push for more. With more attentive questioning, he gathered all the information he could. Finally, the young man seemed to have run out of things to say. Ecthelion was growing not a little curious about his willingness to help. “What can I give you in exchange for all this?”

The man stood, already shaking his head. “I really don’t expect anything, my Lord. This was something I had to do.”

“Surely, even if you did not expect any reward, you will take one? You are obviously risking much by betraying a man like Heolstor. I can offer you much—a new beginning in Gondor, somewhere safe to go. Or a place in my ranks until Rohan has been restored to order?”

The man shook his head again. “No, no… I cannot leave now. I… won’t fight for Heolstor, but he doesn’t expect me to.” He laughed a little. “I’m not exactly a warrior.”

“But you cannot go back now. If you were found out—”

“I would be a dead man. But, I doubt Heolstor will ever dream I would betray him. My cowardice is rather renowned.”

“I cannot, in all good faith, allow you to go back there.”

“Do you not understand? If I go back, it gives you the advantage of knowing everything, without Heolstor knowing that you know. If Heolstor knew I’d been here…”

“Open conflict would occur. We both have guards with us, we’re evenly matched.”

“Not quite. He has the prince, held hostage out of reach, and his own personal army probably moving in close by.”

Ecthelion grimaced. “There has to be some way to keep this meeting a secret without sending you back there.”

“Even if there was my Lord, I would not take it. Please understand, I am more ashamed than I can say to ever have been mixed up in this whole mess, but…I have been. And there is another, dear to me, who is involved even more deeply than I. There is one favor I would ask…”

“What is it? Please, ask.”

The man seemed to have reached a decision. “It is my brother. His name is Mehdal. He…is the one I spoke of, who is so close in the confidence of Heolstor. But he is not a bad man. Not a cruel man—motivated, and honor-bound to Heolstor—but not a cruel man. Please, spare his life when you succeed, if it is within your power.”

“I give you my word, if we succeed and it is possible, his life will be spared.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I must return now, before my absence it noticed.”

As the other man bowed respectfully and turned to leave, Ecthelion stopped him with a last question. This went against everything in his nature: letting this man, who had just risked his life to tell him all this, go and risk his life further. And he didn’t even know who the man was. “Who are you? At least tell me your name.”

“My name is Ceryn. As for who I am… I think I could be defined as a spineless man going against his nature and doing something for a change,” he added, self-derogatorily, but with a wry smile.

“You have what it took to come here, as well as to go back there now for the sake of your brother. That says something about who you are, in my opinion. You changed sides before it was too late—is that not what counts?”

Ceryn gave a soft snort of disagreement, but replied in a thoughtful tone, “Perhaps.”

He left Ecthelion with clear information of what Heolstor was doing, but a murky idea of what he himself was going to do.

***

Ceryn couldn’t help but be nervous. Even though he was merely relaying a routine message from one of the mercenaries, telling Heolstor that Thengel and Morwen were in their tent for the night and being watched, despite the slim chances they would try escaping. Heolstor still liked to take every precaution.

He kept telling himself it was just routine, but facing Heolstor so soon after betraying him still terrified him. If it hadn’t been for Mehdal, he would have been seriously tempted to take Ecthelion up on his offer and stay as far away from Heolstor as possible.

Schooling his face to look as normal as possible, he stepped into Heolstor’s tent and bowed civilly. “Thengel and Morwen have both retired for the night, and are closely guarded, should they attempt anything rash.” He didn’t make eye-contact with Heolstor, but he did cast a quick glance at the large, black bird sitting on his leader’s shoulder. He tried not to grimace at sight of the bird. There was an eerily human, and fundamentally evil, quality to the Crebain that made him want to shudder when they were around. There was something extremely sinister about the sight of Heolstor conferring with the bird. He looked like some dark wizard having an intimate conversation with a demon.

“Ah, good,” Heolstor replied shortly, apparently dismissing him already.

Ceryn was only too happy to get out of there, and turned to go as soon as the permission was given. But before he’d reached the entrance to the tent, a croaking call from the Crebain brought him instinctively to a halt.

Him!”

“What is it, my friend? What about him?” Heolstor asked.

Trai-tor.

Ceryn froze. However the creature knew, he had to say something in his own defense. Quickly. He turned slowly, frowning in what he hoped looked like bewilderment. “What…?”

Heolstor watched him with narrow scrutiny, still talking to the bird. “Traitor? You say he is a traitor? Why?”

Be-tray.”

“My Lord, I wouldn’t—”

“Quiet, Ceryn.” Heolstor was showing precisely the kind of calmness Ceryn dreaded most. “Let it finish. How has this one betrayed me?”

Went to…other one. Bad…one. Wrong side.”

“He went to the other side of the camp, across the clearing?”

Yes.”

Heolstor regarded the now panic-stricken Ceryn, who was having trouble hiding his guilt. “He went inside one of the tents?”

Ye-es. Biggest one.

“Ah. The ‘biggest’ one.” Heolstor tilted his head at Ceryn. “You wouldn’t care to tell me who resides in the ‘biggest’ tent, would you, Ceryn?”

Most of the talent for lying in their family seemed to have fallen to Rador—Ceryn had probably never come up with a plausible lie in his life, much less convinced anyone he wasn’t lying when he was. He didn’t even try to think of an excuse now.

Heolstor turned momentarily back to the bird on his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.” He picked up a roll of paper, secured with a piece of twine, and tied it to the bird’s leg. “Please take this to Mehdal.”

The beady eyes of the Crebain were still fixed on Ceryn. “Trai-tor.

“I know, my friend. He will be dealt with. I thank you for your help.” Heolstor snatched up a bunch of grapes and allowed the Crebain to pluck them from his hand. The bird swooped across the room and through the loose cloth at the entrance, out into the night. A single caw was answered by several more, and the sound of flapping wings faded into the distance.

Ceryn continued to stand there, stunned, terrified, and already beginning to go numb with a strange acceptance of his predicament. Heolstor knew, but there was one last thing he could do. “I did betray you. I told Ecthelion everything.” He smiled a small, defiant smile, staring—perhaps for the first time ever—directly into Heolstor’s cold eyes. And he felt no fear.

Heolstor rose, calm no longer, and advanced on him. “So the coward finds his voice at last.”

Ceryn didn’t back down. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself by trying to run. The soldiers would catch him before he’d gone far. “Yes, I found my voice. Unfortunately, it wasn’t heard. The Steward doesn’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Heolstor sneered. “I’m sure you wove him an entertaining tale.”

“Oh, yes, he found it entertaining, but hardly believable.”

“I don’t know about that. I think Lord Ecthelion is a very discerning man. I find it hard to believe he’d make light of the kind of information you offered him.”

“Lord Ecthelion is a discerning man. Unfortunately, I struck him as fool. Don’t you think I would have stayed in safety if he’d believed me? I wouldn’t have come back if I’d had other options.”

Heolstor was practically nose-to-nose with him. “Well, I have to agree with the Steward on this one, Ceryn. You are a fool. And, idealistic fool that you are, you are probably thinking you just made the one and only good decision of your life. I hate to have to be the one to break it to you—but it was your worst.”

Ceryn had been expecting the dagger, steeling himself for its bite when he saw Heolstor’s hand reaching for his belt. But he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. He hoped, at least, that his lie had been believable.

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