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The Moonhorse	By : Suryallee7104 Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1703 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way or form own, any of the characters, storyline or anything else of the film Lord of the Rings, or of the works of Tolkien! I also did not write this fanfiction to make any kind of profit from it.

Chapter List
- 1-The Moonhorse
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 1
- 2
- 3
The Moonhorse
Part two
When the youth came to again, night was just falling and his uncle was nowhere to be seen.
Indeed all signs indicated that the other party had left already in haste. Groaning Haleth tried to make a sense out of his muddled thoughts whilst he rubbed his face in a tired manner. What had this last vision of him meant to tell him? Since his very childhood, since he could think, he had been often a recipient of those strange visions in the past. The dreams or sometimes waking sights often disturbed the young human when he was still growing up.
There had to be a certain peace in not knowing what others around you thought truly about you, he had figured out a long time ago. Often he envied others who did know nothing and simply lived from day to day manner. Shaking his unruly mob of hair, the lad finally stood and then bends to pick up his meager belongings.
And that vision first, the one in the water mirror…he wondered if that had been the famous mirror of the lady of the golden wood and was almost certain that it had to be it.
Never less, he had given his word to the vision and as he had told he would do. His father had installed this kind of honor inside the youth together with his wife a long time ago. Anything less would be disgraceful to his forefathers. Another sigh leaved the lips and the young man remembered the armlet. Crumpling up his tunic he tried to take it off again, only to find that it seem to have stuck itself to his arm.
Shrugging it off for the now, since more pressing matters were on his mind, Haleth turned the sleeve down again and fastened the button without giving it a moment of thought. He had to find himself a horse. Walking slowly out of the Forrest, Haleth counted calmly down inside his mind what he had to do. First and foremost, inform king Eomer of his Uncles raids of the golden wood and what he had seen and to do. Secondly, bring the parcel to lord Aragorn and his lady.
And last but not least, his look shortly fell on the covered armlet, get rid of this strange piece of elven magic and never touch it again!
Breaking out into a run, the young man run into the direction of the next Rohirim settlement he knew of, laying on a small river a slow day’s ride from the golden wood. For Haleth that meant he would have to make the way in a long day’s run in hope to get there by nightfall. With a short curse the youth set off.
Eofine watched in the meantime his sister stirring herbs in a pot over the ever present fire of the herd in the healer’s wing of Meduselt.
He was suspended from the daily training for the day since he had shown signs of having one of the often occurring sicknesses under the humans. Rashes and blisters all over his hands, parts of his back and on other most unfortunate and tender places on his body currently made his life a living hell! The constant urge to scratch was only diverted by the sharp glances of his sister who watched him like a hawk all the time. She was now nearly a full taught healer and no longer an apprentice only.
More often than not a sharp “EOFINE!” had barely stopped the tall blond from scratching them open. Scowling at his sisters back the young man tried to distract himself from the constant urge by spelling the names of all he saw backwards in his mind. As he often did in meetings too…they all were too boring for the young warrior and this was one of his secret ways to amuse himself then…next to imagine the people in various indecent poses all of the time. The latter often lead to his strange bouts of humor in the middle of a solemn meeting and had on more than one occasion lead to an extra shift for him in the past.
But not today, and neither the next three and more if his sister was right, he groused.
As it looked he had gotten lucky…he had a children’s sickness, oh joy! Measles! From all the banes of human kind it had to be Measles! A slight fever accompanied his very day since morning too and he had the suspicion that he wouldn’t be outside for a while if Freda and the healers had their will. Eofine hated it to be inside for longer as necessary and again a sharp “Eofine! Stop Scratching!! You will make it worse you fool.” stopped him barely from doing so on his left arm…since when had they emigrated there he wondered as he looked down on his forearm and saw new spots of trouble blooming there.
Currently, the tall and blond youth hated his life.
Eomer watched him with mirth in the eyes from out of a safe distance.
Eofine, Haleth and Ealfreda had always been very healthy children, almost never catching one of the usual sicknesses that accompanied the human life all the time. Especially Eofine was more resilient than anything known under the Rohirim before. The king chuckled softly. And now he had caught measles from all sicknesses possible. How he had gotten it was no miracle to Eomer king of the mark. The golden sunshine had played the goof for the sick children in the healer’s wing and most likely had so caught over the last days this bout of the measles of this year too.
Normally that was a bad thing happen to an almost adult, since then the sickness often took a worse course than usually with children but in Eofine’s case he seem to have caught a lighter form of the measles as normal. His own wife was a testimony how dangerous it could be for an adult. She lay with high fever down with them the last time the measles had swapped over the mark and needed a long time to recover from them fully.
