What has gone on before:
The proposed alliance between the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy has come to an end during the treaty celebrations in Minas Tirith, following the discovery that the king of the Haradrim, Ulfrain, had entered a dark alliance with the skin changers from the First Age. Ulfrain and his allies had attempted to assassinate the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising of Aragorn of Gondor, Eomer of Rohan, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Faramir of Ithilien, Legolas Greenleaf of the elven colony Eden Ardhon in South Ithilien and Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves and ruler of Aglarond. During the subsequent battle, the commander of his armies, Castigliari who like the rest of the Easterling Confederacy knew nothing of this pact, was forced to kill Ulfrain. Unfortunately upon his return home, the general is executed for the murder of his king.
Forces in the Easterling nations, weary of the diplomatic solutions to solve their crisis of impending famine, chose a military alternative and issues a declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom and all its allies. Hostilities have yet to begin, but it is only a matter of time………
***********
The air was thick with the scent of felled trees and sawdust but none of those gathered in the forest this day seemed to mind terribly. Those who had taken part in the ceremony of harvest were more than accustomed to the characteristics of the day and those who were still novices to the culmination of Lebethron’s toil would soon have time enough to learn. After all, the harvest was an annual ritual and those who were new to it on this occasion would not be in the following year.
Anna and her brother Anton wished they were allowed to participate in the festivities. Unfortunately, their father had unfairly claimed that they were too young to be involved in either the felling of the trees marked ready for harvest or aiding the women in the preparation of the meal that followed the day’s work. Both were very disappointed but took heart in the fact that they were not the only ones who were allotted this curious state of limbo during the harvest. Other children were also lingering unhappily on the outskirts of all the activity being undertaken so religiously by the senior members of the Lebethron.
For each year since Anna was old enough to remember and far longer than her existence she was certain, the harvest had continued in this way. Lebethron was located on the banks of the Anduin and while for much of the year, the town subsisted on the spoils of the great river, on this day each year, the town turned its attention to the one activity for which Lebethron was known throughout Middle earth. Nowhere else was the tree known as Lebethron, after which the town was named, was known to exist. Careful to ensure this precious commodity was not squandered, the people of Lebethron regarded their cultivation of the wood as a sacred trust. Only a select number of trees were allowed to be felled each year and the rest of the forest was left to thrive until the following year.
Once the allotted number of trees fell to the axe, Lebethron’s carpenters would either fashion the wood themselves or send the precious lumber to Gondor or Rohan, to the ministration of craftsman with artistic endeavours of their own. Of late, they had received requests from Ithilien and the elven colony of Eden Ardhon as well. The wood Lebethron was better known throughout the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of Middle earth than the town itself but its folk did not mind for it was the wood that had given life to their community to begin with.
Since the earliest days of this trade, the folk of Lebethron had made the harvest something of a ritual and it was a matter of pride that everyone participated in the process. Men would aid in the felling of trees, while their older counterparts would examine the forest and mark the trees that would be ready for next year’s harvest. Women would set up their cooking pots near by, furnishing meals and providing comfort to the men who would continue this exhausting work for the number of days it required to complete it.
For Anna, this was the seventh harvest of her life.
The others were vague in her memory but her brother who was two harvests older than she, promised that it was a day of surprises looked forward to by everyone. Despite being unable to participate in the actual harvest, the children were having a wonderful time watching their fathers and mothers going about their business while being allowed to play in a part of the forest that was customarily restricted to them for the rest of the year. Being allowed to wander freely in so forbidden a place was exciting and it also made them feel included in the harvest even if they were not allowed to contribute anything to the annual ritual.
Anna was the smallest of the children her age. Even though she was seven, many people often mistook her for being five, a very grave insult as far as she was concerned. However, her small size did have its advantages in that if she had no desire to be found, it was virtually impossible for anyone to do so. This particularly useful when she engaged in games of hide and seek or when she was called to nap by her mother and had no taste for it. Anton often claimed, inspired by jealousy no doubt, that one day she would hide so well that everyone would forget about her.
At seven, this was rather a frightening notion and Anna resolved herself to be careful to not hide herself too well in case she was never found.
Holding a candied apple in her hand rather gingerly, Anna found herself a comfortable place to watch her father helping with the sawing of a fallen tree into manageable lengths for loading into the wagons assembled. Her brother was off with the other boys, running through the trees, while the other children were engaged in their own games. Anna was content to shift her attention between her father working and her mother gossiping happily with the other women at the cooking hearths as she nibbled through the crusted layer of honey surrounding the apple she was holding by the stick impaled through it.
Everyone was working hard and enjoying the sunshine above their heads, even Anna could feel the warmth against the skin there were moments when she wanted to do nothing but stare into the brilliance of the sun above. However, mama said she must not look too closely at Laurelin’s last fruit because it would hurt her eyes but sometimes, Anna wanted to look at the beauty that Yavanna had coaxed from the golden tree of Valinor. Papa said that she was named after Yavanna and Anna often stared at the sky hoping that she might catch out the elusive lady whose name she shared.
Suddenly Anna felt something beneath her. It reached from beneath the soil and moved through her bones like a worm creeping across her skin, sending shudders through her body. Anna looked up in question and saw that no one else had noticed the curious sensation as of yet. This was most likely since they were all rather engaged in what they were doing and had yet to sense it. She placed her palm against the grass and felt the low rumble reach into her skin with even more intensity. Her small face contracted with concern and she wondered if she should tell papa about it.
She needed not have worried.
The strange feeling emanating from the ground became stronger and as if it were sweeping across their faces as it was through the earth, Anna saw the work coming to a gradual halt as people ceased what they were doing, forgetting all about the harvest as they looked about in concern. The sound of laughter and voices speaking had fallen into a dead silence as everyone strained to listen. Anna could tell that there was something terribly wrong. She could see it in the worried way that mama and papa were searching the woods for Anton and her. Mama had started to walk away from the other women, trying to find her. Anna did not like to see mama afraid and started to emerge from her hiding place when suddenly, the tremors became rumbling and that inspired fear in everyone.
"Anna!" Mama called her as everyone started to scatter. Papa had left what he was doing and hurrying towards mama.
Other people were collecting their children in a hurry, stricken expressions of fear on their faces. Anna started to cry because their fear made her scared and though she hated to cry like a baby, she could think of no other way to express her anxiety. The rumbling was so loud now she could hear it everywhere. It was almost as loud as thunder but there were no clouds in the sky or any signs of impending rain.
"Mama!" Anna cried through the frantic voices of folk hurrying away and felt a flood of relief when her mama turned at the sound of her voice.
Anna saw mama coming towards her when suddenly, exploding through the trees in deafening noise was an animal she had never seen before. It was not a horse but much bigger with a nose so long that it looked like snake and curling horns as thick as a branch from a tree. It made a noise like a horn blaring and it thundered forward with such force, that everything beneath it was crushed underfoot. Sitting on top of its back on a harness like a rider on a horse, was a man and he was not alone. As mama screamed, more and more of the strange animals appeared through the trees, moving across the land and trampling everything in sight, until the sound of them drowned out her voice.
Anna scrambled back to her hiding place and watched as the beasts ran down her parents in a cloud of dust and blood. She watched them continue their rampage, driving into the dirt, the hard labour of the harvest, until logs lay strewn across the ground and the cooking pots that contained food were shattered into the dirt. Once they had done their worst where the harvest was meant to be, they continued their thunderous advance towards the village, trailing a cloud of dust and leaving behind mama and papa behind them.
Anna saw her parents where they had fallen on the ground, surrounded by the tracks of the great beasts, their bodies in complete ruin. The image of their broken bones and torn skin wetting the earth with blood was burned into her mind as if it were branded there by flame. Anna closed her eyes and turned away, her body curling into a tight ball. She hugged her knees tight and wept, wishing to hear nothing else but was powerless to escape the terrible image of blood and death that was once her parents.
Anna did not see the destruction of the village as it fell to the onslaught of the mamakus. The beasts rampaged across Lebethron and brought down villagers as easily as it had done to her parents. At first, the menfolk were killed by the riders of the mamakus from atop their harnesses, either impaled by spears or struck by arrows. When all the structures in the village had been trampled into the dirt, the riders dismounted and began sweeping across Lebethron to deliver its destruction in a more precise hunt for prey.
The men and children died quickly but the women unfortunately did not.
Lebethron had no strategic value. Its lumber as precious as it was to the rest of Middle earth, held little interest to the invading army whose primary concern was grain. As the anguished shrieks of the women soared into the evening, the appearance of the full moon in the sky marked the beginning of a sinister silence that left Anna with the terrible realisation that she was now all alone. She really had been forgotten and as her young mind retreated into the dark place it would not emerge from for some time, Anna did not know whether or not she should be grateful for being allowed to live.
The army that swept into Lebethron with the purpose of killing every man, woman and child before the sun set that day on the harvest had a greater purpose in mind.
It was to tell the rulers of the western lands to beware; war was coming.
Despite it being the customary practice for Aragorn’s manservant to lay out his clothes for the day, Arwen preferred to take charge of that responsibility herself. It was one of the few chores she considered her right as his wife to perform, despite her station as Queen of Gondor. To Arwen, the task of readying her husband for his responsibilities beyond the confines of their private chambers was something she felt the need to do because she wanted to show him how much she loved him. Just as much as he enjoyed watching in fascination as she dressed in the morning or undressed in the evening, Arwen took similar pride in laying out his clothes each morning since the beginning of their married life.
She would place his garments across ornate wing chair next to her dressing table, then remove Anduril from its place across the mantle over the fireplace before selecting what boots he would need in accordance with his agenda for the day. To Arwen, it was a pleasure helping the man she loved so dearly, slip into the role of king who was as equally adored by his people as he was by his wife. Arwen knew that Aragorn enjoyed this ritual as much as she because it reminded them both that before they were King and Queen of Gondor, they were first husband and wife.
Today, Arwen saw no joy in the duty she would have normally found so much pleasure in undertaking. How could she when what she was doing was laying out his travelling clothes, painfully aware that when he finally wore them, he would be embarking on a journey that would take him far away from her? She laid out his things and tried not to show the emotion that was clawing its way through the composure she had maintained for most of the morning. Her fingers trembled as she worked, her anguish at his departure for yet another battle tugging at her control with relentless determination.
This was not right, she thought as the tears welled up in her eyes despite all her efforts to contain them.
After everything that they had endured to maintain the peace following the destruction of Sauron and the War of the Ring, they should not be faced with yet another conflict, especially one they had worked so hard to avoid. Arwen could not believe that all their efforts to create a lasting peace with the Easterlings had been destroyed so utterly by the shape shifters who had seized control of Minas Tirith through their agent Ulfrain, only weeks ago. Even though Gondor had managed to drive the usurpers out of the kingdom, it appeared that the shape shifters had won after all. A state of war now existed between the Reunified Kingdom and the confederacy of Easterling nations.
The outbreak of hostilities had yet to occur but Aragorn knew that it was only a matter of time. The Rangers who had not been killed whilst conducting their surveillance of the enemy territory had reported the rise of a new Haradrim leader. The Haradrim possessing much influenced among the Easterlings in the same manner that Gondor influenced the kingdoms around it, had enlisted a formidable list of allies ready to wage war upon the Reunified Kingdom. Among these were the remnants of many armies, such as the Corsairs of Umbar, the Varigs of Khand, what Wainriders that had not perished in the Dead Marshes and even a disturbing report that the Dunlendings interest might have been similarly stirred.
It appeared that the Haradrim was provoking the need to restore injured pride in any race that had met defeat during the War of the Ring and their cause was fast gaining momentum among the dissatisfied Easterlings and Southerns alike. Little was known of the leader who had risen to bring about this impressive solidarity but it was said that he was the son of a chieftain who ascendancy was credited to Ulfrain’s death. Whatever his claims to power, it was evident that he was a formidable and charismatic leader capable of bringing together a formidable force comprising of different armies.
For the past weeks, the Ruling Council of Middle earth, comprising the forces of Gondor, Rohan, Dol Amroth and Ithilien had been engaged in preparations for war. Eomer was fortifying Edoras and the lands of Rohan closest to the Dunlending border, to ensure that should the Dunlendings choose to throw in their lot with the enemy, Rohan would not be caught unawares. The battle at the Ford of Isen and Helms Deep was still fresh in the minds of its people and they had no wish to be trapped in such a manner again, for this time, there would be no last minute reprieve from the Huorns.
Gondor had sent its troops to bolster the strength of Ithilien for it was surmised that when the hostilities began, it would most likely take place there. Legolas had pledged the aid of Eden Ardhon to aid in the war effort when it began although Aragorn had cautioned his involvement, for it was generally understood by both sides that the elves were considered a neutral party. As Eden Ardhon itself sat in a precarious position between Gondor and its enemies, Aragorn would prefer not to make the elven community a target, not that the confederacy would be foolish enough to try. An attack upon an elven colony would bring about the wrath of the elves remaining in Middle earth and not even they were foolish enough to provoke that sleeping dragon.
Today, Aragorn would be leaving Minas Tirith to join Faramir in Ithilien in anticipation of the attack that was all but certain to take place. Despite her profound sadness to see him leave, she knew that he was not a king that was content to remain safely behind the battlelines while his kingdom fought for its existence. The man she had fallen in love with could never be so callous and yet to let him be that man, she could not stop him from going either. It was a painful thing, this business of being queen and for the first time, she wished that both of them could be rid of this weight, no matter how selfish it sounded.
Gazing out the window, she could see the soldiers moving through the ramparts that made up the rings of the Citadel. They were marching with purpose to the outer walls of the Citadel but would not to begin their journey to Ithilien until Aragorn took his place and led them out of Minas Tirith. Arwen turned away from the scene, aware that she was becoming more emotional than she should and it would not do for Estel to see her in such a state. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to regain some measure of elven poise as she glided away across the floor to the door of the adjoining room.
When she emerged into the main chamber of their suite, she saw Aragorn at the head of the dinner table, supporting Eldarion on his lap. The king was presently amusing his son by making the child’s puppy to stand on its rear legs to reach the piece of food dangling inches beyond its reach. Eldarion was giggling happily, unaware that his father would not be entertaining him in this fashion for quite some time, before Aragorn finally took pity upon the poor dog and rewarded its efforts with the morsel in his hand.
"I have laid out your clothes," Arwen remarked neutrally as she approached father and son. "I have also ensured that your servant has stored away everything you would need for your journey to Ithilien."
Aragorn raised his eyes to his wife and was able to see through her seemingly composed manner despite her best efforts to hide it from him. He knew that she ached at his departure and wished there was something he could do to soothe her worries beyond his words of assurance. Unfortunately, he could not bring himself to lie to the mother of his child that what he was embarking upon was less than what it was. They were in a state of war and inevitably in such conflicts, there was always the danger of never returning, even when one was king.
"Thank you Undomiel," he said gently, trying to make this easy for her even though he knew it was impossible. "I suppose I should make a start soon. The sun is climbing and I should not keep my army awaiting."
"Yes," Arwen nodded, trying to sound brave but feeling anything but that. "How many days do you think it will take you to arrive at Ithilien?"
"Not long," he answered, rising from his chair. He placed Eldarion on the floor with the infant’s toys and left the child to his canine playmate as he went to her. "Much of our supplies and troops are already in Ithilien, those accompanying me on this occasion are more for my protection than any other reason. They forget that I know how to look after myself."
"They wish your safety," Arwen returned softly, "I see no harm in that."
"Undomiel," he lowered himself onto one knee before her and took her hand in his, "it will be alright."
"How can it be?" she cried out, unable to keep her emotions reined when he spoke to her in such a manner. "You should not be going! We have fought enough battles! We were so close to achieving peace, to never have to fight another war again! I hate those damn shape shifters for what they have done! Death was too good for them!"
"You do not mean that," Aragorn answered with gentle understanding of her anxieties. "The Easterlings are not evil Undomiel, merely wounded and afraid that their way of life is under threat. That does not excuse their actions now but if I am blinded by my hatred for them, then battle is the least I have to worry about when facing them."
"I know," she broke down, tears running down her cheeks as she gazed upon him with eyes glistening. "I do not wish you to go but I know that you must. It is this that I hate so much, that I must give you up for the sake of the kingdom."
Aragorn stood up and took his wife into his arms because she needed to feel his embrace. All the frustration she felt at this moment was feelings he could understand very well because he shared them in no small part. He did not wish to leave his wife or his son to embark upon another campaign but he was king and with that title came responsibilities. Arwen knew this as well as he, though at this moment she was having difficulty coping its demands. She would not be the woman he loved otherwise.
"I will be fine my love," Aragorn promised her as he caressed his cheek against the soft strands of her hair, taking a deep breath of the scent as he did so. "I promise you that I will allow no harm to befall me."
"I will miss you so much," Arwen said softly. "When you leave here, you take a part of me that nothing can fill."
"Just as I leave a part of myself here with you," he replied, meeting her gaze. "I need you to be strong Undomiel. Whatever happens out there, you need to be strong here, for Gondor and for our son."
Arwen nodded as Aragorn lifted her chin with his finger and lowered his lips to hers in a tender kiss. When their lips brushed against each other, it had the power to drive away the despair in her heart, even for a fleeting moment. She felt her soul sigh in happiness at his touch and ignored the realisation that when he pulled away, she would be left with an emptiness that would not be satiated until she felt this intimacy with him again.
"You are the bravest woman that I know," Aragorn spoke when they had parted. "You will manage without me, you always could and while this conflict may separate us, it can never break us apart. I carry you in my heart wherever I go Undomiel, you are my banner and the reason that I would fight every evil in Middle earth."
