“Of course I will do it, your Majesty.” Thorongil strove to keep the child-like excitement out of his voice. Although he wouldn’t have admitted to the fact under torture, lately he’d begun to panic at the mere thought of being left in Meduseld with truly nothing to do.

“I’ve already talked to Morwen, and I think she is relieved to have your support. She is very…anxious about all this.” Thengel hesitated, once again coming close to abandoning the entire plan for the sake of his wife.

“Well, she would be insane notto worry. I worry too, my Lord. I know this may be the only way to bring this to a head quickly, and on our terms, but it does have its risks.”

“Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I can’t think of any other better plan, or one less dangerous.” Thengel looked sternly at his captain. “I want you to promise me, Thorongil, on your honor, that if there is any sign of danger you will get Morwen out of the way. I won’t risk her for this.”

“I understand. You have my word.”

“And you have another promise you’ve already given me. I don’t release you from that.” Thengel put a hand on his shoulder. “Get some well-deserved rest, my friend. I know I shouldn’t have given you this assignment, especially not at the last minute like this, but I can’t think of anyone that I would trust more for this.”

“It is well, my Lord.”

From the way an impish grin was struggling to spread over his captain’s face, Thengel knew without a doubt that it was indeed “well”. He shot Thorongil a look of exasperation. The captain smiled back innocently. “Thorongil, I mean it. Don’t overdo anything.”

“Overdo it, my Lord?”

“Don’t act so innocent. If you’re not completely rested and recovered from that wound by the time I get back, I may yet carry out my threat and lock you in the dungeons. The invitation still stands.”

“But my Lord, I’m already recovered from my wound,” Thorongil protested, still smiling.

“Don’t push your luck, Captain. Watch over Morwen, and don’t physically overexert yourself. That is not a suggestion, it is an order.”

Thorongil bowed deferentially. “It had never so much as crossed my mind to do otherwise, Thengel-King.”

“No, I thought not,” Thengel responded wryly.

They turned as footsteps echoed down the halls of the long throne room. Soon, lined up in front of him with rather somber looks on their faces, were his other two Marshals, Anborn and Heolstor, along with Counselor Silfren and Morwen. By Morwen’s side, Théoden stood in enforced stillness. From the way she was clutching the young prince’s hand tightly at her side, Thengel knew she was still reluctant to part with her son, despite her agreement with his reasoning. Théoden himself, apart from the slightly pained expression he gave his mother as he tried to free his hand, looked quite cheerful. Thengel looked from his son’s cheerful face back up at the grim faces of the adults.

“This isn’t a funeral, so stop acting like it’s one,” Thengel muttered in annoyance.

“Nonsense, your Majesty,” Silfren stepped forward to his side. “They are merely giving us what is commonly called ‘a tearful farewell’. And as for me, I am simply taking a moment to say goodbye to Meduseld one last time...”

Thengel scowled. “You act as if I were sentencing you to death by bringing you along.”

Silfren smiled. “Of course not, my Lord. We are all being a little paranoid, I suppose.”

“Well, finally someone admits it,” Thengel muttered, stepping forward to say farewell to his other two captains.

Anborn opened his mouth, his face uncertain. “Are you sure about this, my Lord? I would still be glad to undertake the journey myself…”

“For the last time, Anborn, no.” Thengel looked sternly at the captain.

Anborn glanced down, face flushing slightly in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to make the offer to go to the Westfold again, but he was concerned, and it had just slipped out. “Forgive me, my Lord I—”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you, my friend, but I think you’re becoming just a little too attached to Lord Mannalic. It’s my turn now.” Thengel smiled warmly at Anborn, turning his gaze to Heolstor. “You take care as well, Captain Heolstor,” he said, grasping the man’s hand. He looked next to Morwen, nearly flinching at what he expected to find there. However, her face did not portray the fear he’d anticipated. She held herself tall and even had a smile on her face when he came to stand in front of her. Still, he felt the need to reassure her. “Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t take any longer than necessary. We’ll both be back before you’ve even had a chance to miss us.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Morwen swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling ridiculous about her own uneasiness. They would only be gone a short while, she reminded herself sternly.