Now he watched Eofine try to covertly scratch on one place whilst his sister wasn’t looking but again she caught him and reprimanded her stubborn brother to leave the itching spots alone. He couldn’t help it, Eomer had to grin at the sight of an barely fourteen years old and very slender and fragile looking girl lecturing her almost two heads taller elder brother who had the build of an warrior already whilst waving her spoon in front of his face.
Her glare, as he had been told could freeze Mordor over and that she could give you a tongue-lashing worse as the old Gildween on her best days.
This was told to Eomer by some of the unfortunate recipients who had tried to get away when she was in charge of their health in her apprenticeship under the healers. Not even the hardest of his warriors dared to argue with Eofine’s sister when she was mad and staid in bed instead. Secretly and only when she and Eofine were out of hearing range, they called her the spitfire of Rohan. He chuckled again. But they all came to her first when injured, what told a lot about her caring nature and her abilities too
“You will do what she says, Eofine.” He told the scowling young warrior. With a nod to the healers present in the room the king turned and walked back into the dark halls of his ancestor’s home with a knot of bad feelings in his stomach. On the outside, nothing seemed amiss. But inside, Eomer felt a foreboding feeling that sat not well with him. A man fell in step with the king. So silent that one could easily miss the middle aged looking man when he walked past one in the halls. He was wearing the usual attire of the warriors of the court but something was amiss and made him stand out like a torch. His skin. Or better said; the color of his skin, the eyes and the hair.
The most Rohirim, including Eomer, had blond or light brown hair but that of the stranger was black with occasionally a grey strand running through. Eomers skin was a tan but underneath you could see the same fair complexion that almost every man or woman in Rohan had, the man’s was dark, almost black and his eyes were not blue, grey or green like that of the most Rohirim, they instead were almost black so dark in brown was their color.
His name was Hajji.
No other name or title added to the foreign name as that of a weapons master that he wore with pride as he did wear the double bladed staff sword that Haleth also favored. He was an easterling or better said he came from a land so far away from Rohan that it was almost unbelievable how far away it was. It was a desert country, laying further south-east as Harad even. The legendary Rhun did not even lay so far east as his homeland. Other than the easterlings nearer to Mordor, his people had never followed the Dark Lord; they kept to themselves instead and lived almost exclusively in the hot desert far beyond Rhun.
He had been forced to leave his land by the dark Lords forces and to go on to search for a safer place for the reminding of his people before the war of the ring. Well knowing that people of the east were seen with suspicion from the people living in the north and west, he still had lead his clan here in hopes to find a little place for them where they could be safer as in the east. All what the forces had left in their wake had been around three hundred people, mostly young ones or the few women who had escaped the massacres. The most warriors had found their dead while defending their retreat.
He had almost given up hope that day he had met Hama and his curios son on the grass plains. But instead of sending his men to kill them, the red haired man had looked over the poorly looking a starved group of Hajji’s people and than he had given them bread, his trust and a place to live. Hajji never forgot that nor did his only living children a son and a daughter or his people.
With the time, when Eomer finally found out about them, to his utter astonishment the king had found them to be fiercely loyal to Hama and his family. Not many knew about it, but Hajji and Sajid had even fought on the fields of Gondor too. With time they had earned trust under the hardened people of Rohan and still they only took orders from the king or Haleth. The latter they often called Bej, their word for a high ranking lord under their people. Eomer only ever heard it uttered too when Hajji’s people addressed Hajji or his son with it, or Eomer himself.
He had become the quit shadow of the red haired heir of Hama and his sisters children with the time and he was it too who had told him about the constant tries of their uncle to get rid of the boys. Until now, Eomers hands had been bound, so to speak, since he never could trace a deed back to the man or his sons. That had changed now.
This morning Haleth’s and Eofine’s uncle had come back from a trip alone in haste with his men and sons and without Haleth. The garbled words telling Eomer that Haleth had gone missing, the king believed not for a second and he had send Sajid and others immediately after the boy in hope that the well known tracker would find a trace of Hama’s heir in the plains. Eomer had sentenced them all under house arrest and had begun to grill them for answers…but no one spoke. He did not want to know what would happen surely if Eofine and Freda found out that Haleth was missing! Eofine would hit his uncle’s head in to get his answers, Eomer was certain and the normally friendly Ealfreda would use other means to an end…he shuddered.
And the council would not allow it, until they had facts enough that spoke against the man.
Cursing he took the route to the throne room. He could only hope that his searchers would find the boy alive or else, this would end badly. And there was still the trouble with Gondor he had to settle in the near future too.
Half a week later, in Gondor, Faramir the former steward of the city and now prince of Ithilien on the run, warded off another knife thrown at him from out of the dark of an ally just barely. Next to him Boromir helped a clearly not well looking Arwen up from where she had fallen and shielded her from another knife. The lady was clearly pregnant and held a little baby girl clutched to her bosom in her try to shield her from harm with her own body if needed.