"I wish I could be the reason you stayed," Arwen replied, "but I am my father’s daughter and I know that sometimes responsibility must come ahead of love."
"Nothing comes ahead of love," he corrected her. "I fight not only to protect my kingdom and my family but to ensure that our son will not have to fight battles, that his future will be one of peace, not of bloodshed."
"I want his future to be one where he knows his father," Arwen countered. "Can you me promise that?"
Aragon fell silent for a moment and answered, "my father made that promise to my mother and we both know that he was unable to keep it. I will not make oaths I cannot keep Undomiel, but I can promise you I will do everything in my power to return to you and our son."
Arwen pulled him to her again in another tight embrace and decided that would simply have to do for now.
**********
"No, Faramir!" Eowyn declared sharply over the table.
"Eowyn," the lord of Ithilien sucked in his breath and controlled his annoyance at his wife’s stubbornness. "Is it possible for you to obey me once?"
"I would do anything for you Faramir," Eowyn met her husband’s eyes and wished he would relent in this tiresome argument. For days now, she had heard the same request and each time her answer to him was the same. Her patience was wearing thin and his had almost run out, however, Eowyn was not going to submit. "However, I will not run to Minas Tirith and leave you here."
"An attack could come at any time," Faramir retorted. "I do not want you on the front lines if that happens."
Eowyn knew that her agreement was not required if he was determined to see her go. The only reason he was asking at all was because he loved her and had never presumed to lord over her as if she were his chattel instead of his wife. However, she knew that he was afraid for her life and though she loved him for his affection, Eowyn was not about to run to the safety of the White City and leave him alone during this crisis.
"Faramir," she reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I remain because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you and also because it would not do to have the lady of Ithilien to depart when we are trying to convince our people that we are able to protect them."
Faramir cursed under his breath because she was right. While he had been preparing for battle these past weeks, he had also been attempting to promote a feeling of confidence to Ithilien’s people that they was capable of defending against any menace the enemy chose to assail them with. If Eowyn were to leave, it would be a severe blow to the morale of those who chose to remain and fight because it would appear that the Prince himself had no confidence in their ability to defend Ithilien if he was sending his lady elsewhere for safety. Faramir wished Eowyn were not such a wise tactician but underestimating Eowyn was a mistake made by most people, not just he.
"I wish you were not so damned perceptive, woman," Faramir grumbled, his annoyance showing his admission of defeat. "I only wish you to leave because I cannot bear to lose you though I am certain my life would not be as vexed if you were not in it."
Eowyn smiled warmly, knowing his harsh words were only meant to mask his worry for her. She loved him for it but she was not about to leave him when their kingdom was in such danger. It was not in her nature to run from anything and certainly, not from her husband’s side. "You would be bored out of your mind if it were not for me," she gave him a playful wink. "Admit it, I may vex you, but your life is full of surprises."
Faramir rolled his eyes and muttered, "I suppose that is one way in which one might look upon it."
However, his fingers had become entwined between her own and that was more telling than the words he was speaking. For all her stubbornness, Faramir adored his wife nonetheless because she filled his life with surprise and passion the likes of which he had never known. His desire for her to leave for Minas Tirith was born out of his fears of losing her but in truth, he was also proud by the fortitude she displayed in wishing to remain at his side. How could he not be hopelessly in love with such a glorious creature as this?
"You are not eating," he noted, as his gaze shifted briefly to her plate where the meal prepared was barely touched.
"I do not feel well," Eowyn answered with a little frown.
"Again?" Faramir’s brow arched. "That is the third time this week your appetite has been waning so. Are you certain you are alright?"
"I am not eating because I am worried sick about what has happened," Eowyn said dismissively. "I can’t help thinking about poor Castigliari."
"Yes," Faramir nodded, feeling a pang of grief form the Haradrim general who had tried to do the right thing at the treaty and paid for it with his life. "He was a good man, far too good to deserve the fate that awaited him upon his return home."
Glad that he was focussing on another subject, Eowyn was more than happy to add her own commend to the discussion. "Do you think he knew that this could happen to him, Faramir?"
Faramir considered her question and remembered how sombre the Easterling delegation had been when they were leaving Minas Tirith. Castigliari in particular had been sombre but at the time the Ruling Council believed it was because he was taking the body of his king back to his people. Now Faramir wondered if his melancholy was not attributed instead to knowing what would be the consequences for what he had done. Reports from the Rangers in that region revealed that Castigliari’s trial had been a speedy affair, more for the purpose of inciting public outrage at his actions and provoking even more hostility towards the Reunified Kingdom who was painted as the chief architect of the murder.
"It is possible," Faramir answered after a moment, "he was concerned about returning home but Aragorn and I believed it was largely due to how news of Ulfrain’s alliance with the skin changers would be received, not because he would be held culpable for the king’s death."
"This world is far too ugly and brutal," Eowyn shook her head in disgust. "When Sauron was destroyed, the madness should have ended but it lives like a living, breathing creature that cannot die. As soon as we vanquish one foe, we are faced with another. When does it end?"
Faramir kept to himself his observations that his wife was in a particular dark mood of late. Considering the current situation, he could not blame her of course but her temperament had been laced with an impatience for things that should have been a way of life for them by now. Besides, he had never known Eowyn with a preference for things to be dull. His wife loved adventure and was rather made for it he thought. While she attended her duties as his wife within the court of Ithilien, she craved the extraordinary now and then. Fortunately, the trials their life seemed to face often satiated this need but Faramir was having difficulty believing that she wanted a quieter existence, even if he was somewhat pleased she wished to put herself out of harm’s way for a change.
"Darkness lies everywhere," he answered, still a little mystified by her behaviour. "Sauron may have caused much of it but not all. There are some threats that have little to do with magic or prophecy and simply are because of greed and ambition."
"I am sick of war," Eowyn said unhappily. "I am sick of it living with it all my life, first from the Dunlendings, then Isengard, Sauron and now this too. It is no wonder that I cannot eat. How can I think of food when you are going to face who knows what?"
"So that is what this is about?" Faramir stared at her. "You are worried because I will be soon leaving to join the king?"
"Yes, too many times I have lost the ones I loved in battle. First my father, followed by my mother who grew sick from grief and then my uncle. I have no idea how Eomer will fare when the battle reaches Edoras and now you are joining the king, awaiting an attack. I will not lose you too."
Faramir was rather surprised by the emotion she was displaying for his wife was no usually so sentimental. Eowyn was a daughter of a royal house and knew what it was to face this kind of duty. He supposed that she had a right to feel differently when it was a husband that was leaving her to go to war but seeing this display was rather unnerving and Faramir began to suspect that there might be more to it than what lay on the surface.
"Eowyn," he said seriously, "what troubles you so? It is more than the coming battle for I have not seen you in this state before. Please," he clutched her hand tightly, "tell me."
"I am not going with you and that I cannot go with you," she answered after a moment. Staring into his eyes, she wanted badly to tell him what worried her so but she dared not. He should not be burdened with such knowledge before he went off to do battle. She knew better than anyone how great a killer distraction could be on the battlefield. She did not wish to inflict that upon her husband when it was so necessary for him to come home to her.
"It is necessary for you to remain here in Ithilien," Faramir explained, sensing if there was not more than this but could not say for certain that she was deceiving him when he saw so much anguish in her eyes. "Our people need your strength and the days coming will be dark ones. They need someone to direct them when their fear becomes too much. You are the only one I feel capable of leaving such a duty. You are not only the Lady of Ithilien but you are the shield maiden of Rohan, the slayer of the Witch King. Your voice carries significant weight not only with our people but with the soldiers I leave here to protect the city."
"Then I should be with you on the battlefield," Eowyn met his eyes, "for it is there I will be of most to you."
Faramir opened his mouth to answer but Eowyn interrupted.
"But I know that I cannot come with you and that my place is here, so you need not worry I will do anything foolish as I did when I joined Theoden in the march to Pelennor," Eowyn replied with a little smile.
"Actually I thought that you are probably right," Faramir added with a slight chuckle, "you are formidable with a blade but I am glad to know that I will not have to keep watch for you."
"You should go make ready to leave," Eowyn replied. "I believe Beregond is waiting for you."
Faramir had forgotten, having been so rapt in the discussion with his wife that the meeting with the Captain of his guard had slipped his mind. However, he had a sense that she wished to be alone, perhaps to process what was said though there was still this nagging sensation that she had not been truthful about what troubled her. Unfortunately, Faramir had learnt from experience that Eowyn would tell him nothing until she was ready and lest he wanted to drive himself into further vexation trying to discern what was on her mind, Faramir decided that it was best to simply let the matter be.
"We will talk again," he said giving him a little kiss before walking out of the room.
Eowyn watched him go and did not break her gaze at the path he had taken out of her presence until many minutes had passed. Once she returned her attention back to the table and its contents, her first action was to slide the plate away. The smell of it did little to settle her queasy stomach and knowing the cause of it did not make her troubles any less. If anything it complicated things considerably. Lately, her mind kept returning to her parents. Orcs in Emyn Muil had killed her father Eomund, when she was a child. Her mother had never really recovered from the experience of birthing Eowyn and had remained sickly for years after. However, upon learning of her husband’s death, what strength she had was sapped away in grief and drove her inevitably to her grave.
She and Eomer were then raised in the house of Theoden who treated them like his own children but Eowyn never forgot the parents that sired her, nor did she cease to miss them. Eomer in particular, missed their mother though he never said it out loud. How could he, when he was the Marshall of the Mark by the time he reached his early twenties? With Faramir now riding to face a new war after the alarming reports of the Haradrim amassing a considerable army, Eowyn was terrified that she would lose her husband the way Theodwyn had lost Eomund.
Even more frightening was the thought that the child slumbering in her womb would know nothing of its father.
She should have told him. She wanted so much to tell him but she could not bear to burden him with such news when he was about to ride off into battle. Eowyn knew that if she told him that she was carrying his child, Faramir would never leave her side and it was imperative that he did for the sake of their kingdom and their future. For the last week, she had kept this secret inside her, trying desperately to hide the signs not only from her husband but also from the household staff who might inadvertently reveal it to Faramir if they started their gossiping.
She knew there would come a time when she could no longer hide the truth and Eowyn prayed that this conflict would be over before she had to bring news to Faramir on the battlefield that he was a father.
***************
Eomer was furious with himself.
He should have sent her home long before this but had succumbed to the desires of his heart by allowing her to remain. She should be safely at home in Dol Amroth under her father’s roof, not trapped here in Edoras with him. In truth, he could still send her home if he so wished it, escorted by a dozen Rohirrim to ensure that she arrived there safely, however, Eomer could not bring himself to have her leave Meduseld. He was not long past his thirtieth year and certainly passed the time when, as king, he should have taken a wife. While he endured the insistent suggestions by his counsellors that he should make the effort, Eomer had never gave those requests much credence until he met Lothiriel of Dol Amroth.
From the instant she graced Meduseld with her presence, it felt to Eomer and to the rest of the Golden Hall’s inhabitants that the void left by Eowyn was finally filled. Meduseld had been without a lady of the house since Eowyn had ridden away to Pelennor Fields. Since then, Eowyn’s return had only been visits since her place was now in Ithilien at the right hand of her husband, the Steward. Eowyn would have returned with him and Lothiriel if it had not been for the declaration of war made by the Haradrim and the Easterling Confederacy. Indeed, Eomer had been ready to send Lothiriel home to Dol Amroth but the young woman had used her considerable effect on him to good advantage. Even her father, Imrahil seemed to encourage her decision to come with him, hoping that the time together would hasten their union.
Once arriving in Edoras, they had spent most days together. He taught her how to ride, a thing she had been unable to do well but was determined to learn since much of the Rohirrim’s world revolved around horses. They rode everyday together, often accompanied by others in order to ensure the lady’s reputation was not compromised in anyway. She learnt quickly and Eomer felt his heart fall prey to her just a little more every day. Eomer could tell that she loved being with him, especially because he accepted her for what she was, a fledgling sorceress whose powers had saved Middle-Earth from utter ruin during the terrible business with the skin changers.
At the time, he had been little concerned over the welfare of Rohan despite the declaration of war. Rohan was far from the borders of Gondor to be in any danger although Eomer had fully intended to support Aragorn in his campaign against any Easterling aggression. However, that had all changed when he received word that agents of the confederacy had approached a number of Dunlending tribes and might have possibly enlisted their aid in launching an attack upon Rohan.
After the battle of the Hornburg, the Dunlending forces had been thoroughly defeated by the Rohirrim, Ents and Huorns. Without the leadership of Saruman to unite them, the remaining Dunlending forces splintered, with individual tribes suing for their own peace. There were some who had begrudgingly accepted defeat but refuse to ally themselves with the Rohirrim as the other tribes had done. It was these few that gave Eomer his greatest concern because they would be able to facilitate an enemy force if it chose to attack Rohan. The tribes found their refuge in the Misty Mountains since the terrain was well known to them and were capable of remaining hidden indefinitely. They knew parts of the mountain range where horses could not travel and so they were relatively free to plot all manner of mischief.
As it was, Eomer had stationed his men along the River Isen, certain that if the rebel tribes were to gain help from their Easterling allies, there would be no other way for it to reach them other than through the river. The Rohirrim were also keeping watch upon the Gap of Rohan but the truth was, the Dunlendings were adept at not only fighting through means of open warfare but also by more insidious methods, employing covert tactics that were difficult to defend against. It was partially this reason that Eomer was reluctant to send Lothiriel beyond the safety of Edoras. However, as an excuse it was weak and it only served to convince him that he had to do what was sensible, not what was in his heart.
Eomer supposed it would make things considerably simpler if he simply married Lothiriel immediately and provide her with a legitimate reason to remain. However, his whole intention of bringing her to Edoras was so that he could get to know her and the business of spending an entire lifetime was nothing to take lightly. He did not want either of them to be rushed into such a choice because the times were perilous. He knew that she held some apprehension about being queen since her entire life had been devoted to a dream of becoming a true wizard. He did not doubt that she cared for him deeply but it was another thing entirely to become a queen, to be able to share the responsibility of a kingdom.
He had finally reached a decision and knew that she would not like it when he presented it to her. Following the latest discussion with his councillors, Eomer sought out Lothiriel, determined to do what was best for her, despite the feelings inside of him. It was late in the afternoon when he found her in one of the terraced gardens of Meduseld. It was not possible to have expansive gardens like those in Gondor when Edoras was built upon a hill. Many years ago, one of Rohan’s kings had carved out a section of it and set his engineers the task of building his lady, a native of Gondor, a small garden to remind her home. In subsequent years, it had been maintained by those who followed and was a favourite place for many who resided in the Golden Hall.
Since her arrival in Meduseld, Eomer knew that Lothiriel liked to sit upon the marble benches and read her books surrounded by the trees and flowering shrubs to be found within its confines. As a visitor without any defined role in the Golden Hall, Lothiriel found this place a suitable distraction for the times when Eomer had matters of state to attend. He supposed that within the garden, she felt less likely to be in anyone’s way.
"My lord," she said with a happy smile when he stepped into the garden. "How does this evening find you?"
Her smile immediately engendered one of his own and Eomer felt that same lift in his heart at the sight of her. She would be in his opinion, the most beautiful women he had ever seen. With glorious jets of dark hair and almost porcelain like beauty, he was sometimes almost afraid to touch her for fear that she would break. When she moved, it was like a dance of light, not like the clumsy movement of a warrior whose only grace seemed to come when he was astride a horse.
"I am well," he answered warmly as he sat beside her on the bench of polished marble. "I am sorry that I have been indisposed for most of the day. There are times when my responsibilities as king cannot be avoided."
"I understand," she replied meeting his gaze with sincere understanding. "I remember what it was like during our war with Sauron. I hardly saw my father during those days while you have made every effort to spend time with me despite the circumstances. I am grateful for that but you are king, and I understand that I must sometimes give you up to that title."
Eomer let out a heavy sigh and declared, "You do not make what I have to say any easier, my lady."
Lothiriel’s expression became dark with suspicion, "what is it you plan to say?"
Eomer took another deep breath and found that this was harder to do than fighting orcs and Uruk Hai. "I am sending some of my Rohirrim to Ithilien to bolster its defences. They will leave at dawn tomorrow. I have requested that they take you with them. They will be able to escort you to Minas Tirith and from there you should be afforded safe conduct to Dol Amroth."
Lothiriel’s eyes showed her hurt and it was like a knife in Eomer’s heart.
"You are sending me away?" She asked softly, her lips quivering with disappointment as she spoke.
"Only for a time," Eomer replied quickly. "There is a possibility rebel tribes from Dunland may aid an enemy incursion into Rohan. As unlikely as it may be, I would rather you away from Edoras should the violence penetrate this deep into our territory."
"I do not wish to go," Lothiriel stated at him, unable to believe that he would simply send her away like this. "I wish to remain here," she added further though she did not say that it was for him that she wanted to stay in the Golden Hall.y
"Believe me, I wish nothing more than you to stay at my side," Eomer aimed his penetrating gaze at her, "but I would not risk you life by allowing you to remain in Edoras."
Lothiriel turned away from him, trying to compose herself. She was hurt by his intention to send her home. After the last few weeks, she had thought that he understood how she felt for him. Ever since they had met, the King of the Mark had touched her heart deeply, in a manner she would have never believed possibly particularly since the idea of their union was initially forced upon Lothiriel by her father. The weeks they had spent together since her arrival in Edoras convincing Lothiriel that her heart had not led her astray in her regard for him.