Thengel saw her struggle, and hastened forward to embrace her. He spoke softly into her ear, “Be strong, dearest… Time will pass quickly, and before long we’ll be safely home again.” He squeezed her tightly before finally releasing her. Then, before his will could falter, he stepped away from her.

Putting more strength into his voice than he realized he possessed, he said to the company at large, “Now, there is just one more thing I would like to address. Is Lord Eothald coming?”

As if on cue, another pair footsteps echoed down the hall, and a very haggard-looking Eothald emerged from the shadows. “I’m sorry I’m late… I didn’t realize the time…” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Never mind that now, Lord Eothald.” Thengel smiled kindly at the tired-looking man.

Although no one said anything, it was plain what everyone was thinking: another late night of drinking for Lord Eothald. At least, it seemed to be apparent to everyone but Eothald, he was apparently still too groggy to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Are you…well?” Thengel asked with concern.

Finally, Eothald looked up, and gave a small chuckle. “Yes, I am well apart from a small hangover. Forgive me, Thengel, I don’t know what I was thinking. I should know better by now. Still, I don’t remember drinking that much… Forgive me, I know the duty you assign to me is not to be taken lightly at all. That was quite…stupid of me.”

Thengel gave his nervous-looking brother-in-law another gentle smile. “All is well, Eothald. I think, for my sister’s sake, I can forgive you one more night’s carelessness. But remember your position while I’m gone. After Théoden you are next in line… Valar forbid that something should happen, but if it does you must be prepared.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of Meduseld and the people with justice, brother.”

Eothald swallowed hard, but nodded solemnly. “I will, Thengel-King, I swear it on my honor.”

Thengel turned a formal face on the rest that were gathered before him. “Then you are all witnesses, that I leave Eothald to keep Edoras in my absence. Obey his commands as you would my own, and serve him well.” With that duty over, Thengel turned to Théoden. “Come, my son, it’s time we were on our way.”

Morwen released Théoden’s hand reluctantly, and watched him run off to stand—or rather bounce—between Thengel and Silfren. She watched his small, animated figure as it dashed down the stairs towards the stables, with Thengel and Silfren following at a slightly more dignified pace. She couldn’t help but feel that he was too young to go on such a long trip. A ridiculous reason to rest all her anxiety upon, but it was the most logical reason she could see for her feelings.

She turned her back on the scene, her feet automatically treading the path that led to her room. Optimism seemed to be her best course, as she couldn’t possibly change things now. There were few enough cheerful thoughts to grasp on to, but she clung to the hope that the journey would be very short, and extremely uneventful. As Thengel had said, they would be back before she’d had a chance to miss them. In her heart, however, she knew that the sentiment, however comforting, was already proven wrong.

***

Birds.

From every direction, their black-feathered bodies were entering the old barn. Through every crack and crevice they found their way, their wings beating the air, whipping the dust and hay into a frenzy.

From their various dejected positions, the four occupants of the dilapidated building rose to their feet. When the flurry of wings had finally stilled, nearly a dozen of the black birds lined the low rafters, or sat perched atop various piles of old hay or broken crates. The largest of these creatures hopped along the dirt floor directly up to the cluster of humans, cawing loudly.

One of the humans—a tall, lanky man, with stringy, and even lanker hair—stepped forward. “What have you got this time, bird?” He squatted low to the ground, reaching out slightly toward the bird.

The bird gave another caw, which, with the help a bit of imagination, sounded decidedly frustrated. Its faint, croaking voice said, “Meh-dal …”

The man scowled. “What do you need him for?” He eyed the small piece of parchment that was attached to the bird’s leg by a piece of string. “Oh, you got a message for him? Come on, give it here.”

“Meh-dal...” the bird repeated stubbornly, taking a hop backwards.

“Don’t you start thinking on your own, you stupid animal. Give it here and I promise I won’t pluck your feathers out and make you into a stew.” There was a supportive burst of laughter from his three companions behind him. “Come on, bird…”

The black bird hesitated. “Food?” The monosyllabic word was pronounced with difficulty, but the question was clear.

