Five years.
Denethor wants to return.
Five years. Frodo had left.
Denethor is trying to return.
Nine years of Aragorn’s rule.
Denethor II will return.
Rohan, Prince of Gondor’s eyes snapped open, his heart hammering in his chest. He sat up, gasping and sweating. He looked around at his surroundings, panicked and then his heart started to slow when he saw he was home. He leaned back onto his pillow.
Denethor II.
He had heard stories...he was only eight and when his governess had stopped halfway through these stories, he would demand why and she would say ‘I don’t want to scare you, young prince.’
Rohan would then, quite angrily, storm out of the room. He hated being treated like a child when he was already and better swordsman that half the men in the kingdom. But Denethor II.
Rohan knew Faramir well...the youngest son of Denethor II was the one who taught Rohan all the skills of fighting in battle. However all the prince knew of the deceased steward was that he died in a fire.
Now he was getting voices in his dreams, saying Denethor wanted to return. Why? How? Rohan knew he should tell his father. This could be important but somehow, he felt that his father would not be interested. He never was. He always took interest in little Eleanor and the elder son, Johannes, but Rohan was ignored. His mother had said it was because Aragorn knew that his youngest son could look after himself but Rohan felt it was something else. He just didn’t know what.
‘Rohan?’
Rohan was distracted from his thoughts to see his four year old sister, Eleanor standing at the doorway. ‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to act older.
Eleanor sniffed. ‘Mummy’s saying that I is not to go away from the palace. Daddy says that you have to see him.’
Rohan was confused. Did Aragorn know about the dream? Why was he being summoned? He wordlessly got out of bed and hurried through the corridors to his father’s court room. He pushed opened the door and scowled when he saw his nine year old brother, Johannes standing in the room as well.
‘Ah, Rohan,’ Aragorn acknowledged. ‘Good, you’re here. I need you to listen carefully to me. I need you to get ready with all the armor that you have, pack light bags and some for Eleanor as well and I need you to meet me at the stables. You are to ride to the Shire.’
Rohan furrowed his eyebrows. He studied his father’s face and he saw panic, confusion, worry...and then anger. Rohan backed away, fearful. ‘Okay,’ he said but Aragorn wasn’t listening. He was talking to Johannes. Suddenly, there was the sound of rocks crumbling and everyone in the court looked to the balcony. There was a catapult from outside the city, throwing rocks and stones.
‘We’re under attack!’ Aragorn roared. ‘Women and children out! Men, stay and fight! Take swords from the cellars!’ He turned to Rohan. ‘Go! Get out of here! Take your sister and run! Your brother will stay with me.’
Rohan stood firmly where he was. ‘No! I’m not a child! I’m a man! I’ll stay and fight!’
Aragorn grabbed his son by the shoulders. ‘No, you shall not! You are a child, you are an eight year old boy and you will take your sister and yourself to the Shire! Go!’
Rohan staggered backwards at the demand in his father’s voice and turned on his heels, running to his room. He swore he could hear Johannes sneering. He banged his door shut, flinging open his closet. ‘Eleanor!’ he yelled. His sister pushed open the adjoining door that passaged their two bedrooms. ‘Rohan? What’s happening?’
Rohan pursed his lips, holding back the tears of rage that threatened to spill from his eyes. ‘We’re leaving. We’re going to the Shire. Pack a small bags of the most essential things and meet me at the stables.’
Eleanor nodded, looking scared but determined. She disappeared into her room. Meanwhile, Rohan put on his armor, feeling the cold metal dig into his skin. He reached for his necklace that Samwise Gamgee had made for him. He put it on, it bounced on his skin around his neck and the hid under his shirt collar. The door opened with a crash and Faramir entered the room. ‘Young prince,’ he said, gathering important things from the room. ‘You have far to travel, thus you need a good sword.’
He reached for the one he had brought with him. ‘It once belonged to a young man named Frodo. Look after it, use it well.’
Rohan nodded speechlessly, unable to comprehend what was going on and why. Faramir made a move to exit the room but Rohan cried out ‘I dreamt of Denethor!’
Faramir froze, looking behind him. ‘What did you see?’ he demanded, grabbing the boy my his arms.
‘He was going to return,’ Rohan said, struggling to break free of the warrior. ‘I don’t know how or why! He just was!’
Faramir let him go. ‘Have you told your father?’
Rohan shook his head, adjusting his new sword on his belt. He looked to the sky. Nearly dawn. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘I am to meet father and Eleanor at the stables.’ He hurried past the man and stopped at the door, looking back. ‘Thank you for everything you taught me, Faramir.’
Faramir sighed. ‘Young prince, everything I taught you is not enough to face what is about to come.’