"You take the choice away from me," she replied, unable to look at him because he would only see her tears if she did.
"Not because I wish to," Eomer declared, hearing the tremor in her voice. "Your family will need you at home at this time. It is not right that I should keep you here."
"My father has my brothers," Lothiriel faced him again. "He has little need of me except to keep me trapped at home. Here I can be of comfort to you and perhaps help in learning the ways of your house. You need me here Eomer, I know you do."
"I do need you and if we had the time to know each other more, you would see just how much but it is not proper that you remain under my roof. You are daughter of Dol Amroth and there has been no understanding between your father and I about your hand other than my awareness of his desire for a union between us."
Lothiriel stood up and glared at him in anger, "so like him, you would simply decide for me and have me sent away at your convenience?"
For weeks now, they have danced around each other, unable to deny this powerful attraction they had felt for each other. Following the events at the failed treaty in Minas Tirith, Lothiriel had confessed to Eomer that she was terrified for his life during those dark hours when he and the rest of the ruling council were lost to themselves. In that dire hour, she realised how she felt and it was that understanding of her emotions that saw her return with him to Edoras. However, the intensity of their growing affection for one another was a thing unspoken at this time. Why could he simply not admit how he felt? If he wanted to marry her, all he had to do was say. She had long since overcome the hurdle that their relationship was forced because her father had placed them together to begin with.
"You know that is not how it is," Eomer defended himself against the accusation. However, he could not deny that she had good reason to be upset. "As remote as the possibility is that the Dunlendings may attack Edoras, I cannot risk your life. You should return to your father’s house. I thought you would like to go home."
"Oh you fool!" She snapped in exasperation. "Do you not understand any single thing? I love you, you simpleton! Do you think that my desire to remain here is because I have an overt liking to the smell of horses?"
Eomer stared at her, rather astonished that she had said it out loud. "One gets accustomed to the smell of horses after a time," he muttered foolishly, mostly because he could think of nothing else to say even though the most obvious statement was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.
"Did you hear me?" Lothiriel demanded, wondering if she had made a dreadful mistake in revealing her heart to soon.
"You really wish to remain?" He asked somewhat dazed.
"I wish to remain at your side," Lothiriel, starting to understand his hesitation more than he possibly knew. He was afraid. He was afraid of admitting how he felt. Knowing that, made Lothiriel’s course clearer.
Eomer wished Eowyn were here. If his sister were here, she would tell him what he should say instead of his standing here like a tongue tied boy after Lothiriel had made such a personal declaration. His experience with women of her pedigree was limited even though he was not unknown to women. The business of courtship was something he had never learnt because his youth was spent fighting Orcs and preparing to ride in the company of the Rohirrim. At twenty-two he had become the Third Marshal of Riddermark and any dalliance with the opposite sex following that was fleeting. He know how he felt about her but he could not bring himself to say it because it would mean exposing too much of his heart. Eomer, who had spent too much time alone in his life, was not ready for such a thing.
Still, in the light of her revelation, he knew he could not send her back to her father.
"It could be dangerous," he replied.
"I know," she nodded and kissed him gently, an action that only made him even more unbalanced. Whether or not he knew it, Lothiriel somewhat enjoyed seeing him that way.
"I will send word to your father," Eomer responded.
"That I am staying here?" She asked.
"Yes," he nodded, uncertain at how he had been manoeuvred into this position when he had intended to send her away.
"Are you alright?" Lothiriel stared at him.
"Yes," he swallowed thickly and then blinked to clear his thoughts. He needed to tell her how he felt, he could not simply let her say what she had and not answer in return. Eomer was not so callous to do that and in truth, it needed to be said.
"You know that I feel the same as you, that I, well you know, I feel as much…" he started to ramble.
She placed her finger upon his lips and silenced him. "You do not have to say anything," she stared into his eyes. "I love you King of the Mark with all my heart. I do not wish to marry you tomorrow for there is too much happening at the moment for that. However, I would like to remain here and be what help to you I can. If by my presence alone, I can soothe your worries, please allow me the chance to do so. At home, I will be able to contribute nothing to the danger that is around us, but if I can help the people of Edoras by being at your side, then I beseech you to let me stay."
"You presence helps me and perhaps it is best that you remain here now that we have spoken our minds," Eomer answered; unable to believe how differently this encounter had turned out from how he originally thought.
"If we are to have any future together," Lothiriel said firmly, "I must remain at your side to aid in our present."
"You father will be thrilled," Eomer retorted.
*************
It was already afternoon and Legolas Greenleaf knew that he was being rather decadent since he and his lady had yet to emerge from their bed chamber. Gazing out the window, the Lord of Eden Ardhon saw that morning was almost over as Laurelin’s fruit reached the climax of its journey across the sky. Beyond the walls of their chambers, he could hear the sound of elves going about their business as they continued the business of establishing the colony in South Ithilien. The place where Legolas had built their home stood upon a gentle hill that gave them a scenic view of the River Poros as well as the well as the forest that surrounded Eden Ardhon.
While it appeared that Middle-Earth was poised upon the knife’s edge of war, for the moment the conflict seemed very far away as Legolas and Melia enjoyed a lazy morning together. These days there was so much work to be done, what with the great hall that Legolas had commissioned Gimli to build as gathering place for the community and the continued work on the colony itself. There seemed hardly any time left over for them. However, Legolas who was always burdened with the knowledge that his life with Melia was finite, ensured that there were occasions when they simply had to make the time for each other even if it was meant taking a morning for themselves.
Legolas watched Melia sleep, basking in the loveliness of her as she dreamed about wonderful things, he hoped. If circumstance allowed it, he would spend every waking moment with her and forget the world outside completely because someday she would be gone and he would be alone. Legolas had accepted the tragedy of this when he gave his heart to Melia. Yet when he watched her like this and remembered that someday, the space she filled so warmly beside him would be empty, he could not help wanting to cherish every second with her.
In the end, the memories would be all he had left of her.
Melia was lying in the sheets next to him; oblivious to his ruminations. Legolas felt the familiar tingle of arousal as he took in the sight of her body, separated from his touch by a thin layer of silk. She was lying on her stomach, dark hair covering most of her face when Legolas nuzzled closer to her as another wave of desire took control of his baser desires. Legolas brushed aside her tousled dark hair, seeking through the strands of jet for the soft skin of her neck.
She pushed up against him in her sleep, not at all minding his weight on top of her as she slumbered. Letting out a pleasured sigh when Legolas found her neck, the elf smiled as he lowered his mouth and started teasing her skin her by tracing circles against it. She was still asleep but he could feel her body responding immediately to the gentle nips along the length of her neck before he sucked insistently in the curve where it met her shoulder.
She opened her eyes and met his with a gleam of mischief, sensing his intent and more than willing to submit to his tender caresses. Legolas raised his head and they smiled at each other like playful children before he lowered his lips to hers and captured her mouth in a kiss that was not at all innocent. As the intensity of it grew into fiery passion, they made love like lovers who had found each other after a long fast. Their passion was a tender thing of taste and touch, of scent and soft cries of pleasure. They knew each other well and they knew what each other liked. Their bodies moved together in perfect unison, much like their souls and when they could pleasure each other no more, both descended the cloud of sensation together.
When their physical thirst for one another was quenched, they lay in each other’s arm, savouring the pleasure of feeling each other’s heart beating against them. It was a moment of perfection, one Legolas would carry with him for the rest of his days and Melia, until the day she left him forever.
"We are being terribly decadent," Melia smiled, still glowing from their earlier passion.
"I know," Legolas answered, not at all repentant as he idled with a strand of her dark hair. "However, there is some advantage to being Lord of Eden Ardhon."
"I thought that meant you should lead by example," Melia stared at him with an arched brow.
"That would be true except that I am burdened with a wife who has an insatiable appetite for me," Legolas grinned.
"Insatiable?" Melia exclaimed at him in mock outrage. "I think you flatter yourself Prince."
"I do not need to flatter myself," he replied enjoying her reaction immensely. "It is clear to everyone that you hunger for me constantly. If only you knew how pitied I am among elves."
"Pitied!" Melia snatched her pillow from under her and swatted him with it. Legolas wrapped his arms around her waist before they wrestled briefly in a moment of complete foolishness that ended them with each of them laughing like children.
However, the moment was indeed brief for a sharp knock to the door of their chambers interrupted their play abruptly.
"Who is it?" Legolas asked, rather annoyed that they were being interrupted but realising a second later that no one would intrude upon them in this manner without good reason.
"It is Miriel my Lord," the familiar voice of the elven woman who had left Lorien to join the colony. "Forgive me for intruding upon you but Nunaur has returned and he brings grave news."
Legolas and Melia met each other’s gaze briefly and realised that their afternoon together was over. It was time to return to the world and all its troubles.
************
When Legolas and Melia arrived in the middle of the square that passed for the centre of Eden Ardhon, Gimli was already present. The dwarf had sent the elves to the town of Lebethron to collect the lumber needed for the great hall he was building. Nunaur and a handful of elves had set out a number of days ago and were not expected back so quickly since they would be making the return journey with wagons of lumber. That Nunuar and the others had returned home so swiftly engendered feelings of dread within the elven lord of Eden Ardhon.
"Nunaur, what has happened?" Legolas asked sternly, impatient to hear this grave news he had brought with their return.
The march warden whose attention was divided between his lord and one of the other elves who was cradling something wrapped in his cloak, did not answer immediately. Only when the elf Aloin stepped forward, carrying his precious cargo did Legolas understand the reason for Nunaur’s distraction.
"Sweet Eru," Legolas whispered as Aloin revealed the young girl wrapped in his cloak.
She was but seven years old if that, with a face smudged with dirt and with what every elf present was certain was blood. The child was trembling hard but it had nothing to do with cold. Her eyes were glazed and though she appeared to be staring, it was clear that she saw nothing.
"What happened to her?" Melia stepped forward immediately and bid Aloin to hand her the child. Sensing a feminine presence despite her catatonia, the child wrapped her arms around Melia and held fast, inspired by vague memories of the mother she had watched die not long ago.
"We found her," Nunaur turned his attention to Legolas finally, swallowing hard the bile that was rising from the pit of his stomach as he remembered what he had seen in that village, "in what remains of Lebethron."
"What remains?" Gimli exclaimed having travelled there for lumber when he was in the midst of constructing the gates for Aragorn’s city. It was a pleasant place he had always intended to visit again. "It is destroyed?"
"It is more than destroyed," Nunaur answered bitterly. "Someone had murdered every living thing in that village. We found the bodies of men, women and children, slaughtered. It was butchery! This child is all that is left of Lebethron. We searched everywhere and not one was left alive save this child. There were children run through my lord, children! The women were violated before their deaths and the men were strung up like carcasses!"
"Did she see all of this?" Melia asked in horror as she looked at the poor waif in her embrace. The child had curled her arms around the former Ranger’s neck, resting her head against Melia’s breast as if needing to feel the warm that only a woman could provide.
"I believe so," Alion nodded. "However, we cannot be certain."
"Why not?" Legolas looked at the child and felt his heartache for the horror she must have bore witness to. For a child that young, such trauma could cause permanent injury to her mind.
"She has not spoken a word since we found her," Nunaur explained. "She had climbed into the hollow of a tree and hidden there for most of the attack. She was still there when we arrived. If it were not for our elven hearing, it is likely we would not have found her at all."
"You’re safe now little one," Melia cooed softly in the girl’s ear, though she doubted the child could register a great deal in light of her ordeal. "We will let nothing harm you."
"My lord, there were mumakil tracks all around the village," Nunaur explained. "It was an Easterling attack."
"Why Lebethron of all places?" Gimli asked, still unable to believe that an entire town could be wiped away so callously. "They were fisherman and tree farmers! It held nothing of value except lumber and the Easterlings could not be so hungry for that it was necessary to murder so many innocents?"
"Are you certain that it was the Easterlings?" Legolas asked once more. "Perhaps it was Orcs or Uruk Hai. Easterlings do attack with such brutality but they seldom take the lives of women and children. Women are valuable to them as commodities and children are incapable of offering any sort of threat."
"It was the Easterlings," Nunaur stated with more certainty that Legolas liked. "Every building was trampled into the dirt by mumakils. The beasts charged the village and ran down anyone in their path. Spears and arrows impaled those villagers who were not killed in the stampede. The design of the weapons we recovered are clearly of Easterling origin. There can be no doubt of it. They did not even remain long enough to take anything of value."
Legolas had a good idea what the destruction of Lebethron was meant to signify though it disgusted him to admit it.
"We must get word to Gondor that they have finally begun their campaign," Legolas said grimly, dreading to think how Aragorn would take the news of the slaughter. "Clearly this was a message of some sort since I can see no other reason why they would launch an attack on a village with so little importance strategically."
Nunaur and Alion exchanged a look which Legolas caught almost immediately. "What is it?"
Nunaur’s gaze dropped and Legolas saw the rush of blood to the elf’s face that indicated the extent of his outrage. From within his cloak, he produced a rolled parchment and handed it to Legolas who took it gingerly.
"You are correct of it being a message but it is not a message to Gondor," Nunaur answered after a moment. "We found this pinned to one of the bodies that were strung up."
Legolas unrolled the parchment and read the words scrawled in blood across the paper. His jaw tensed and Melia saw the heat of a thousand suns burning in his eyes as he read its contents. His knuckles became white as he clutched the paper and she knew that it was quite possible that she had never seen him so angry before. When he lowered the parchment a moment later, Melia saw his hands were shaking with fury.
"What does it say?" She was almost afraid to ask.
"Nunaur speaks the truth, it is not a message for Gondor," Legolas met her gaze and that of Gimli’s in quick succession. "It is a message for us, specifically for me."
"And?" Gimli demanded, unable to stand the suspense when his friend appeared ready to scream in rage.
"It says," Legolas spoke with a voice of stone, "do not meddle in the affairs of men lest the we wish the fate of Lebethron to be the fate of Eden Ardhon."
When Legolas and Gimli reached Lebethron, little had occurred to alter Nunaur’s description of tragedy at what had befallen the village.
Indeed, Nunaur’s description of the terrible destruction wrought upon Lebethron seemed to pale in comparison with the reality that they were forced to witness as they rode into the town. Even as they neared the outskirts of the Lebethron, party of travellers could smell the stench of bodies that covered the land like uncovered graves. Once they entered Lebethron, the stench of bodies had given way to the overwhelming silence whose potency was almost as acute as the former. It was not to say that there was no sound at all, for they could still hear the noises of the forest from which Lebethron had relied upon for much of its commerce. Birds and insects chirped in complete obliviousness to the dark events through the rustling leaves of trees that would not know another harvest for many years.
The horses as they took the path into the village reared their heads in protest as the scent of the dead made them instinctually wary of venturing further. The elves soothed their steeds’ anxiety but could do little to suppress their own horror as they saw for themselves the extent of the destruction. Nunaur’s description of butchery was not exaggerated. The elves, which had lived long and had seen much of ugliness in both human and other races, were moved to shock at what they were confronted with as they entered the village.
Gimli had travelled to Lebethron once before and he remembered the village as being a warm place, peopled with folk that were hard working, honest and kind. They had been so proud that the lumber for which they were so noted would be used in the fortifications for the White City. Gimli remembered sharing draught with one of the village elders, a carpenter named Selywn, an agreeable man whom Gimli had looked forward to meeting again. As his eyes swept over the dead bodies, some trampled beyond recognition, Gimli knew that it was highly likely that one of them belonged to Selwyn. Gimli forced the thought away because he knew it would only unleash the full vent of his sorrow and he had no wish to appear so vulnerable in the company of elves, even if one was a trusted friend.
Still, it was difficult to remain untouched by what they were seeing before them. There was no way that they could compare what they were seeing with any previous acts of aggression by the enemy. During the War of the Ring, the Southrons and the Easterlings had attacked Gondor with a vengeance, spurred on by Sauron’s powers and the promise that Isildur’s Bane would make them invincible. Villages were attacked with savagery but none had been subjected to the brutality that was inflicted upon Lebethron on this occasion. Women and children were left alive, brutalised no doubt, but not murdered in wholesale slaughter. The Easterlings had wanted their enemies to fear them and such fear was best conveyed in the frightened tales of survivors. However, such was not the case here.
Buildings that were once homes, community gathering places such as inns and meeting halls, lay on the ground, mounds of broken wood crushed underfoot by the fearsome mumakils ridden by the enemy. It was as if the whole of Lebethron was flattened under the weight of a giant hand, smashing them into the dirt. Fences of stone and wood added themselves to the piles of debris scattered throughout the village. Gardens were trampled into mud, shrubs and bushes crushed into the earth. Flower petals sprayed across the destroyed gardens and anything of beauty that might have captured the eye was ruined for the purpose of the lesson the enemy was attempting to teach them.
Yet none of this was as disturbing as the bodies.
Legolas and Gimli who had travelled through Moria and seen the death of Moria’s dwarf population, tried not to be affected by the carnage but it was impossible. Among the dead were children, their throats cut open in a clean, slash across their necks. Their clothes were soiled with blood and despite the violence of their ending, their faces looked innocent,as innocent as the face of a murdered child could be. It did not matter that some were infants or barely able to walk, their lives were taken just the same. Once finished with, they were left to die, their blood soaking into the dusty ground.
The women were killed in similar fashion, the ones who were not raped first. Legolas’ jaw tightened when he saw that many of the women were unclothed and the terrible marks on their body left no doubt as to their fates. A surge of fury rose up within him because to an elf, there was no greater crime than this brutal violation of the body. If such things could be measured, the crime was held in worse regard than even that of murder. Elves did not look kindly upon those who engaged such barbaric acts and even more so if it were one of their own that committed it.