“I don’t have any food for dumb beasts,” the man growled impatiently. “I don’t have enough food for myself. Just give it here, and I won’t eat you.” He drew a small, roughly-made hatchet from his belt, handling it meaningfully.

The bird hesitated for another moment, before taking a cautious hop forward. Craning downward, its sharp beak easily cut the small thread that tied the piece of parchment to its foot, and let it fall the ground. The lanky man scrambled forward, his hand shooting out to grab it. As his fingers folded around it, the bird’s neck shot out, his beak latching on to the man’s forefinger. He shouted, jumping backwards nearly as quickly as he’d scrambled forward. His recovery was too slow, and he turned his furious gaze back to the bird just in time to see it, and the rest of the flock, lift their wings and swarm out of the windows in a final outbreak of flapping wings.

Cursing, he examined his bleeding finger for moment, before turning his attention back the piece of paper he still held in his hand. His three companions surrounded him as he unfolded it.

“What does it say, Gadog?” asked the shortest of the men.

“Shut up, Ivor!” growled another of the men, shoving the shorter man out of the way.

“Shut up yourself…” the short man muttered resentfully, but allowed himself to be shuffled to the side.

Nardeg peered over Gadog’s shoulder, “What does it say, brother?” he demanded, in a tone that was anything but brotherly or merely inquiring.

Gadog glared at the other three men. “You know I can’t read, so quit asking!”

The forth man spoke up loudly voice. “Well, if you can’t read, Gadog, then why did you take it from the bird in the first place?” He looked around furtively, as if expecting the object of his next words to spring out of the rotting woodwork. “Mehdal will have our skins for that bit of stupidity on your part…”

Nardeg jumped to his brother’s defense, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to fight, although he might have easily passed over the offence to his brother. He grabbed the man by his ragged shirt. “What was that you were saying, Hodash, about ‘stupidity’?”

Apparently, Hodash was feeling the urge to display his own stupidity. “I was saying Mehdal will have our skins for the stupidity of your idiot of a brother!”

Just as Nardeg was about the throttle the man in his grasp, a new voice filled the barn with its authoritative timbre. “Put—him—down—Nardeg. Now.”

The four men whirled around, Nardeg releasing Hodash with a push.

“What is this all about?” the newcomer inquired sharply.

“The black birds, Lord Mehdal… They came.” Nardeg answered, with all the respect he could muster, which was little enough.

Mehdal surveyed the four men. Idiots one and all, he thought with annoyance. He shuddered at their stringy, greasy hair, their ragged, filthy clothes, and their dark, hallow-looking eyes. Thank the Valar he was only half Dunlending. As it was, he was loath to admit to even that percentage. Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—he cursed his ancestors for sentencing him to be forever bound to such a race. For sentencing him to be a half-breed, with the blood of the Wild Men of Dunland tainting him.

He addressed the four Wild Men, feeling the same anger he always felt when confronted with a reminder of his undesirable heritage. “Birds? They are notjust ‘black birds’ as you so quaintly put it—they are Crebain. And yes, there is a difference.”

The four Wild Men—including the bold but stupid Nardeg—began to shift nervously from foot to foot.

“Well?” Mehdal demanded impatiently, “Why didn’t you send for me immediately?” Since no answer was forthcoming, he asked even more impatiently, “I assumethey had a message of some sort, verbal or otherwise. Crebain do usually have a reason for their visits.”

Gadog held out his hand, with the parchment in it, and Mehdal snatched it away. His eyes immediately saw the red dots that stained it.

“This is yourblood, I hope, not one of the Crebain’s.” He turned his gaze back to Gadog, who gave a grimace and held out his hand briefly, displaying his bleeding forefinger. Mehdal nodded. “Good. Get it into your thick skulls, if you can: the Crebain are not to be touched, ordered around, or generally harmed in any way. They carry our messages, and their loyalty is of the utmost importance. They are beasts, though more intelligent than most, and as such are incapable of treachery, but if they feel themselves threatened they will desert us, if only for self-preservation…” He allowed his voice to trail off, feeling, as he had on more than one occasion, the futility of such words in the presence of such idiots. They probably hadn’t registered a single word he was saying. “As long as they are fed well, they should continue to faithfully carry our messages.”