Next to them Aragorn lay on a litter that was carried by two rangers and guarded from more that also should not be there at all. Mablung and another Ranger, that by all means, should lay resting in their graves and not running around like Boromir did it too and defend the rightfully king of Gondor from his own people! Faramir led them down an old slope near the second ring of the city that lead to the former graveyard of the upper class of Gondor’s citizen’s. It was the, most likely only way left for the former Royal family and the rest of their faithful to get away and maybe out of the city in one piece.
Almost all of the faithful to the king were rangers of the north and a handful of Gondor’s people who still didn’t believe in the lies that had lead to this hasty retreat from the city against Aragorn’s wish. But the man was currently in no state to even utter a single order, that badly he had been tortured over the last four days. Another litter carried another of the former kings of Gondor, Anorion, and brother to their now new nemesis…Isildur. He was in such a bad shape that Faramir doubted it greatly that the younger son of the legendary Elendil would survive the night, not to speak of the flight that lay before them all.
He had dared to openly go against the rumors and ill will they caused under Aragorn’s people and had been found days later from a patrol badly injured and obviously left to die in the middle of his killed former guard. He had been on his way to get some help and had been ambushed and from the looks of it, his attackers had even raped him and his men before they had beaten them half or fully to dead. At least, Aragorn had been spared from such an ugly fate; the man parried another attack on his person with grace and finally closed the doors of the gate to the graveyard behind him with the help of a strong Ithilien warrior.
When Legolas, Gimly and Faramir had not heard from Aragorn and Arwen in weeks both had been concerned and finally Faramir went to check on his king. A bad feeling nagging at him all the time that something was amiss. In Gondor he got the shock of his life when seeing his brother suddenly walk through the gates the same day he arrived there. Fully hale, albeit a little disorientated, still wearing the same clothes he had when leaving so long ago and completely alive!
He found out soon after that he wasn’t the only one returning from the grave in the late and that two very prominent ones had done so too, one was Anorion and the other had been Isildur, just a few weeks prior. Since then, someone had spread false rumors about Aragorn’s wife, Arwen, to do damage Aragorn’s reputation and that of his family too. Both brothers found that out really fast and had befriended the former King of Gondor, Anorion in the following weeks. Since their minds worked much alike. The rumors consisted of old fears and superstitions of the people concerning Elf’s and such and had sadly worked better as one would have thought.
Faramir promptly send a letter to Legolas in Ithilien to remove the reminding elves there and his son from Ithilien as fast as possible, fearing that they would spread and affect his land too. The son of the king of Greenwood had not waited long; two days later some ‘friend’ told Faramir in false good will that the elven prince had kidnapped his son. Faramir played the grieving father, and soon had fooled them all into the believing that he was no treat, meanwhile Boromir had used his entire wits together with that of his brother and a few faithful and had finally found the missing Anorion first and the missing Aragorn later. The latter in a private dungeon, badly hurt and barely conscious.
Arwen and their children had secretly been imprisoned in one of the towers and halfway starved to dead before Faramir found a way to get them out, what lead to their current flight from the city in uttermost haste. Why all thought Isildur was responsible was a simple question to answer, Anorion had in one rare moment of clarity since his ordeal told them that he suspected him and that some of his torturers had been men of his brothers personally selected guard.
He was also the one who would profit the most if Aragorn would vanish or step down from the throne.
When the darkness of the stone foundation of Gondor finally enclosed the few survivors, Faramir was none the wiser of who or what had brought his brother and the others back or of what was actually going on, but one thing was certain, the only places they could go now to, if they made it that was, were the former hidden valley of Rivendell or to Greenwood.
He did not believe that Eomer would take them in, since Gondor’s new ruler had with the help of the council brought easterlings and other mean men into the Riddermark to settle there against the Rohan kings wishes in the late. What had in the end had caused much strife between Rohan and Gondor. And that all under the name of Aragorn and his wife, to mask his intentions. Dol Amroth was also out of question, since the council had cut off all correspondence to the sea country since a while. The council had wanted Arwen and her husband, the elven friend gone and a ‘true’ Heir on Gondor’s throne. He snorted what got him his brother’s attention. “What is going through your mind little brother?” Faramir weakly and tiredly waved a hand at his brother. “Just some thoughts about the council and such.” He looked tiredly at the ceiling of the stony dome above them.
“We have not many choices of where to go, Boro.” He told his brother solemn and found him nodding to his words. “Yes, but we have at least some! What is always better to having none, Faramir. Let’s see that we get them to Rivendell, her brothers are still holding the valley and I bet my arse on it that they will not be happy when they find out what those pigs did to their little sister and brother…” He trailed off after his unusual blunt speech and wished the back of his left hand tiredly over his eyes. Then Boromir bend nearer to his beloved little brother and whispered his next words. “Rather I believe they will go to war when they learn of this, I fear. I met them once and Eladan and Elrohir of Rivendell are not the men or elves neither to be underestimated when angry nor to be trifled with! I am just glad their Father isn’t here anymore or his seneschal, that Glorfindel, because if they were, Gondor would be under war in less than a fortnight.”