The men were killed outright. If there was any consolation to be had, they were spared the ordeal of their women. However, in death, their bodies had been no less violated. Nunaur was right; some of the bodies were strung up in a stomach turning display of savagery. Like meat hanging in a butcher’s shop, a dozen or so men were suspended from a large tree in the centre of the village. Carrion birds were beginning to feed upon them and scene was so grisly that Legolas was certain he heard someone in their party, retch in disgust. It was clear that they had been killed before they were hung in such a manner and once again, Legolas was struck by the memory that this was a warning to him, not to allow the elves to become involved in the conflict that would soon plunge Middle earth into war.
"Cut them down," Legolas said to no one in particular when he finally turned away, unable to look any more.
Nunaur who had insisted on returning with his lord once he had rested, stepped forward grimly, glad that he was finally able to do what he had wished to when they had first come upon Lebethron. He had wanted to give the poor unfortunates a proper burial but without any knowledge of whether or not the enemy would return and with the discovery of the child, the march warden had felt it best that they depart immediately, leaving Lebethron’s folk in the manner he had discovered them. This has preyed heavily upon the mind of Eden Ardhon’s march warden and though Legolas had asked him to remain home, the elf had beseeched his lord to allow him to accompany Legolas on this journey.
"They deserve death for this!" Gimli exploded, unable to rein in his fury much longer.
"They deserve that and more," Legolas nodded in agreement. He was glad that Melia had chosen to remain for he did not know how she would take seeing the full extent of her people’s savagery. It was one thing to hear of it but to see it in such gruesome detail was something else entirely and he wished her spared of the ordeal.
"What do you plan to do?" Gimli asked as Nunaur and those under his command undertook the task Legolas had set them.
"I do not know," Legolas answered truthfully. The question Gimli was asking was one he had been debating with since they had set out from Eden Ardhon. He wished Aragorn were here because he needed the counsel of the king before he could make this decision. Prior to leaving Eden Ardhon, he had sent word to Ithilien, aware that Aragorn would already have left Gondor bound for Ithilien. They had mistakenly believed that the first attack upon the lands of the Westernesse would take place at Ithilien. Certainly, Lebethron had never even crossed their minds as a possible target of the Easterlings first strike.
"They did this to warn you!" Gimli retorted, his fury spurring him to speak with heated emotions. "You cannot simply do nothing!"
Legolas turned around sharply and stared at Gimli, "do you think I wish to remain behind while my friends go to war? I would ride by Aragorn, Faramir and Eomer into fire if I were given the choice, but Aragorn himself told me this was a matter for men, not elves! He believes that I would imperil Eden Ardhon unnecessarily if the elves were to cast our lot with men. Already, there are many tribes of Easterling and Southrons gathered against the Reunified Kingdom but some linger, unwilling to engage in another war. If those nations, for one moment, thought the elves would fight for Gondor, there is no telling how they would react to such news. Those who may not wish to fight might be incited to by their hatred of us!"
"They would not dare attack you!" Gimli returned just as sharply.
"Why would they not?" Legolas countered. "Our presence in Middle earth is nowhere what it used to be. Even though Eryn Lasgalen, Imladris and East Lorien are still occupied, it is no secret that our numbers are dwindling. If we were to involve ourselves in this conflict, it might worsen the situation."
"Or it might end it decisively," the dwarf retaliated with just as much passion. "Aragorn worries that Eden Ardhon lies too far beyond Gondor and Ithilien’s reach to protect your city should you become embroiled in the war but while you fear that the Easterlings may gain more support for their campaign by the involvement of the elves, has it not occurred to you that they might also be deterred by it?"
"It is not that simple," Legolas took a deep breath and released it as he gazed upon the dwarf. No one this earth could vex him as much as the son of Gloin. Legolas was certain that half the reason he loved Melia so much was because her gruff, practical manner reminded her a little of the dwarf, certainly they both delighted in driving him mad.
"My father has no wish to embroil himself in the affairs of men," Legolas confessed. "He would not help even if he were asked."
At their last meeting, Thranduil had spoken most empathically on how he felt about the notion of war and involving himself in Gondor’s politics. Prior to the treaty ceremony that should have sealed the alliance of the Reunified Kingdom and the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas had invited Thranduil to come to Minas Tirith to participate. The King of Mirkwood had said quite firmly that he had no desire to deal with the politics of men and wished only to be left alone. While Celeborn had not been quite so lacking in diplomacy, the lord of East Lorien had echoed the same sentiments and while Legolas had no doubt that Elladan and Elrohir would pledge Imladris’ support behind Aragorn if required, Imladris was a long way from the front lines.
"He is your father," Gimli pointed out. "If you were in danger, there is no doubt in my mind he would aid you."
"I know that as well," Legolas retorted, having already thought of this argument long before Gimli had made mention it. "So do I ignore the words of Aragorn and force Eden Ardhon’s support upon the king, possibly inciting the neutral Easterling tribes into action, placing Eden Ardhon into peril and thus giving no choice but to force the other elven nations to end their neutrality or do I follow Aragorn’s advice and let them sort it out for themselves, as they should?"
Gimli frowned unhappily, seeing why Legolas was so conflicted and not envying the decision the elf was required to make. "I see your point."
"Thank you," Legolas replied even though he knew that doubts remained still in Gimli’s mind for it certainly remained in his own. "While we wait for Aragorn to arrive, we will do the only thing that is left to be done for Lebethron and that is to give its folk a proper burial."
Gimli could not disagree with Legolas’ suggestion despite his wish to exact a more telling course of action, particularly upon the Easterlings who had undertaken this cruel revenge upon the people of Lebethron. Gimli thought of Selwyn, his family and the community that the carpenter had lived all his life and knew that for him, neutrality was a foul word. If he could inspire his brethren to rise up against the Easterlings, he would do so gladly but he knew dwarfs even better than elves. Gimli could venture a guess at their answer if he should attempt anything as ill advised as putting forward a request for the dwarfs to assist the men of Gondor in their battles. How could he rebuke the elves for choosing to remain unaligned in this matter when the dwarf community was no better?
"It is a good thing that your lady chose to remain at Eden Ardhon," Gimli replied, deciding that the best course of action was to change the subject.
"Yes," Legolas nodded with complete agreement. "I think she feels rather responsible because she is an Easterling herself."
"A foolish notion," Gimli muttered as he and Legolas moved deeper into the ruined village. "She has not been an Easterling for many years."
"It does not change the fact that many will still see her as one. She was no better received when we first arrived at East Lorien together. Being my wife does not change the fact that she is from a race Middle earth now consider an enemy."
Legolas was actually rather grateful that Melia had chosen to remain at home to tend to the young child who was the only survivor of this massacre. He did not wish to tell her that her presence might create further complications if they were to encounter the Easterlings who carried out this atrocity. Sauron had bred the races under his command with a natural disdain for the elves, Legolas could not even begin to imagine what they would think of a woman of their own blood, who had not only rejected their ways but had also taken an Eldar as husband. The outrage of it, especially to an Easterling, would be extreme and Legolas was relieved that Melia was at home, beyond harm’s reach.
"I think you underestimate your reputation," Gimli retorted. "You are beloved even among men, I doubt that anyone would see Melia as less when you have chosen her as your wife."
"As much as I regard them, the hearts of men are easily swayed by fear and this are fearful times. I believe the safest place for Melia is at home," Legolas answered.
"Perhaps you are right," Gimli could not disagree with the elf’s desire for his lady’s safety. Gimli himself was rather grateful that his own wife, Lorin, preferred to remain at their home in Aglarond far away from the business of war. "However, it is my experience that the lady does not need protecting. If anything, she is quite capable of looking after herself."
Legolas turned to Gimli and remarked, "in my experience, no one is completely invulnerable, particularly those who think they can look after themselves."
Gimli did not know how to answer and decided that perhaps silence was best for now. With the grisly work ahead of them, it was rather appropriate.
************
When the news reached him from Eden Ardhon, Aragorn did not know if he was more furious at the Easterlings or himself for not being able to guess where they would strike first in this war. All this time, they had been certain that Ithilien would be the first place the enemy would chose to launch their campaign against the Reunified Kingdom, Lebethron was never ever considered. Why should it? The King of Gondor asked himself as he and Faramir rode to Lebethron soon after Legolas’ message had been delivered.
Lebethron had no value as a military target. They had anticipated the Easterling army would take the Harad Road with the Mountains of Shadow flanking their journey northward. It was for this reason that Aragorn had asked for Legolas’ neutrality in the conflict. The king knew that Eden Ardhon would be within reach of any Easterling army choosing to journey this path towards the territories of the Reunified Kingdom and if Legolas threw his support behind Gondor, there was no reason why the enemy would not strike in retaliation. While the enemy would prefer to avoid an elven interest in what was largely a human war, Aragorn could not be certain that their spite would be restrained by reason.
Despite the destruction of Lebethron, there was a much larger issue that had raised considerable concern throughout the ranks of the Gondorian and Ithilien army and that was the realisation that the enemy was not where they thought they would be. It appeared that the Confederacy had not travelled up the Harad Road and since they could not possibly have a fleet large enough to mount a naval invasion after Pelargir, Aragorn concluded that they only way they could advance was through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. The thought that they might use the mountains as their crossing left Aragorn deeply unsettled for there were too many places where the enemy might enter the territory of the Reunified Kingdom unseen.
Upon learning of the attack upon Lebethron, Aragorn had sent word to all his Rangers to keep watch for the mountains because if the Easterlings were capable of wreaking such destruction upon the village without anyone suspecting their arrival, then no one was safe. Aragorn was deeply concerned that their intelligence was unable to determine exactly which path the enemy was taking to reach the western lands. The king suspected that the army he had amassed at Ithilien was now awaiting a battle that would take elsewhere and that concerned the king greatly.
With the exception of Eden Ardhon and Emyn Arnen at Ithilien, there were no great cities flanking the mountains of Ephel Dúath, which lead to the conclusion that the Easterlings may be intending to attack villages in a bid for territory and supplies, as it had done to Lebethron. The thought of the enemy besieging folk who had know ability to wage war against an army of that measure of brutality, filled the king with anger and made him more determined to find the enemy at all costs.
"You think I should have remained in Ithilien," Aragorn remarked as he and Faramir journeyed to Lebethron.
"I do," Faramir glanced briefly at his king before his eyes faced the road once again. "However, I understand your desire to go."
Faramir had wanted Aragorn to remain in Ithilien because the news of Lebethron’s destruction indicated that they were at a disadvantage at not knowing the whereabouts of the Easterling army. It would be unwise for the king to be unprotected at such a time. However, nothing that Faramir could say would deter the king from his intended course. In the end, the Prince of Ithilien had to be satisfied with Aragorn making the journey dressed in the fashion he had when he was still the Dunedain. In fact, both men discarded their clothes for the garb they had worn when they were both still Rangers. The effect once they were ready, was more than capable of promoting the illusion that they were simple travellers and not the two most important men in the Reunified Kingdom.
Despite his disagreement with Aragorn making the journey, he could appreciate why the king would want to go personally to Lebethron. Faramir felt the same outrage and the Prince could not begin to imagine what was in the king’s mind as they took the road to their rendezvous with Legolas and Gimli.
"I must see Legolas," Aragorn declared surprising Faramir with his answer a little.
"Why?" Faramir stared at him.
"I know him," Aragorn frowned as he thought of the message he had received from the Lord of Eden Ardhon. "What happened at Lebethron will only enflame his desire to put the weight of Eden Ardhon behind our cause. Legolas is not one to succumb to coercion and though the Easterlings may be foolish enough to assume that the massacre at Lebethron would serve to deter Eden Ardhon’s involvement, I can tell you now that it will not. If anything, it would provoke Legolas’ self righteous fury into doing the exact opposite of what they intend."
He was right, Faramir realised. Although he did not know Legolas as long as Aragorn, he had come to know the elf well since the War of the Ring and their subsequent establishment as masters of Ithilien. After Legolas had began building his colony in Eden Ardhon, Faramir had often visited the fledgling community to see how the elves fared in the southern provinces of Ithilien and counted the elf as one of his dearest friends. Faramir often thought that he and Legolas were a great deal alike in their disposition, bound by loyalty and friendship to the king, perfectly willing to ride at his side into any calamity but also willing to take charge when the situation required.
Faramir was perfectly aware of the stubborn streak possessed by the elf after numerous adventures together. Legolas would not take too kindly to coercion and Faramir began to understand that Aragorn’s fierce desire to reach Lebethron was not because he wanted to see for himself the carnage that had taken place, but to ensure that Legolas did not do anything that would irrevocably commit his people to war.
"He does not know where they are," Faramir remarked, trying to assuage Aragorn’s anxiety.
Unfortunately the king would hear none of it and retorted promptly, "let me tell you something about elves, Faramir. If you should ever become the obsession of one, there is no place on this earth you could hide where he would not find you. For Legolas, this is equally so. He has spent that the last three millennia hunting and killing every dark thing that lived in Mirkwood as a pastime. When I first met him, he was hunting spiders for the lack of anything better to do, Trust me, if he sets his mind to finding the Easterlings who committed the massacre of Lebethron, I do not doubt he will find them."
For a long moment, Faramir did not speak as they rode through the wooded track towards Lebethron. The sun had disappeared past the mountains of Ephel Dúath and the blanket of night made them seem sinister instead of benign. When Sauron still ruled, the mountains felt like an extension of the dark lord’s evil that seemed to creep towards Gondor and the other kingdoms of Middle earth. Even now, long after Sauron’s presence was driven from the world completely, they still appeared like dark behemoths, inching closer to stake a claim on what their master was unable to conquer.
"Perhaps we should let Legolas find them Aragorn," Faramir spoke finally, unleashing the thoughts that had been building up inside his head during the long pause.
"What do you mean?" Aragorn stared at the Prince.
"If the destruction of Lebethron is as terribly as we fear, with every man, woman and child brutally murdered, why should we kerb Legolas’ outrage? My own is no less than his and I share his disgust at what has happened. Those people deserve justice," Faramir retorted. "If Legolas is capable of tracking those who were responsible for the murder of those innocents, should we stop him?"
Aragorn drew in a deep breath and turned his gaze away from Faramir as he sought the words to answer. It was a good minute before he was able to respond.
"Faramir, I am no less angry at what has happened to Lebethron then you or Legolas," Aragorn declared meeting Faramir’s gaze as he began speaking, "you are right, the folk whose lives were taken so unjustly should be avenged and if it were my choice, I would hunt them down by Legolas side and make every last one of them pay for each life that was taken but I cannot. I cannot make such a choice because I am king and as king, my thoughts cannot simply be about vengeance or justice, it must be about the kingdom."
"I know," Faramir replied, having heard the argument before, though not as passionately stated.
However, Aragorn was far from finished with his declaration and continued to speak, his voice showing how deeply he was affected by what had happened and how difficult it was to do nothing when so many had lost their lives.
"As much as I would have Legolas as my ally in this war, Eden Ardhon sits too far away from Gondor or Ithilien to be defended with any kind of effectiveness. It is vulnerable to attack by the Haradrim and from any number of Easterling tribes. He is my friend and I love him dearly but he is not Elrond who was capable of protecting Imladris from Sauron using the power of the Ford of Bruinen. Everything we fear about the elves would only take place if Eden Ardhon were destroyed and I cherish Legolas and his colony too much to gamble with its existence in such a manner."
It was true, Faramir admitted begrudgingly. The elves would either become involved in the war or be incited into leaving Middle earth forever if Eden Ardhon were destroyed. With the enemy keeping its movements through their territory a secret, it was difficult to deploy their own armies with any certainty and until that changed, Faramir could understand Aragorn’s need for caution.
"You are right of course," Faramir shrugged in reluctant agreement. "However, I for one would like to see them pay for what they did."
"They will," Aragorn returned with a voice so cold that it send shudders through Faramir’s skin. "They will pay for it when we meet in battle. I thought to make peace with them but the destruction of Lebethron has hardened my heart. If it is war they want, it is war they will have."
***********
For Melia, the destruction of Lebethron was embodied in its entirety in the face of the young child she had taken into her home.
The child had become Melia’s responsibility since her arrival in Eden Ardhon and the former Ranger took on the role of surrogate mother like a she-wolf protecting her young cub. It was difficult not to feel disposed in such a manner towards the child when Melia had only to look upon the despairing face of the little girl to feel this relentless need to protect her. As it was, the lady of Eden Ardhon was wholly outraged by Lebethron’s fate and worse yet, by what the child must have surely witnessed. There was no doubt in Melia’s mind that the girl had seen the attack in all its savagery. There could be no other explanation as to why she had retreated so completely into a well of grief.
For the first day, the child would do nothing but cling to her. Even when she set the child down from her arms, the girl gripped her hand and followed her almost everywhere. However, what was most disconcerting was her silence. She did not speak and had no wish to despite Melia’s best efforts to coax a name from her. In the end, the Ranger decided that the child would speak when she was ready and she was clearly not ready as of yet.
The elves however, were fascinated by the child and showed her kindness but the girl was still too afraid to know what to make of them. They understood that she had suffered a terrible ordeal and thus kept their distance though for many of them, seeing a child was a rare experience. There were no children at Eden Ardhon mostly because elves preferred to parent early on in their lives and most had already done so prior to arriving at the colony. Melia and Legolas had never truly spoken about children even though Melia knew she wanted to be a mother some day. The girl’s presence in her life seemed to convince Melia that she would be a good mother. She knew elves could control when they conceived a child and was rather comforted by the fact that a child born to Legolas and her could make the choice of living a mortal or an immortal life.