At this, the Dunlendings all ducked their heads, looking ridiculously sheepish.

“You did give them the food, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question, so much as a threat. He knew the look on their faces, just as he knew them to be too dull-witted to ever think of doing anything like actually obeying orders for once—or, Eru forbid, thinking without guidance. He didn’t make any pretences of being the world’s cleverest man, but in comparison to them he felt himself become more vain each day.

Nardeg spoke again. “Why should we feed those…birds?”

Mehdal closed his eyes tightly, willing himself not to strangle them. “If you actually had a brain you might have actually comprehended what I just said!”

They are necessary, they are necessary…

He opened his eyes again. “How many times must I explain this…? The Crebainare our friends—at the moment. If we are meanto them by—let’s say—withholding their food, they might decide to do something mean to us.” He groaned inwardly, listening to his own voice pronounce the words as if he were addressing a two-year-old.

They stared back blankly at him.

“But I thought you just said they were dumb animals?” Ivor muttered.

“You are the dumb animals!” Mehdal yelled, losing his temper at last. Regaining just a modicum of his control, he barked a tight-lipped command. “Shut up, and sit down before I decide to feed the whole lot of you to those ‘birds’.” He felt some satisfaction as he watched the four men drop to the ground where they stood, raising a small cloud of dust. There were few advantages to watching incredibly stupid two-year-olds, but here was one, at least.

Blocking out their presence as best as he could, he opened the letter and read:

Mehdal,

Captain Thorongil still lives. I must turn to a new plan. It will be challenging, and I will need both your brothers’ help for a while yet. If my second plan should fail, I do have a third. However, I hope to get him out of the way as quickly as possible. My third plan will require you, and at least ten of your best men. The plan I attempt now is highly risky, so it may come down to that.

In any case, you will get your men out of Halodawn now. Lord Mannalic suspects your presence. You and all those idiots under your command have drawn attention to yourselves, and now Thengel is coming with a number of men to soothe Mannalic’s mind by investigating, and reassuring him that his fears are insubstantial. Don’t provide the King with anything to worry about.

Fortunately for you, the King’s absence is profitable and useful to me at the moment. From now on, however, I would suggest you keep your men better hidden, and away from any villages—especially ones being governed by paranoid lords.

I don’t care where you go, so long as you’re within a couple hours’ call from Edoras, but you must leave the very day you receive this. I want you far away from there by the time Thengel arrives. If this second plan to eliminate Thorongil should go awry, I will have to resort to plan three, where you and your ten best men come in.

Be prepared to move on my command.

-Heolstor

Mehdal cursed loudly. So they had been spotted, then. He’d taken Lord Mannalic for a completely oblivious fool. Apparently, even oblivious fools couldn’t help but notice Wild Men, or else this fool wasn’t entirely oblivious. If Mannalic was as paranoid as Heolstor had said, then it would have taken a lot more stealth than his companions were capable of to hide their presence.

Of course he’d taken into consideration that fact about the Dunlendings, that was one of the reasons he’d chosen Halodawn for their hideout in the first place. He’d assumed that, even if suspicions were aroused by his coarse companions, any complaint from such an out-of-the-way village would be completely, or mostly, overlooked. Either that or, at the very most, be seen to by one of the Marshals, or someone farther down the chain of command. He certainly hadn’t expected this kind of response.

And now Thengel was coming. He cursed again. Thengel himself was coming to investigate. It struck him as more than a little odd that the King of Rohan himself would come to investigate such a small crisis. Unless, of course, he didn’t consider the rumors to be springing from such a “small” crisis. That idea gave him even more food for thought.

He looked back to the letter, searching for any clues from Heolstor. Naturally, none were to be found. Heolstor seemed to take some hidden pleasure in leaving him in doubt and trepidation. Perhaps it was some form of punishment for his carelessness—or rather, the Dunlendings’ carelessness. After all, if the King really was coming to look into the matter, he was probably getting suspicious, and Heolstor would not be happy about that.