With that both turned and walked down the path hidden in the stone that build the foundation of their home, left by the dwarfs who helped once to build Gondor in the beginning. Boromir went down to scoop the heir of Aragorn up to carry the tired Eldarion.
Not once noticing the strange slight smile on the boys face or that he clutched his upper tunic with something small hidden inside protectively to him all the time.
To reach the village had been an easy task but to find a horse was another.
Haleth found out by nightfall, when he reached the village that it was no more. They had skirted it on their way here and so not seen what had happened to it, and from the sight that greeted the horrified youth, already a while ago. Blackened and scorched houses told from a fire and everywhere were corpses but no weapons or other signs of their killers. Old, young, no one had escaped from the looks of it. He did not dare to look closer at some of the dead, fearing what he would see. Haleth had known a lots of the folks living here since his very childhood. Silent as he had come, the youth went again and he made certain to mask his trails from now on. Not knowing if any of the attackers still was near, he had to leave corpses untouched and unburied to avoid being spotted and hated it!
Outside the little valley that had held the village he tried an old trick of his people to cal wayward horses back to the owners. Maybe there had one escaped and would head the call all horses of Rohan learned when still being foals.
It was a series of whistles and for a long time they went unanswered.
Then, when Haleth had already given up hope, three horses slowly came over the soft hills surrounding the youth. All were more or less injured, one still carried a saddle from that a boot hung, lonely swinging. The young man wanted to vomit at the sight of the parts of the leg still being inside of it and after he had carefully and slowly lured them over to him; to remove the boot and leg was the first thing that he did do. One was a foal, maybe a yearling, another one was obviously a war steed, and it was the one with the saddle still on and the stallion was limping from a barely healed wound on his flank. The last one was a mare. Colored like a fox and from the looks of it, she had a lot Meara blood running through her veins.
Uncommonly tall and at the same time slender looking, she was clearly built for speed and endurance. The fine ark of her neck and even finely build ears and bones spoke of very good blood. She must be worth half of Meduselt with the appearance she had he thought and Haleth was stunned into silence from her sheer beauty and grace and loved her almost instantly like only the riders of Rohan could love their horses.
She also wore no sign of ever having born a saddle or a bridle and he wasn’t wondering about it. Such mares were often left running free with the wind in Rohan and more often than not they found the eye of one of the few Meara stallions this way to bring back foals that would be worth a fortune. The king was riding such a foal of such a mare now grown into one of the finest stallions ever, an almost full blood Mearas.
To his astonishment, the mare nudged Haleth until he chose to oblige her and mounted up quickly on her bare back. His heartfelt thanks mumbled into her ears and feeling humbled that she let him onto her back. Gripping the reddish mane tightly, he took hold of the bridle of the injured stallion and whistled to the foal to follow them, and then he rode away from the place of dead as fast as he dared to press the tired horses.
The next two days he led them along the river over the plains. Caring for the stallions flank wound and the mares few scratches as well as the foals small stab wound on the way. Always wondering who had done such an ill deed to their former owners. He constantly searched for signs of the attackers but found only a few here and there. Horse walking trails that were clearly not made by Rohirim horses and one time the dried outline of a boot in the mud not common in form and build to Rohan’s people but to the people of Harrad. He cursed then and made more haste to reach Meduselt.
The plains were tricky in of late. Since men of Harrad had begun to settle wildly in the Rohirim land in the last weeks so suddenly. Gondor, out of a point no one understood had opened their gates to the easterlings and allowed them to come and go in the late as they pleased, much to the anger of many of Haleth’s people who had to show them out of their land later. They even pretended that Aragorn had told them to settle in Haleth’s homeland…something neither, his king or the youth did believe.
Since a few weeks Gondor seem to have gone nuts and no one could reach Aragorn directly in the late to clear the confusion.
And then, there were the rumors that some of the dead had come back …Haleth shuddered. Something was going on that was so wrong that it hurt. The words of the elf came to his mind, what had he said again? We will take it all back and such…Haleth chose to take another path back to Meduselt, somehow he felt no longer safe on the old road that also lead to Gondor in one end, and to the former tower home of the wizard Saruman on the other end. The new path would take a day or two longer but he did not dare to risk it to be caught from Haradrim on his way.
A day later he was glad that he had listened to his inner feelings.
While making a round at the rim of the mountains, he could clearly see a small army lair right beside the old road. He would have run directly into them if he had followed the original path. In the distance he could make out spies that went into the direction of Gondor all the time…as if they were searching for something or someone.
End of part two
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The Moonhorse