Melia made up her mind to speak to Legolas about this when he returned home from Lebethron. While she remained cloistered away with duties of her own as the Lady of Eden Ardhon, Melia could not deny wishing that she were able to join him. More and more, she felt the threat of war pulling at the part of her that was once a Ranger and the need to do something more than being the good wife at home seemed sometimes overwhelming.
During the War of the Ring, she had aided in some of the battles that had been wrought throughout Middle earth, particularly in Angmar where she had aided the Dunedain and the local militia in driving out Sauron’s forces. While not in the thick of the greater battles of the war, Melia had nonetheless been blooded. It was her service during the war that had led to her becoming one of the new Rangers that Aragorn wished to roam the wilds as he one had, gathering intelligence on the state of his kingdom and the lands surrounding it.
She was a Ranger and it appeared now more than ever, Rangers were desperately needed. The irony of it was that she was the most qualified to infiltrate the Easterling ranks because she could easily pass for one of them. In her travelling clothes, it was easy to become mistaken for a man since no male of the Haradrim or the Easterling Confederacy would ever think it possibly that a woman was capable of passing herself as a man without their noticing it. Unfortunately, she would never know for certain because her duties as wife of the Lord of Eden Ardhon required her to wage a different kind of battle. Despite Legolas’ decision to heed Aragorn’s plea for Eden Ardhon to maintain its neutrality, Melia felt her loyalties divided. She did not wish any harm to befall her husband’s race but she also felt compelled to defend the people whom she considered her own against the ones who actually were.
How could she feel any differently when she was confronted with what had happened to the little girl whose life was suddenly her responsibility?
Melia pondered these things as she sat in the parlour of the home she and Legolas were building for themselves since their marriage. It was by no means palatial as was befitting a former Prince of Mirkwood but rather comfortable in Melia’s opinion. Eden Ardhon was built beneath the canopy of trees in the great forests of South Ithilien and the elves had established their colony so that it would be a part of the wood not intruders upon it. In keeping with this tradition, the homes built within Eden Ardhon were built with the needs of its individual resident.
The home that Melia and Legolas occupied was the largest in Eden Ardhon mostly because he was its lord. When completed, it would be large enough to entertain royal guests however it would not be so grand that any of the wood would be sacrificed for its construction. Legolas was after all, a woodland elf. He cherished the forests and would do no harm to it. His desire was to build a place not unlike that of Lothlorien. Melia had never seen the city of the Golden Wood but she had heard the stories of the realm occupied once by lord Celeborn and the legendary Lady Galadriel. She knew that if Eden Ardhon could achieve even the least bit of resemblance to Lothlorien then it would be a blessing indeed.
Melia sat at the table with her crossbow, her hands moving deftly over the smooth wood end to ensure the weapon was in good working order. She kept a vigil in maintaining it even though she did not use it as often as she would like. During her time as a Ranger of Angmar, the weapon had been her constant ally as was her horse Lomelindi. The mare spent most of her time grazing these days although Melia rode it often enough, she sometimes craved for the wilds that had been her home for so many years. Melia made herself a promise to ask of the King and Lord Faramir, how they dealt with such feelings. After all, they were once Rangers themselves. If any being could feel empathy with her situation, it was those two men.
Melia was so deep in thought that upon looking up, she saw the girl staring at her with wide-eyed terror. In particular, the crossbow that Melia was tending to with such reverence. Her gaze shifted swiftly from the weapon to Melia in a heartbeat and the expression of horror on her face melted into disbelief and betrayal. Melia could not fathom the loathing in her eyes and stood up abruptly to approach the child. However, the only survivor of Lebethron had no intention of allowing Melia to touch her and upon seeing the lady’s approach, promptly bolted away like a frightened animal.
For an instant, Melia was at a loss to explain her behaviour until she came to the realisation that what she was been holding in her hand was an Easterling weapon, a weapon the child would no doubt have seen slaughter the inhabitants of her village and possibly her parents as well. Melia cursed under her breath at her own foolishness and immediately gave chase. As she hurried down the hall, Melia heard the distant sound of door slamming hard. She followed the fading noise until she arrived at the main door and descended the steps into the walkway beyond the house.
Melia’s eyes scanned the trees and saw no sign of the child. The little girl was small and capable of hiding very well it seemed. The only people Melia could see where the elves going about their daily business with the building of the colony. Miriel and Vienne, two elven ladies from East Lorien were walking towards the river and paused when they caught sight of Melia. Since becoming wife to their lord, Melia had come to know many of the women who resided in Eden Ardhon. While some still regarded her with strained tolerance since she had never been forgiven for the audacity of being human and ensnaring the heart of their prince, they were others like Miriel and Vienne who were willing to accept her because Legolas loved her.
Miriel and Melia had struck something of a friendship during Melia’s first visit to Lorien with Legolas. Though she looked Melia’s age, Miriel was almost two thousand years old and had been one of Galadriel’s attendants. During the brief interlude when the Fellowship had entered Lothlorien following the death of Gandalf the Grey, Miriel had assisted Galadriel in the ceremony where Legolas and the fellowship had been presented with the gifts for their journey. Vienne was a woodland elf. She had lived in the court of Thranduil for most of her life, which was to say, at least a number of centuries. Vienne, who had long red hair like a wave of russet, had journey to Eden Ardhon so that she could remain at the side of her beloved Nunuar.
"My lady, are you looking for the little one?" Miriel asked, venturing a guess that the concern on Melia’s face was due to the scene she and Vienne had witnessed but a moment ago.
"Yes!" Melia nodded, "have you seen her?"
"She was running towards the river," Vienne replied quickly, sensing Melia’s agitation. "What has happened?"
"I am a fool!" Melia exclaimed without hesitation. "I was tending to my crossbow when she saw me."
"That is hardly a grievous sin my lady," Miriel stared at her in puzzlement.
"It is an Easterling weapon," Melia said hurrying towards the river with Miriel and Vienne keeping pace with her. "I cannot imagine what the child must be thinking after seeing her entire village decimated by Easterlings who no doubt carried a weapon very much like my crossbow. She looked at me with such betrayal, as if I had some part in Lebethron’s destruction."
"I am certain that is untrue," Miriel said gently. "She was just startled, that is all."
"I should have known better," Melia declared not about to exonerate her actions. "What was I thinking acting so foolishly?"
"Melia, it is not your fault," Vienne spoke with just as much compassion. "You could not know how she would react."
However, Melia could not be convinced that she had not acted foolishly. They arrive at the waters of the River Porous and swept their gaze over the breathtaking vista. Melia searched the trees and hoped that the child had not done anything so foolish like trying to cross the river. She was so little that the thought of her making such an attempt struck cold fear into Melia’s heart. Fortunately, her elvish companions had far greater senses that she could ever imagine and she felt Miriel tap her on the shoulder and gesture to a large piece of log lying near the banks of the river.
Melia glanced at it in question before catching sight of a sliver of colour from fabric lodged in the hollow of the fallen tree. She gave Miriel a grateful smile and bade the elven ladies to remain where they were as she approached the young girl’s hiding place. Melia considered what she would say to the child and knew that the girl probably felt that Melia had betrayed her trust somewhat. There was only one way that Melia could think of regaining it and that was using the only weapon that could destroy deception in any form, the truth.
"I know you are there," Melia announced herself as she approached the log stealthily and saw that the child was indeed hidden inside its hollows.
The girl did not respond except as to press herself more deeply into her hiding place.
Melia swallowed deeply but knew she had to keep trying to reach her.
"I am an Easterling," Melia confessed first and foremost in her ordeal of truth, "I was born in the same place as the people who hurt your family and your home. I make no excuse for it except to say that I am not like them. I would never hurt innocents the way you and your family were harmed. I came here a long time ago from the east because I wanted another life, one where I could be what I was without having to fear. I know you think that because I carry the same weapon as they do, I am one of them. I do not blame you for being frightened. You have right to be angry and afraid for what they did to you but I am not them and I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to help you."
The child did not speak and Melia’s felt a knife slicing her heart with the silence that followed her impassioned plea. She did not wish to be despised by the little waif she had come to care for since Aloin had folded back his cloak and revealed her to Melia. However, if the child was this afraid of her because of her Easterling origins, Melia would not force the girl to remain with her. If she cared for the child, Melia would have to let her go.
"You do not have to stay with me any more, I understand if you want to be somewhere else. There are any number of elves in Eden Ardhon that would love to have you in their company. This place is like that, we care about each other and if it makes you feel better to be somewhere else, I will see that it happens little one."
"Anna." A soft voice escaped the log into the air.
Melia blinked. "Is that your name?"
The child rose from her hiding place before staring at Melia, eyes filled with tears as she nodded slowly, "papa said he named me after Yavanna, the lady who planted the seed so it could grow into the sun but everyone calls me Anna."
"Anna," Melia smiled warmly, relief swelling her heart at Anna’s first words. "It is a pretty name. My mother named me after a lady as well, only her name was Melian. I guess both our names are borrowed a little."
"I hid when they came," she said dropping her gaze to the dirt at Melia’s feet. "I heard them making the ground shake and I got scared so I hid."
"It probably saved your life," Melia commented, coming closer towards her.
"No," she shook her head. "Papa and mama couldn’t find me. They were looking for me instead of running away. They should have run away!"
Melia swept the girl into her arms as Anna began to weep.
"Hush," she cooed softly in the child’s ear, not needing to hear anymore because it was clear what had taken place without Anna needing to explain. Her parents were probably killed in front of her because they were frantically searching for their missing daughter, thinking nothing of their own safety when their child’s was in doubt. It was what any parent would do and for that, they were killed mercilessly in front of the daughter they had been trying to save.
"You are safe here Anna," Melia whispered softly as she cradled the girl in her embrace. "I promise you, I will let nothing harm you here. In Eden Ardhon, we are safe from the men who hurt your parents. You are safe."
However even as Melia said it, she knew that it was a dangerous promise to make.
*************
He did not know how much longer he could maintain his strength.
The man had been on foot for several days now, moving swiftly over the terrain at such speed that he knew it was more than dangerous. He was no fledgling lost in the wood but a Ranger who patrolled the lands of Lebenin. A chance journey down the River Sirith had led to an unexpected encounter and now he had to reach Eden Ardhon at all costs. He would have made his way towards Minas Tirith but that path was barred to him and to escape with what he knew, he was forced to take another route. He prayed that he had maintained his anonymity, that they had not seen him bear witness to what they intended.
His best hope was to reach the elven colony of Eden Ardhon and enlist the aid of its lord in sending a message to Emyn Arnen, informing the Steward of what he had discovered. The elves had horses and were capable of closing the distance between themselves and Emyn Arnen in enough time to issue the grave intelligence he had unwittingly acquired on the banks of the Sirith River. Even now, he had trouble believing what he had seen even though the truth of it froze his heart within his chest. The Rangers had been anticipating trouble since the declaration of war by the Easterling Confederacy had been made but not even they had realised how swiftly the enemy was capable of mobilizing or how much they truly hated the people of the Reunified Kingdom.
At first, he was uncertain of what he had seen. A flotilla of strange ships bearing no resemblance to anything he had seen before made its way down the Sirith in the dead of night. The Sirith was nowhere as wide or deep as the Anduin so a fleet as the one that had attempted to besiege Pelargir was incapable of journeying its waters. However, the vessels he spied were not ocean going vessels nor where they comprised of numerous decks that would require a deep harbour. If he were forced to describe them, he would call them raft like, using sails and many oarsmen to navigate the waters.
He followed them for most of the night and learnt that they were moving swiftly up river, towards the White Mountains. He was puzzled at their destination for the fiefdoms of Lebenin were small and unimportant and these men did not look like traders. However, when they broke their journey in the light of day and hid themselves until the twilight hours, the Ranger realised that the travellers were Haradrim and there were enough vessels to facilitate an army.
He fled before discovery, armed with intelligence that upon further reflection, told him just how grave the situation was. True, the shield of the White Mountains protected the White City from attack. However, the fiefdom of Lossarnach was plum ripe for the picking. He knew that the attack upon the Reunified Kingdom was anticipated from the eastern shore and that other Rangers were watching the Harad Road. However, the reasoning behind the journey along the Sirith proved that the enemy were also aware of this fact.
Entering the Sirith, the fleet of ships had avoided detection at Pelargir as they continued their journey northward during the twilight hours, careful to remain unseen as they made their way up river. With the attention of Gondor’s forces and its allies fixed upon the Harad Road and the mountains of Ephel Dúath, there was no reason for the enemy to be detected until they reached Lossarnach.
Lossarnach was one of the oldest fiefdoms of Gondor, a land of flowery vale ruled by good King Forlong who had died at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Forlong had left no heirs and since the king had fallen in defence of White City, a steward had been appointed to rule the land in the wake of his death. Lossarnach was a place often visited by the nobles of Gondor as a summer place because of its inherent beauty and had very little in the way of military might. During the War of the Ring, they had only been able to spare two hundred men and when these were lost, had none to replace them. Since many of fiefdoms now looked to Gondor for protection, Lossarnach was virtually defenceless.
An attack upon Lossarnach would be nothing less than devastating for the Reunified Kingdom but of supreme value to the Haradrim should they capture it. From Lossarnach, they could establish a beachhead from which to launch a more savage attack upon Minas Tirith itself or become so entrenched that it would taken all the might of Gondor to dislodge them, might which was needed to defend the rest of the kingdom. It was a cunning plan that hinged upon the secrecy of the Haradrim approach to Lossarnach.
The Ranger had been pushing himself harder than he had ever pushed himself before. Since his discovery, he had been moving across the land at a relentless pace, allowing nothing to stop them. He knew that King Elessar had sent many troops to Ithilien, preparing for the expected attack upon Emyn Arnen. Those forces however, would have to be diverted immediately if Lossarnach was to be saved. He honestly did not know if they had time enough to reach the vale in time.
************
They said the dead could not speak but in the Dead Marshes, the Wainriders who had taken refuge in the fetid marshland swore they could hear the dead warriors of their race whispering in the dark. From the time of Eamil and the Battle of the Camp to the more recent carnage during the war of the Ring, the voices of the dead cried out for vengeance amidst the murky fog and spitting rain. It was as if the souls who had perished were bound to the swampland when they had fallen. For many years, those who had not succumbed to the perils of the marsh believed that the quest for revenge was a pointless exercise, none believed that they could ever possess the power to rise up against the enemy once more.
However, the alliance had changed all this. Not since the attack upon the old kings of Gondor had there been such solidarity amongst them now that they were preparing to launch themselves upon the Reunified Kingdom in battle. The alliance comprised of almost all the races that had been wronged by Gondor in the War of the Ring and even if many of them were factions split from their own nations. It did not matter. United, they were a force to be reckoned.
Even the races of the Black Speech, who dwelt in the caverns of Moria, had been enlisted in their cause and were now were preparing their own offensive with the assistance of the Dunlendings and the Easterling agents who were providing leadership against the Rohirrim. The Haradrim were pushing hard towards Lossarnach while the Easterling had their own orders to hold back and wait. The general in command of all these armies had planned his assault well and had ensured that enough disinformation was carried to the Gondorian king through his Rangers to ensure that the commanders of the Westernesse would be uncertain of where the actual attack would come.
And the Wainriders had their own orders as they were joined by more of their brethren from Rhovanian and had become a sizeable force laying in wait in part of Middle earth that no one thought capable of sustaining life. The Dead Marsh was perhaps the most inhospitable place in Middle earth, save Mordor itself. The Rangers had thought it too desolate for any creature to willingly remain there and had failed to keep a close eye upon the region. It also aided in their anonymity that most believed the Wainriders had perished in the marsh during the War of the Ring.
It was because of this belief the Wainriders were able to make their way south through the mountains of Ephel Dúath. It did not matter if the Rangers caught sight of them because there were other forces already in place, ensuring that when the time came much of Emyn Arnen’s forces would be diverted elsewhere. The strength of Gondor had always been in its allies and the leader of the Easterling Confederacy understood this all too well. The strategy of their campaign was not in meeting Gondor in open confrontation but to cut the strength from under its feet.
Before they brought the Reunified Kingdom to its knees, they would first see to it that King Elessar knew he was very much alone.
**************
His had been one of many faces that marched home to Harad in defeat following the destruction of the Sauron’s Ring and the subsequent vanquishing of the dark lord from the realm of Middle earth for all time. He remembered well the despair felt by the men he had led and those who knew that it was not simply a war that had been lost but their entire way of life. As most of their captains were killed in the war against Gondor, he had been promoted quickly to fill in the command structure that was severely depleted. However, it was clear that the days of warfare for the Haradrim were over. The will to fight had died with Sauron.
Turning inward to their own affairs brought home the stark reality of their situation. So much of their lives were dedicated to war and extorting food supplies from surrounding fiefdoms that were incapable of stopping them because of their military might and fear of the Dark One in Mordor. Now that he was driven away forever and much of the Haradrim’s strength was lying dead on the battlefields of the war, coercion was no longer possible and the food supplies came to a grinding halt. The Haradrim made some effort to take up the industry of large scale farming but such an enterprise would take time and they did not have enough to spare before wide spread starvation became a reality.