A number of minutes passed by as he continued to stand there, rooted to the spot. He wasn’t particularly clever by any means, but he was meticulous and thorough in every aspect. Going through the same ritual he did every time he received orders, Mehdal carefully reread the letter, memorizing the information, and then crumpled the letter. He would burn it as soon as possible.

Finally, he became aware once again of the presence of the other men. Sighing heavily, he turned back to the four Dunlendings, who were still obediently sitting on the floor, although their faces held none-too-subtle signs of rebellion.

“Very well, you may get up now.”

The Dunlendings scrambled to their feet, muttering.

“What does it say?” Hodash asked.

“What it says is none of your business. All you need to know is that Heolstor has, once again, given us orders, and that if you disobey me you will have to answer to him.”

Mention of Heolstor was enough to subdue any more questions for a whole minute. Then Ivor dared the silence.

“But what are the orders?”

“The orders are to leave—today. We will head towards Edoras immediately, so prepare to travel.”

***

Thengel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the familiar, grass-scented breeze of the plains. The sun was bright and warm at his back, and temperature was perfect.

Three or four days’ travel to Halodawn, and a pleasant stop in a quiet little town to soothe Lord Mannalic’s fears. That half of the journey sounded easy enough, and quite enjoyable. Then, of course, there would be the four days’ ride back again to Morwen, to soothe her fears.

The steady swaying of his horse’s gait and the prattling sound of Théoden’s voice finally broke through his thoughts. He forced the slight frown, which he wore so habitually when deep in his worries, to recede. Joining all his anxieties with Morwen’s would not do any good. Besides, Thorongil would watch over her, and perhaps even find a way to distract her from her own worry. The captain was nothing, if not resourceful.

“How far is it?”

Thengel looked over at Théoden, forcefully focusing on his son. “Quite a ways, I’m afraid. I don’t think we’ll reach there in three days at this rate… We should make it by the afternoon of the fourth, though.”

Théoden frowned. “Well why don’t we go faster?” The young prince’s excitement was nearly a tangible thing.

Thengel couldn’t help but smile. Even when they’d started out, and he’d been presented with a small, good-natured mare, rather than a fiery young stallion, Théoden’s excitement hadn’t been swallowed in his disappointment. And now, after hours of riding—long past the time Thengel had expected his exhilaration to cool—Théoden continued to glow.

Théoden was looking down at his horse, still frowning just slightly. “I know she’s just an old mare, but I think she still has some spirit in her, father—can’t we gallop?” he asked, hopefully.

Thengel chuckled. “I think you’re right about her, she probably would go her fastest, now she knows she has a warrior astride her.” He had to think quickly for the right way to say this. Telling Théoden that he was far too young, and might very well end up falling off his horse if they went too fast, probably wasn’t the best way to break it to him. “But do you really want to do that to your poor horse? She would do her best for you, but it would tire her out so quickly…”

Théoden pondered that for a moment. “No, I suppose I shouldn’t do that to her…” He patted her neck in a disappointed gesture. “But if you’d only given me a true war horse, then we really could have galloped—and reached there in two days.”

Thengel smiled. “Well, perhaps, in a little more time, I willget you a war horse of your very own. Thenwe will gallop. For now, you must practice your horsemanship.”

Théoden grinned, sitting up a little straighter in his saddle. He could still hardly believe his father was actually allowing him to come with. He’d lost track of how many times he’d begged and pleaded to go along, only to be told time and time again that he was “too young”. He’d come to dread those two words, that barred him from so much. How he longed to be a warrior like his father—like Thorongil and Araedhelm. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself atop that promised war-horse, leading men into battle…

He gazed up at the bright blue of the sky, seeking to cling to that illusion for as long as possible. Wispy clouds floated by on the light breeze…along with something else. Théoden narrowed his eyes as a flock of crows flew overhead. Or, at least, they looked like crows. As they drew closer, he noticed that they were rather larger than normal crows.

One of the birds, which appeared to be leading the others, cawed loudly. The rest of the flock replied in kind, filling the air with their noise. Then, as one body, they swerved away from the long file of horsemen, heading East.

Théoden turned in his saddle, following the swarm of black bodies with his eyes, until they were nothing but a black dot in the distance.