Turning to their neighbours, the Haradrim learnt that the Easterlings and Corsairs were faced with similar troubles and it exacerbated their hatred even more when there was talk of unparalleled prosperity in the Reunified Kingdom, the source of all their misery. Even more painful was when the Gondorian King made offer of grain in exchange for a treaty of peace. The Haradrim leader Ulfrain seemed to accept this exchange willingly enough though there were whispers that he had a secret agenda of his own. It was a secret that was not revealed until their most respected general returned home with the body of their king and claimed that Ulfrain had to die because of his alliance with shape shifters.
He did not disagree that Castigliari had done right by killing Ulfrain if he had entered such an alliance for being slave to another dark lord did not appeal to the Haradrim or the Easterlings very much and Ulfrain had gone to Gondor speaking for the Confederacy. What he did take offence with as did the rest of the leaders who heard Castigliari’s speech was the unconditional surrendering of their national pride to Gondor, to accept the aid of King Elessar and enter a treaty with the Reunified Kingdom. Whether or not Castigiliari deserved death was something he had no power to change and the general had gone to his death with honour, head held high as he had always done so when riding into battle.
Ulfrain left no heirs which was one of the reasons why the throne was laid at his feet. Prior to Ulfrain’s death, he was a lesser noble with almost no chance of securing the throne but his links to Ulfrain and Ulfang the Black were undeniable. He was of the royal bloodline. They gave him the throne and were pleased that their choice was not some pampered young prince, but rather a season soldier of the field. Once in place, he knew what had to be done. Since the end of the war and his subsequent return home to find his land facing a new crisis, the solution had always been clear.
War.
If they were to survive, it had to be war. However, he was not so foolish as to repeat the mistakes of the past. To win, they had to move carefully. Elessar’s reclaiming of the Gondorian throne from the line of Stewards had ensured that he had the allegiance of almost every Westernesse fief in Middle earth. Fiefdoms that had remained separate from Gondor suddenly rallied to Minas Tirith with the return of the king. From Dol Amroth, to Lossarnach, he doubted that any king was as beloved as Elessar. With Ithilien and the Rohirrim ready to protect Minas Tirith at any cost, there was also the possibility of an elven involvement since it was well known that Elessar was raised by the elves and had even taken one as his queen.
Thus he took steps to ensure that the elves did not become involve and though it would require more extreme measures then the butchering of one small village, he was confident that when the lesson was inflicted, the elves would withdraw completely from the conflict. The elves often considered themselves above it all, that they were untouchable.
Danallar of Harad had every intention of showing them how wrong they were.
***********
When Anna had finally revealed to Melia as best as could be told by a seven year old the destruction of Lebethron, the lady of Eden Ardhon set her down for a nap. The little girl who had poured out her heart in a most emotionally charged narrative, was more than happy to rest as she had wept almost as much as she had spoken. As Melia feared, Anna had seen the death of her parents under the stampeding charge of the mumakils being ridden by the Easterlings. It disturbed Melia that there was an Easterling army no more than a few days journey away from Eden Ardhon. She supposed that it was fortunate that Legolas had chosen to take the King’s advice to maintain their neutrality until the Easterlings were confident that they had no intention of participating in the conflict and moved on.
Melia left the house with the intention of resuming some of her duties as Lady of Eden Ardhon when she suddenly noticed a commotion involving Aloin and two elves escorting a man into the heart of the colony. As Melia picked up her skirts and hastened her pace to meet them, she saw that the man had a familiar face. He appeared exhausted and a little older from when she last beheld him but it was without doubt the same man.
"Handor?" Melia asked with no small measure of surprise. "Is that you?"
"Melia!" The man looked up and a swell of relief flooded his face at her presence. "I am glad to find you here."
"Find you?" Aloin looked at him dubiously. "My lady, we found this man stumbling about our wood like a lost child and you will afford the Lady Melia, the proper respect due the wife of our Lord." Aloin warned Handor.
Melia tried to stifle a smile as Handor gave Aloin a dark look before turning to Melia, "please Mel…my lady," Handor corrected himself and resumed again, "you know me. I come here at the greatest urgency seeking your assistance."
By now, a small gathering of elves had come to observe the excitement and Melia met Aloin’s gaze.
"Release him. I know this man, his name is Handor and he is a Ranger. We encountered each other in Angmar. I can assure you, he is a man to be trusted."
Aloin’s frown deepened, however he took Melia at her word and gestured to his men to obey her request to release Handor.
"Now what is it that is so important that you would attempt to enter an elven city without invitation?" Melia asked once Handor found himself no longer a prisoner.
"Not more than five days ago, I saw a fleet of ships moving up the River Sirith," Handor wasted no time with the details of what he had seen and got to the meat of it. "They were cautious enough to travel by night and rest by day to avoid being seen. My lady, there was enough of them for an army and they travel the river with such speed that I do not think they were the first. I believe they were bound for Lossarnach."
"Lossarnach?" Melia exclaimed with horror. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Handor nodded. "I remained with them as long as I could, until I could determine their plans but I dared not linger too long for I know what I had learnt was too important to be lost. I am certain that they plan to take Lossarnach."
Melia thought quickly and saw the same realisation crossing the faces of Aloin and the rest of the guards under his command. From Lossarnach, the Haradrim would be in perfect position to launch an assault upon Minas Tirith.
"Aloin," Melia said after a moment. "You must ride immediately to Emyn Arnen and warn them that an attack upon Lossarnach is eminent."
"But Prince Faramir is meeting Lord Legolas is in Lebethron," Aloin pointed out.
"That is true," Melia agreed. "However his army and that of Gondor’s is in Ithilien expecting an attack from the east, not the west. If the Haradrim take Lossarnach, they could entrench themselves there for an further assault upon any number of Gondorian fiefdoms, not to mention the White City itself."
"We should also send word to Lebethron," Aloin added, agreeing with Melia’s assessment of the situation. "Endornórë, you will go to Lebethron and inform them of what we have learnt here. With good fortune, we can prevent this news from becoming tragedy."
As the elves prepared themselves to ride, Melia prayed that their actions would not be seen by the enemy as a break in their neutrality or else the preventing of one tragedy could very well result in another.
The sombre business of burying the dead of Lebethron was a deed done when Aragorn and Faramir arrived finally in the ruined village some days later. They found Legolas’ camp a short distance away from the town proper, surrounded by the trees that would now remain unharvested since those who cared for them had met tragic ends. When the men of Gondor joined the lord of Eden Ardhon at his encampment, their mood was no better than his. The devastation they were forced to witness as they took the road through Lebethron had left as deep an impression in their minds as it had upon Legolas. Fortunately they could claim that they had not seen the worst of it since they had been spared the horror of burying bodies.
The mark of it was left clearly upon Legolas. When Aragorn cast eyes upon his old friend with the campsite where he and the rest of his company from Eden Ardhon awaited Aragorn’s arrival, the king could see the deaths of Lebethron’s people preyed heavily upon the heart of the elf. It was easy to mistake Legolas as being aloof and dispassionate to the plight of others because he kept his emotions hidden beneath the enigmatic façade worn by all elves. However, Aragorn and those who knew him well knew just how deeply he felt things and how outraged the destruction of Lebethron must have left him.
After journeying through Lebethron and seeing for himself, the savage brutality of the Easterlings who had committed the terrible act of murder upon its innocents, Aragorn confessed to similar outrage. All the things that had inspired Legolas’ animosity and fierce desire to fight had also stoked a white-hot flame within Aragorn’s heart as he saw the remnants of the village in the wake of the enemy’s barbarism. It would have been close to harvest he had thought during the silent odyssey through the ruined village. It should have been a time of plenty and joy, not the terrible events that followed. They were his people! They looked to Gondor to protect them but Gondor and its king had failed them.
Under different circumstances, their greeting would have been joyous but this was not the occasion for such levity. The old companions greeted each other with warm salutations as was their custom upon seeing each other but their mood was heavy with unspoken despair at Lebethron’s fate. The question of what was to be done could wait for a time as Legolas showed Aragorn and Faramir the final resting place of Lebethron’s folk. They had been unable to do anything except place the bodies in one grave since neither the elves nor Gimli knew the names of all that had perished.
After the sombre duty was done, they returned to the campsite as the sun was beginning to disappear beneath the wood. The other elves in Legolas’ party had prepared a meal and the old friends gathered around the campfire as the daylight dwindled around them to break bread. Pregnant in all their minds was how this situation was to be dealt with. As Aragorn looked across the fire at Legolas, the elf’s pale skin was bathed in the amber light of flame that seemed to fit his mood. The king could tell what was on Legolas’ mind as he met the elf’s dark eyes.
“This must be answered for Aragorn,” Legolas broke the silence at last.
“Not by you or Eden Ardhon,” Aragorn returned firmly.
“You cannot expect to let them get away with this!” Gimli burst forth with less restraint. “You did not see the dead Aragorn, you did not the savagery of what was done to them. If this is allowed to go unanswered, the enemy will take it as leave to commit this brutality again!”
“There will be justice,” Faramir spoke in a far calmer voice because he could see that Aragorn was barely able to contain his own outrage at what had happened, the wound salted further by their own witness of the destruction. “However, vengeance will accomplish us nothing.”
“Aragorn,” Legolas returned. “They did this to warn away my involvement. These people are dead because of Eden Ardhon!.”
“No,” Aragorn broke in sharply. “These people are dead because we are at war, not because of you or your people. What I asked of you in Gondor when the first declaration of war was made still holds, you cannot become embroiled in this affair.”
“Eden Ardhon can protect itself, we have the lay of the forest to hide us.” Legolas retorted. “They will not dare attack an elven colony without fear of inciting the anger of the rest of my people.”
Aragorn stared at Legolas in some measure of shock, “did you not understand the content of their warning? It was to show you that they would attack Eden Ardhon in the same manner if you interfere. Legolas please,” Aragorn calmed himself. “Lord Elrond once told Gandalf that the time of elves in this land is done. He was right Legolas, one day you and your people will sail over the sea and not look back upon Middle earth. It will be up to men to determine the course of the future and for us to be able to do that we must fight our own battles. I do not wish Eden Ardhon harmed because of this conflict but neither do I want the situation worsened. It pains me to say this but your involvement in our war could make you a liability we cannot afford to have.”
His words inspired pain. Aragorn could see the hurt surface briefly in the elf’s eyes before quickly being crushed into oblivion once again. Aragorn felt a stab of regret in his heart knowing his words had hurt the elf but he could see no other way of making Legolas understand. However, even as he achieved his desired goal, the king of Gondor had seen that it had come with a price.
“As you will,” Legolas said quietly, rising to his feet, “King of Gondor.”
With that he walked away, leaving the three alone.
Aragorn was tempted to go after Legolas, to explain himself a little better but he sensed that the elf wanted to be alone and would remain so if he did not wish to be found. He met Faramir’s gaze and knew immediately that the Steward was not in complete agreement with what he had just said to the lord of Eden Ardhon. However, Faramir had become accustomed to holding his tongue and making his objections to any policy that Aragorn made in private. It was the conditioning of being the second of Denethor’s sons. Unfortunately, Gimli was not so capable of masking his feelings.
“How could you say that to him?” Gimli demanded with unhidden anger.
“It was necessary,” Aragorn replied. “I did it for his own good.”
“How dare you be so presumptuous as to tell an elf what is for his own good?” Gimli glowered. “He has lived longer than all of us put together and I do believe that makes him qualified to judge what is and isn’t good for him! He remains here in Middle earth because he cares about his friends and you just threw that loyalty back his face!”
“He cannot protect Eden Ardhon the way Elrond protected Imlardis Master Gimli,” Aragorn barked back feeling his own temper inspired by the guilt of Legolas’ reaction. “While he is at our side, fighting our war, who protects his people? I rather have his feelings hurt now that have him return from a campaign fighting the Confederacy to find his city in ruins and his people dead!”
“That is his choice to make,” the dwarf argued. “Not yours. You have known him the longest, do you think he would sit by idly and allow his friends do battle while he remains safely hidden. Do not be too certain that this war of yours will be as easily won as you imagine. You may yet need Legolas’ aid.”
“It is precisely because I do not think this war easily won that I wish Legolas to maintain his neutrality in all this. The Haradrim have been rallying allies from all quarters. I believe they are amassing an army equal to the size of what we faced during the war with Sauron. When the attack comes, I cannot waste valuable resources attempting to protect Eden Ardhon should Legolas allow it to become a target.”
“Enough,” Faramir finally spoke up before tempers flared beyond either to control, “this matter is not to be resolve tonight. We are all tired. I think we should let alone this issue until our wits are not so frayed.”
Aragorn was no longer listening. His gaze had shifted into the darkness for he had heard the approach of a rider on horseback. Years of living in the wild had sharpened his hearing and though Faramir and Gimli had yet to hear the new arrival, Aragorn was certain they were about to have a visitor. The former Ranger rose to his feet, ensnaring the attention of his companions.
“Someone is here,” he announced as he drew away from the fire.
The elves with Legolas returned from their patrol, probably sensing the approach as well. Legolas emerged from the trees where Aragorn had no doubt the elf’s keen hearing had heard the discussion between Gimli and himself. There was no trace of the pain he had caused Legolas earlier but Aragorn was certain that it was not far from the elf’s mind, despite Legolas’ impassive mask.
“Who is it?” Aragorn asked as the shape of the rider appeared through the trees.
“It is Endornórë,” Nunaur announced first.
“Endornórë?” Legolas declared with surprise. “We left him at Eden Ardhon. What could bring him here?”
Those who were present did not venture a guess but surmised that it must have been a matter of great importance for the elf to undertake such a journey to reach his lord. Aragorn however, feared that they had made a fatal miscalculation and that the Easterlings had attacked Eden Ardhon, despite the warning it had issued to Legolas. As the elf dismounted his horse and hurried towards them, Aragorn prayed that his suspicions were wrong because if Endornórë was here with such news then it was already too late for Eden Ardhon.
“Endornórë!” Legolas called out as the elf reached them. “What are you doing here?”
“My lord!” Endornórë bowed his head slightly as he greeted Legolas, “I come bearing grave news from home.”
“What has happened?” The prince demanded fearful that the possibility that preyed so heavily upon Aragorn’s mind had come to pass. Instinctively, he thought of Melia and the elves that had become like family to him since the establishment of his colony in South Ithilien. The very idea that some terrible harm might have befallen them tightened the heart in his chest and threatened to force the air from his lungs in sheer panic.
“We found a Ranger attempting to reach Eden Ardhon,” Endornórë explained, sensing that his lord was fearing the worst. Even though his news would provide Legolas no comfort, Endornórë wanted to allay his fears that Eden Ardhon was not in danger.
The mention of a Ranger produced an immediate reaction from Aragorn, whose concerns were already spiralling out of control. Like everyone present, Aragorn knew that only a matter of utmost urgency could force any elf to make the long journey from Eden Ardhon to reach them.
“A Ranger?” Aragorn stepped forward. He could not imagine why a Ranger with important news would make for Eden Ardhon instead of Gondor and was eager to hear more.
“Explain yourself!” he barked even though the only one present with leave to command Endornórë was Legolas. However, the Lord of Eden Ardhon understood Aragorn’s concerns and took no offence since he knew Aragorn had good reason for demanding a speedy answer.
“He arrived the day after you had departed Lord Legolas,” Endornórë began addressing Legolas instead of Aragorn, despite the king’s demand. “We found him attempting to enter our borders and brought him to the colony. He revealed to us that his name is Handor.”
“I know Handor,” Aragorn replied, the memory of the man in question surfacing in his mind. He was one of the more seasoned Rangers in the king’s service. “He was once of Angmar I believe. Was Melia was able to confirm this?”
“Yes,” Endornórë nodded. “She did say that she knew him.”
“So what is it that brought him to Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked abruptly, more interested in knowing the content of the Ranger’s news rather than the confirmation of his identity.
“The Ranger claims to have seen a convoy of ships moving up the River Sirith,” Endornórë answered promptly. “He thinks that they are Haradrim and their destination may be the lands of Lossarnach. Lady Melia thought it was best that it best that the king be told immediately. She insisted that both Aloin and I set out from Eden Ardhon at once to find you. We parted company when he took the road to Emyn Arnen.”
For an instant, no one spoke. Words were difficult to form when such an impossible situation faced them. However, the momentary pause was brief and soon their voices were cascading over one another, struggling to be heard.
“That’s impossible,” Faramir exclaimed first, his voice revealing his disbelief. “The Sirith is not a deep river, ships large enough to carry an army cannot sail through its waters.”
Aragorn was nowhere that sceptical. His mind was already searching the ways in which the impossible might very well be the truth. There were many types of sailing vessels and though Gondor had access to the sea, it was not really a seafaring nation. The same could not be said for the Haradrim and the Easterlings who relied greatly on the sea for their trade with each other as well as the distant Sunlands. It was very possible that they might possess sailing craft capable of navigating the waters of the Sirith.
“Handor claims that the enemy were sailing on ships he had never seen before. They appeared to need oarsmen and resembled barges or large rafts.”
“Oarsmen,” Aragorn nodded, having heard of ships that did not rely upon the wind to move. If this were the case, then the crafts presently making its way up the Sirith did not need sails or a long keel to direct itself. “Did they stop frequently?” He asked quickly, hoping that Endornórë had the answers he needed.
“Yes,” the elf nodded quickly. “The Ranger claims they journeyed by night and rested by day.”
It was as Aragorn feared. The king turned immediately to Faramir, no longer any doubt in his mind that they were faced with an impending crisis. He had the utmost faith in his Rangers and if one of them had taken the swifter route from the Sirith to Eden Ardhon in order to save valuable time in delivering the news to his king, then Aragorn was not about to dismiss his efforts “We do not have a great deal of time,” Aragorn said to his Steward. “Faramir, you are to ride immediately to our armies at Ithilien and have them march to Lossarnach. Melia’s foresight will ensure that they will be ready to march when you arrive. How long ago did Handor see these Haradrim?”
“Five days,” Endornórë replied grimly. “They were almost nearing the end of the Sirith when he left them to reach us.”
“Then they could already be marching towards Lossarnach,” Aragorn determined. “I will ride to Lossarnach to warn its people of what is coming and prepare the fortifications for the city. You will bring the army from Ithilien.”
“You should not be going to Ithilien,” Faramir pointed out. “We do not know for certain how close the enemy is to Lossarnach, if we are late, you may find yourself trapped behind enemy lines.”
“Lossarnach will not become enemy lines,” Aragorn retorted, his jaw clenching in anger at the mere possibility. “I will die before I allow that to happen.”
”With all due respect, that is precisely what I do not wish,” Faramir returned with just as much determination. As Steward, his duty was not merely to Gondor but also to his king. “Our war effort will be crippled severely if any harm were to befall you. I must insist that you allow me to go to Lossarnach.”
“Faramir, I do not have time to debate this with you,” Aragorn declared, starting to get increasingly annoyed at the younger man’s insistence.
“We will go with him,” Legolas interrupted before the discussion became any more heated than it already was.
Aragorn turned sharply to Legolas, “Legolas, you cannot. If you ride to Lossarnach at my side, you will be committing your people to war.”
“Aragorn,” Legolas looked at him with equal impatience. “You know as well as I that most of Lossarnach’s warriors perished during the War of the Ring. They have at best a scant military presence and the Haradrim legions that will be falling upon the vale are seasoned veterans. Local militia cannot stand up to them. You will need to hold Lossarnach until Faramir arrives with Gondor’s forces and you will need to do so with what few veterans are at your disposal there. I will not allow you to face such peril alone. As Lord of Eden Ardhon, I can do little to aid your conflict but as your friend, I can keep you from getting yourself killed. I do not think I would be committing the elves to war if I stood at your side on this one occasion.”
Aragorn was not so certain but he knew that there was very little he could do to change Legolas’ mind when the elf was so determined. Legolas’ stubborn countenance told Aragorn that he would have better chance moving the Argonath single-handedly then he would of convincing Legolas to withdraw.
“Please listen to him,” Faramir pleaded, satisfied with that much if he could not convince Aragorn to turn from this ill advised course. “If you intend on doing this thing then at least use what advantage you have.”
“Especially when you have no choice in the matter,” Gimli added his voice in and he was even more intractable on the issue than Legolas. “You need us Aragorn, admit it.”
He did need them. Aragon could not deny that fact despite his reservations about Legolas accompanying him to Lossarnach. As things stood, it would be a race against time to reach Lossarnach before the arrival of the Haradrim and Legolas was absolutely correct. During the War of the Ring, Lossarnach had lost many of its soldiers in the defence of Minas Tirith. With the defeat of Sauron, there had be little need to rebuild a sizeable army when the fiefdom could look to Gondor for protection. Unfortunately, no one had anticipated the Haradrim attacking Lossarnach from the direction of the Sirith and this lack of foresight had left the fief wide open to its enemies.
“I do need you,” Aragorn confessed, “I cannot deny that. If the Haradrim take Lossarnach, they will have a formidable base from which to wage a prolonged war against us. I have no choice but to accept your aid to ensure this does not happen. However, I fear the consequences that will result from this.”
Legolas stared at Nunaur and Endornórë, aware that the consequences that worried Aragorn so would be suffered by the elves should it come to pass. He saw the understanding in their eyes and knew that they did not wish to cower in fear of what could happen when they were needed now.
“We know the choice we make Aragorn and we stand with you,” Legolas replied finally, “this time at least.”
“As do we with you my lord,” Nunuar added returning Legolas’ gaze. “We will not abandon the Elfstone in his hour of need.”
Aragorn took a deep breath, grateful for their desire to help and realising at that moment that what would happen would do so because it was Fate’s decision to allow it, not his. At the moment, he had more immediate concerns to occupy his mind and that was to reach Lossarnach before it suffered the same destruction as Lebethron.
**********
The bleak landscape that skirted the fringes of the White Mountains stared back at Eomer with complete indifference, even though hidden its thick canopy of trees and grey mists were tribes of men whose feelings were anything but impartial. For Eomer, this was just another chapter in the continuing enmity between the Rohirrim and the Dunlendings. While most of the tribes were now supplicant to Rohan following the War of the Ring, Eomer knew that he would gain very little assistance from the Dunlendings in hunting down their rogue brothers who were thought to have formed an alliance with the Easterling Confederacy.
The dislike between the two nations had continued for centuries, the most recent show of aggression being the Dunlendings alliance with the traitor of Isengard. Held by the sway of Saruman the White, the Dunlendings had allied themselves with the Istar’s Uruk-Hai army to launch an all out assault upon Rohan. At the battle of Helm’s Deep, the Rohirrim would have been defeated if not for the unexpected assistance of the Huorns of Fangborn. Fighting alongside of one of Middle earth’s oldest races, they had destroyed the Dunlending threat once and for all and retook Isengard from Saruman.
Since the War of the Ring, all had been peaceful. Despite their capitulation, Eomer had sought not to lord the Rohirrim victory over the Dunlendings, hoping to engender some kind of friendship between the old rivals. While this was far from being achieved, Eomer had hoped that they were no longer the blood enemies of old. Unfortunately, the recent declaration of war with the Easterling Confederacy had proved that he had been wrong about a great many things.
Eomer had been aware that some Dunlending tribes were distasteful of the notion of any kind of peace with the Rohirrim and had disappeared into the wilds of the Misty Mountains rather than to live under the yoke of Rohan. While they remained in the wilderness causing little mischief to the people of Rohan, Eomer was content to leave them be. Unfortunately, the advent of war had given these tribes an new ally. Agents of the Easterling Confederacy had spread throughout the region and had apparently given the rogue tribes a reason to emerge from their self imposed exile.
With the possibility that Edoras was under threat, Eomer was not about to wait for the enemy to strike. Leaving the Golden Hall behind, the King of the Mark led the Rohirrim towards the Gap of Rohan where a sighting of Dunlendings was reported in the mountains of Ered Nimrais. The Dunlendings preferred to remain in their own territories or in the foothills of the Misty Mountain, that they were within the borders of Rohan convinced Eomer they were about to make a move against the Rohirrim. If the Dunlendings wanted war then Eomer would be happy to oblige them but he was not going to give the pleasure of choosing the field of battle.
For almost a week, Bowen, Eomer’s trusted Marshall of the Mark had been tracking a group of rogue Dunlendings on the fringes of the White Mountains, waiting patiently in secret as more tribes arrived from Dunland and joined their outcast brethren. Bowen suspected and Eomer agreed, that the Dunlendings would make for Edoras to strike at the heart of Rohan once their ranks were at their full complement. Their actions seemed sensible despite their dangerous plan of attack when one considered the Dunlendings larger goal. An assault upon the Golden Hall would result in the recall of the Rohirrim presently at Ithilien. The removal of the cavalry would fracture the military alliance between Gondor and Rohan and weaken the defences at Ithilien.
Night was falling fast and Eomer hoped to reach the rendezvous point he and Bowen had agreed upon when the marshal had first sent him the message in Edoras that he had located the Dunlendings camp. The crescent moon had risen high in the night sky and he knew that many of his men were uneasy about moving through such unfamiliar landscape in the darkness. The Rohirrim preferred open terrain instead of the cloistered confinement of the mountain foothills they found themselves traversing on this occasion. Outcrops of large boulders and rocks, coupled with looming trees made it difficult to gauge distance or enemies approaching.
The horses too were becoming increasingly unsettled. Eomer’s own steed, Rochallor, named after the great steed that had belonging to Fingolfin, had ridden with him through many battles. As one of the legendary breed of horses called the mearas, Rochallor was not easily frightened. Yet on this occasion, Eomer could sense an almost human reluctance in the animal to continue their journey any further. Glancing at the other riders at his side, Eomer noticed that the anxiety was not exclusive to his mount. Other horses were becoming increasingly agitated and Eomer knew that if the horses were anxious, then there was good reason to fear.
“Sire, something is a foot,” Carleon, Third Marshall of the Mark and holder of the title that was once Eomer’s, nudged his horse alongside his king and remarked with eyes scouring the darkness. He studied it with such depth that Eomer could have been mistaken for believing he was capable of seeing in the darkness like an elf.
“I know,” Eomer nodded in agreement. “However I do not wish to turn away before we find Bowen and the others. If something is wrong, they may be in need of our assistance.”
“It may already be too late,” Carleon pointed out.
Eomer said nothing but continued to lead his men deeper into the foothills. However, the Rohirrim moved with caution, keeping as close an eye upon their swords as they did upon the uncertain road ahead. Eomer was starting to fear the worst about Bowen as the agitation of the animals increased with the shadow of the mountain looming higher over their heads. As they neared their rendezvous point, Eomer searched for evidence of Bowen’s army in the distance and saw nothing that would indicate their presence. There were no voices being carried upon the wind, no smell of food cooking or glowing fires. Where there should have been signs of life there was only overwhelming darkness.
Something was wrong.
Eomer could feel it in his bones and it was far worse than any of them suspected. With each second that passed, producing no sign of their comrades, Eomer grew more convinced that something terrible had befallen the Marshall of Riddermark and his men. When the horses began neighing in protest at their continued advancement towards the appointed meeting place, Eomer had decided that he could no longer ignore the animals’ keen sense that trouble was near.
“We will go no further,” Eomer told Carleon who nodded in agreement with his king that the air was so thick with sinister possibility that it could be sliced through with the blade. “We will withdraw into open country and begin our search for Bowen at dawn’s light.”
“I will give our men the order,” Carleon replied somewhat relieved. Like his king, the third marshal had serious doubts about their rendezvous with Bowen since they ought to have sighted his encampment by now. Bowen’s absence, particularly after the curious reaction of the horses, was met with grave concerns for their own well being as those present feared that they may be riding into the same misfortune that befallen their missing brethren.
When Carleon noticed the worried expression on his king’s face, the marshal made some effort to allay Eomer’s fears. “Perhaps they were delayed,” he offered, aware that it was a foolish hope at best.
“Perhaps,” Eomer returned shortly, “however I do not believe so. Such possibilities are too improbable these days. However I will not assume the worst just yet. When the sun rises tomorrow, we will seek them out and if they are alive still, we find them. If they are harmed then not even Ered Nimrais will be able to hide the Dunlendings from my wrath.”
The order was issued through the ranks of the Rohirrim who did not much like the notion of retreating when in all likelihood that the Rohirrim under the command of Bowen had come to hard at the hands of the Dunlendings. However, the prevailing darkness was almost a pitch black curtain around them and while they could see the faint outline of the mountains and the crescent moon in the sky, there was very little of their immediate surroundings they could make out except to discern that they were at a disadvantage. The riders halted in their advance to begin the journey back to safer terrain when suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of drums beating with slow resonance. The percussive sound was more eerie then it was deafening but it was not that which Eomer noticed so much.
It was the realisation that the drums were all around them.
Eomer tensed, remembering the stories told by Gimli during the dwarf’s visits to Edoras on route to his home of Aglarond, in particular the tale of the Fellowship’s journey through the mines of Moria.
“Goblins!” Eomer shouted before he could even think to consider if what he was claiming was possible.
Whether or not it was possible, no sooner than he uttered the word, a phalanx of arrows escaped their bows and sailed through the air. Their flight through the air was audible above the steady beat of the goblin drums but the sound lingered for only as long as the arrows took to reach their mark. Very soon a different sound filled their ears as the enemy emerged from the darkness and attacked. Arrows met flesh, drawing out screams of pain amidst the war cry made in Black Speech. He could hear the alarm moving swiftly through the ranks of his men as he tried desperately to be heard over the chaos.
The goblins were emerging from the darkness amidst the pounding of drums and Eomer heard the unsheathing of swords and the voice of his men as they defended themselves. His concerns for his men were forgotten momentarily when across the rocks, a dark shape moved swiftly towards him. Eomer removed his sword from its scabbard; trying to still Rochallor’s excitement while at the same time swining his weapon at the approaching enemy. The blade struck flesh as the goblin lunged at the king, its cry like the sound of screeching birds when Eomer sunk his sword deep into the creature.
Blood spurted across Eomer’s armour as the horse pulled away from the grisly scene and the would be assassin tumbled away into the dirt beneath the steed’s feet Eomer turned to his men and found that they too were locked in a life and death struggle with the goblins who had obviously lain in wait for them. As the king battled more attackers, a fleeting thought crossed his mind at what had become of Bowen and the Rohirrim with him. Had they fallen prey to the same ruse?
Eomer staved away another attack when suddenly, an arrow shrouded in darkness and silenced by the pandemonium around him, slammed into the king’s shoulder, invading the crack between his breast plate and his shoulder guard to pierce his skin and toppled him from the saddle. The king landed heavily on the cold ground, uttering a cry of pain when he landed upon his wounded shoulder, the arrow driving deeper into his flesh. His sword fell away from his grip and its loss sent panic through Eomer as he scrambled to retrieve it. However, the enemy could smell his injury in the same manner that hyenas know one of their own is wounded. Eomer saw the misshapen silhouette of three goblin men closing in on him, their bared teeth gleaming in the faint glimmer of the moon.
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Eomer forced himself to his knees and flung his dagger at the nearest enemy. A scream of pain told the king that his blade had met its mark and he could see the hilt lodge deeply in the goblin’s thigh. He growled in pain at Eomer as one of his companions swung an axe at the King of the Mark. Eomer leapt out of the way as the heavy blade sunk into the ground. His escape however did not save him from the attack of the third goblin that kicked him hard. Eomer spun as he felt ribs crack as he landed hard on the ground, the pain searing through him. However, it was never wise to enrage a Rohirrim and in his anger, the king was capable of proving how deadly he was.
Tearing the arrow from his shoulder and producing a surge of pain that would have made even the strongest flinch, Eomer cried out as the bloodied projectile escaped his flesh. The goblin advanced to attack but Eomer’s pain and adrenalin had made him fast. The king stopped the advanced, spearing the bloodied arrow through the goblin’s eye, as the sharp point ended the threat of him with chilling finality.
The other two had recovered from his aggressive defence and were now rushing towards him. Eomer took a step back and suddenly felt his heel of his foot brush against hard metal. Realization dawned upon him instantly and the king dropped immediately, wrapping his fist around the hilt of his fallen sword. Swinging hard, he tore open the belly of the first, causing a spray of black blood in all directions. The goblin screeched in a pain and Eomer rose to his full height with sword in hand as the last member of the ill fated triumvirate made its bid for a king’s head. Unfortunately, it was a bid that cost him his own as Eomer’s blade made sliced cleanly though his neck.
The battle was by no means over but the king still lived and while he lived, there was no defeat.
************
There was no time to spare.
They did not even wait until sunrise to begin the journey to Lossarnach once Endornórë had brought his grave news to the camp at Lebethron. Lingering long enough to gather their belongings and discard what was not needed since the horses needed to travel fast and could not be burdened by too much weight, the king and his companions set out for Lossarnach in what was literally a race against time. Faramir rode with them for as long as he could but he needed to make for Ithilien with just as much haste for there would be no victory for anyone if Gondor’s armies were unable to reach Lossarnach in time to defend her against the impending Haradrim attack.
Although Aragorn would have preferred to ride until there was not a breath in his body, he was forced to concede that pauses in their journey was necessary for the sake of the horses. Riding hard with the Anduin on one side of them and the mountains of Ephel Duath on the other, the riders could feel the weight of urgency pursuing them with unrelenting persistence. Aragorn wished he had Gandalf’s wisdom for he needed the sensibilities of a wizard in the game his enemy was playing with him. Although he did not speak of it to his friends of Fellowship or even Faramir before the Steward continued towards Emyn Arnen, it was a game that Aragorn was losing. He had measured his enemies by the contemporaries he had faced in previous battles and it was proving to be a fatal mistake.
His enemy knew him.
Perhaps not in the way his friends or loved ones knew him but the leader of the Easterling Confederacy knew with whom he had to match his wits while Aragorn did not have that advantage. He knew nothing of this elusive man that none of his Rangers had been able to see and unfortunately, Aragorn could not claim similar anonymity. His deeds and his fame was spread far and wide, to almost mythic proportions. Certainly it was so in the Reunified Kingdom and while the enemy lands may not view his accomplishments as acts of heroism, they knew enough to discern what sort of warrior he was and what kind of commander he was on the battlefield. He was a captain that relied heavily upon intelligence to plan his strategy. In being too cautious and learning all that he could of his enemy by using his Rangers, Aragorn saw the flaw in his methods. Intelligence could be falsified and it appeared that was exactly what the enemy had done. He had been fed disinformation and thus allowed himself to be bent like a reed in the wind by the clever lies his opponent was able to leave in his way.
Lies had been planted for his benefit and Aragorn had foolishly harvested all of it.
The truth was, he had been tricked into believing that the Easterlings were about to attack one way when in fact what they were doing was scattering themselves across the length and breath of the kingdom, using old enemies whose enmity for the Reunified was still fresh after the War of the Ring. Hatred simmering under the humiliation of defeat was easy to provoke, especially when enlisted with promises of glory that had been stolen when a hobbit with more courage than anyone could possibly believe, destroyed Sauron far more effectively than any army in Middle earth.
Aragorn could see how it was managed. Sauron had resided in his dark tower of Baradur, issuing orders of the lesser beings under his command, demanding that they help him with promises of spoils beyond the dreams of avarice in return for victory. The Easterling leader did not have to demand, he merely had to ask and remind them of their earlier defeats. Wisely, he had used to his advantage there were some things of greater value to a people, than the spoils of war.
There was pride.
These were the times when Aragorn wished Boromir was here because Boromir had the ability to say with words what no one could manage, not even Legolas or Arwen. The man of Gondor had a way of looking at things that often stripped away pretensions and trivialities, leaving only the truth in all its naked reality. For eighty years Aragorn had wandered the wilds, taken many names to build the knowledge and experience that would make him king and none of it had been as worthwhile to the cause as knowing Denethor’s oldest son. Knowing Boromir had taught Aragorn what it was to be burdened by responsibility, to wear it like a chain around the neck in an ever-tightening noose that would only become more weighted as time went by.
Pride himself as he might that the sway of the ring never ensnared him as it did Boromir, he could not say that he was a better man than Boromir. Even as Isildur’s heir, Aragorn never felt the crushing weight of responsibility that had been bred into Boromir by his father to make Gondor prosperous. It would have broken lesser men and had it been him, Aragorn could not say he would have acted any differently than Boromir when faced with the possibility that the One Ring could save everything he held dear.
If Boromir were here now, Aragorn could imagine what he would say.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it, Gondor needs you to be king not because you are Isildur’s heir but because you are the only one who can save her!
He had to stop thinking like a king. He had to start thinking like the man who had led the Nine Walkers to Mordor, the wanderer who bade the dead to keep their oaths and the heir who had shown Sauron the sword that had taken his ring. Aragorn had underestimated his enemy just as Sauron had underestimated a hobbit. He had been slow to move, a king playing with his toy soldiers across the floor, with no understanding of the battle other than the one he played in his head. No more.
The Easterling Confederacy had their chance at peace and wasted it as they had laid waste to Lebethron.
Even if a king had to die to prevent it, no enemy army was going to claim Lossarnach as their prize.
*************
Aragorn’s first duty upon arriving in Lossarnach was to sent scouts away from the vale to find the exact whereabouts of the Haradrim force that could not be more than a few days away from Lossarnach by this point in time. Owing to the secrecy of the invasion force reported by Haldor, Aragorn surmised that the army was moving by night and taking shelter during the day. Fortunately, travel across the river ensured that the Haradrim were unable to bring their fearsome mumakils. Unfortunately, Aragorn could not discount the possibility that the threat existed. The beasts had destroyed Lebethron. While it did not seem possible that the Easterling army could have journeyed across land swiftly enough to join their Haradrim allies, Aragorn was not about to take such a gamble when the stakes were so high.
Messengers were also sent to Minas Tirith, ordering the remaining troops in the city to make immediately for Lossarnach. Though the complement remaining in the White City was not nearly enough to defeat the invasion force that Handor had described, the reinforcements to Lossarnach meagre defences would aid in keeping the Haradrim at bay until Faramir arrived with the rest of Gondor’s army. After the death of Forlong the Fat, a lesser relative had been given stewardship of the city. The young man, named Fernreg, had been more than equal to the task but his interest had been in rebuilding the city rather than replenishing the ranks of militia that had been lost during the defence of Minas Tirith and the Battle of Pelennor Fields.
Lossarnach had always been a place for vacationing nobles. Situated in a valley surrounded by the White Mountains, Lossarnach was known for its breathtaking landscapes. Its countryside was filled with the castles and summer residences of Gondor’s high born and it was even claimed that Denethor and his young bride Finduilas had spent their honeymoon in Lossarnach. However, aside from its aesthetic beauty, the protection of the White Mountains around Lossarnach ensured that it was protected from turbulent weather, an advantage that brought great harvests of wheat and corn to the region. Lossarnach was responsible for the production of much of the grain that was exported to Minas Tirith.
Aragorn sensed that it was for this reason that the Haradrim wanted to take the city. If they succeeded in conquering Lossarnach, the enemy would not only have a suitable platform to launch an assault upon the White City and the rest of Gondor but also enough food to feed its army for an indefinite occupation. With this in mind, there was a desperate measure he could resort to if they were unable to hold Lossarnach and Aragorn prayed it would not come to that. In fact, he meant to see that they did everything possible to keep from being driven to that course of action.
Once the scouts and messengers were sent on their way, Aragorn ordered the immediate evacuation of women and children out of the city. A handful of armed soldiers ensured that their exodus to Minas Tirith where they would remain until the danger had passed. After seeing what the Haradrim had done to the women and children of Lebethron, the king of Gondor was taking no chances with his people’s lives. Despite the lack of a fully trained army, Lossarnach did possess some local militia and though these men spent most of their time as farmers, when the call to arms came, they did not hesitate to step forward in the defence of king and country.
Fortifying the city became the work of Lossarnach as every conceivable way of protecting itself was found and exploited. Walls were quickly built, traps were laid, and moats and trenches were dug. Every man who could carry a weapon and who knew some battle was enlisted into the cause, not even Fenreg would be spared being blooded in the coming conflict. No more than three days had passed before the first of the scouts returned and brought the inevitable news.
The Haradrim army was less than two days away.
Gondor’s army at Ithilien would not be able to reach Lossarnach in that time and Aragorn was faced with the grim prospect that Lossarnach would some how have to prevail until Faramir arrived. It appeared that a siege was inevitable.
Worse news soon arrived from Rohan as such things often did when times were particularly trying. King Eomer was facing difficulties of his own and would not be able to assist them any further than what he had already provided in the way of Rohirrim cavalry that were coming from Ithilien with Faramir. It appeared the King of Rohan was missing after travelling to rendezvous with Bowen, the Marshall of Riddermark. Edoras had not heard anything of him since he left and there were fears that he might have come to harm.
As much as Aragorn wanted to help find his friend, he could not leave Lossarnach and prayed that Eomer was capable of extricating himself from his difficulties on his own.
*************
As Aragorn continued the labour of preparing Lossarnach for the coming conflict with the aid of his friends, the final member of his company who was riding hard towards Emyn Arnen with his own task to fulfil. Faramir was painfully aware of vital it was for him to bring Gondor’s army to Lossarnach with as much haste as humanly possible. Being a son of Denethor, Faramir was possibly in a better position to appreciate the danger that a Haradrim invasion could present to Gondor. Lossnarch’s position near the heart of Gondor, Minas Tirith, had the potential to be a large a morale disaster as well as military one if the Haradrim were allowed to take it.
Like Aragorn, he had only paused in his journey to give his horse rest because he could not afford to waste any time in reaching Emyn Arnen. There would not even be enough time for him to see Eowyn but Faramir knew she would understand. Faramir wondered as he rode home whether or not they had come to rely too much on the Rangers. He had always admired Aragorn because the king was not merely a warrior but a thinker who valued intelligence above his instincts. It was easy how that asset could be circumvented into a weakness because they had no idea what the enemy intended to do. The Haradrim was making its approach from the west, not the east as previously thought and the Easterling who had brought about Lebethron’s ruin was nowhere to be found. He knew that during the journey to Lossarnach, this had concerned Aragorn greatly.
There were reports of so many enemies joining the Easterling Confederacy and Faramir suspected they were facing a war that may not end in a matter of weeks but months. The Corsairs were undoubtedly responsible for the Haradrim incursion up the Sirith and there were so many other disaffected voices beyond the borders of the Reunified Kingdom and the lands of its allies who gladly see Gondor fall. Faramir was almost two days away from Emyn Arnen when he saw in the distance a sight that filled with his heart with gratitude that they had left Prince Imrahil at Ithilien when Aragorn and he had chosen to inspect the destruction of Lebethron.
The Lord of Dol Amroth was leading the march with the Rohirrim cavalry provided by Eomer and the bulk of Gondor’s forces stationed at Ithilien, no doubt having received the same message that had sent Aragorn and the rest of the company riding to Lossarnach. Imrahil was not one to wait until orders arrived, he knew his king well enough to act on his behalf and that knowledge told him that time was of the essence. Once Aragorn received the message delivered to him by the elves of Eden Ardhon, the king would be making his way to claim his army. Imrahil knew that he would be saving valuable time if he could meet Aragorn part of the way.
“Where is the king?” Imrahil asked once Faramir had returned to their ranks.
“On his way to Lossarnach,” Faramir explained, “he has gone to fortify the city before our arrival.”
“Was that wise?” The lord of Dol Amroth stared at Faramir, unable to hide his anxiousness at this.
“Wise has little to do with the king’s actions,” Faramir retorted scowling, “someone has to warn Lossarnach and you know him, he will not ask of anyone what he is unwilling to do himself.”
Imrahil frowned unhappily, “there are times when I wished he was not so damned mindful of his people and take precautions against his own life.”
“I think that accounts for why the people love him so,” Faramir replied and though he did not mention that those people included himself and Imrahil, it was without question the truth for both of them.
“I do not know how much he will be able to do at Lossarnach, that boy Fenreg has little in the way of military experience and has spent scant time protecting the city,” Imrahil returned.
“There was no need,” Faramir shrugged, seeing no fault in Fenreg who was a likeable enough ruler. “He assumed as did most of the smaller fiefdoms that Gondor would be able to protect them. No one suspected that the enemy would come from the Sirith.”
“I suppose,” Imrahil looked away and Faramir knew his distant relative enough to see that there was something more than their current situation preying upon his thoughts.
“Imrahil,” Faramir urged. “What is it?”
“I have heard troubling news from Rohan,” Imrahil confessed after a brief pause. The older man looked annoyed that his fears showed. “It appears that Eomer has gone missing in battle.”
“Missing?” The Prince of Ithilien exclaimed, fearful for his brother in law’s life and how his wife would take the news if he were lost. “Does Eowyn know?”
“No,” Imrahil shook his head. “The intelligence came to me first and I saw no reason to trouble her until we were certain that missing meant dead. Also if I were to let it known that their king was in difficulty, the Rohirrim cavalry might choose to ride home and we cannot afford their loss at this time.”
Faramir did not know if that was the most ethical thing to do but he kept counsel to himself because he could not deny that they needed the cavalry’s speed in reaching Lossarnach. Faramir was planning to lead the cavalry ahead to Lossarnach, leaving the foot soldiers to Imrahil who would follow behind them. Aragorn needed all the support that was available to hold Lossarnach before the arrival of those troops. Even if the Rohirrim were to return to Rohan now, they would never reach their king in enough time to be of any use to him and Faramir had faith in Eomer’s ability to survive.
“I should have brought Lothiriel home,” Imrahil said worriedly. “I was so pleased that she had actually taken a liking to Eomer that I did not consider the risk to her life.”
“Imrahil,” Faramir placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, “Lothiriel is far more capable than you know as she has proved during that business with the shape shifters and I doubt the Dunlendings tribes even with Easterling aid is capable of taking the Golden Hall”
“I hope you are right,” Imrahil replied, “I do not want to lose my child when her life is just beginning.”
As much as Faramir tried to sympathize with Imrahil, he was more concerned over Eomer’s fate and how Eowyn would endure it if she learnt that her brother was dead.
*************
Legolas stared across the plain.
Behind him was Lossarnach. The sun was setting and while it would seem prudent that the enemy wait for morning to attack, there was going to be no such delay. They had been waiting for this inevitable approach for the last hour, ensuring that all was in readiness. Next to him Aragorn stood with Anduril unsheathed like a banner to be carried into battle. Gimli stood on the other side, axe brandished. The initial line of defence would fall to the archers and Legolas felt the weight of many arrows upon his back. His gaze shifted briefly to Nunaur who also poised to attack, as was Endornórë and the other elves that had journeyed with him to Eden Ardhon.
If he fell tonight, he hoped Melia would understand that he could not sit by and watch Aragorn face this conflict alone. Whether or not this action brought the elven nation to war, he could not say for certain. He had brought no army to Lossarnach so it could not be seen as ending his neutrality if only a handful of elves stood with Aragorn during this battle. In either case, he was not leaving until this battle reached its end, no matter how terrible those consequences must be. It was good that his wife was a warrior in herself for she understood the realities of war and the battles that must be fought for the good of all. If he fell today, she would mourn his loss not berate his sacrifice.
There was only silence but the elves could hear the approach, Aragorn was certain of it. The scouts had returned a short time ago; bringing the news that Haradrim army had paused long enough to establish their encampment but appeared hungry for battle. He had estimated correctly that the enemy would not wait until sunrise and had issued the call to arms. The militia were perched on Lossarnach’s high walls. The reinforcements that had come to the king’s aid from Gondor took the field with him before the city. All across Lossarnach, people awaited with abated breath for the attack to come.
Aragorn saw Legolas tensing his grip around his bow, the one given to him by Galadriel during the quest of the Ring. Further along, Nunaur’s eyes narrowed and the posture of the other elves seemed to straighten instinctively, their gazes’ fixed front without wavering. Their disposition was noted by the men standing with them and taken as a prelude to the enemy’s appearance. Aragorn stared ahead at the plain and saw nothing but dark horizon flanked by the jagged teeth of the White Mountains.
“This game you two play,” Aragorn found himself asking, breaking the silence, “is it only orcs or all races that make up the count?”
“We are not indiscriminate,” Legolas remarked still facing front but his lips curled into a little smile as he spoke.
“If I am to play, I must insist that we keep the count confined to this battle,” Aragorn retorted. “Otherwise I will not be able to match you or Gimli’s tally.”
“Match mine I think,” Gimli snorted with just as much amusement. “I believe at last count, I was winning.”
“I beg to differ,” Legolas returned.
“Gentlemen,” Aragorn said as the Haradrim appeared over the horizon for the first time. “The game has begun.”
Across the walls of Lossarnach, torches breathed in flame burned liked beacons through the night. The crescent moon long since become a full orb, stared down across the plain with its starry glow. With the twilight sky filled with stars, it could have been considered a beautiful night if not for the rumble of armies preparing to converge in the inevitable slaughter of battle. The militia stared and watched, their hearts pounding with fear for these were men, until a matter of days ago, were concerned largely with ordinary things like harvests, crops and family. The notion of war and battles were as distant as the stars themselves.
And yet now they stood on the walls of the city, each with they own tasks, each terrified beyond their ability to express it despite their willingness to participate in the defence of Lossarnach. A man could not be a man if he walked away when his king asked his help, especially when that king was Aragorn Elessar. The men who stood ready to fight this night were so committed to the cause as if Aragorn had spoken to each of them personally and begged their aid in holding Lossarnach from their enemies. The spirit of a warrior had been drawn reluctantly from deep inside of them and now the hour in which they would either live a long life or die tonight was finally at hand.
The Haradrim covered the plain like a swarm of insects. Their advance across the plain was slow at first, as if the delay would allow them to gauge the strength of the defenders until it was time to charge. The plain before them was almost completely covered and it chilled the blood when one could not discern if it was so because of the darkness or because the enemy’s numbers were so great where one ended and the other began. From the walls surrounding Lossarnach, the army of the defenders seemed almost paltry in comparison to the invaders moving across the field like a great tide.
Archers stood poised and ready, both on the walls of the city as well as the battle field below. When the time came for the latter to retreat, it was the former that would cover their withdrawal safely, if such a thing were possible in circumstances such as this. That Lossarnach was mostly enclosed by the White Mountains was its greatest defence. There was but only one direction, which the Haradrim could invade, which was another reason why their march to Lossarnach was made with utmost secrecy. Despite the loss of this advantage at the knowledge of their impending arrival, their numbers were great enough to overcome it.
Beneath the faint glimmer of moonlight, Aragorn could see the tall red banners of the Haradrim flying in the slight breeze. The black serpent appeared briefly under this light and it was a sight that returned Aragorn immediately to the battlefields of Pelennor, where he had last beheld the sight. The Haradrim were fierce warriors and like the Orcs, gave no quarter to their enemies in battle. They swept forward like a scourge, warriors dressed in bronzed plates of armour, their black hair plaited in gold and their faces smeared with paint, almost like blood. Their helmets were spiked, much like the spears and the pikes they carried. The sharp points of these weapons were like a bed of nails moving across the land, flying high with banners of the black of serpent.
The defenders of Lossarnach showed no fear but none were foolish enough to deny feeling it. Fear was a healthy thing, it would provide them with enough edge to stay alive and at all costs, they had to live for as long as they could, until Faramir arrived with Gondor’s army. Aragorn saw the distance between the two enemies narrowing and knew that any moment now, the order to charge would be given and this interlude where the two forces were given leave to scrutinize each other would end.
“Archers!” Aragorn cried out, his gaze never leaving the nearing enemy. “Make ready!”
The Haradrim were so close that Aragorn could now see their faces and the dark eyes filled with so much black hatred and cruelty fixing upon the defenders with hungry demand. Aragorn held Anduril before him, the sword that cut the ring from Sauron’s hand acting as his own banner and one that held more meaning to his men than any banner could ever manage.
The Haradrim were also preparing for the onslaught of arrows as their front line warriors angled their spears into a deadly phalanx of steel to protect themselves. The only way through them, Aragorn realised, as the wall of pikes and spears approached, was to attack when they were very close. Unfortunately, Aragorn could not count all the archers of having the skill of Legolas and the elves, but this course left them very little room to manoeuvre if not enough of the front line was killed.
“Aragorn!” Legolas barked as the distance became savagely close. “It must be now!”
Aragorn knew that but he had hoped to give the archers a little more advantage. Unfortunately, Legolas was right. They had allowed the Haradrim as much distance as they dared. Any closer and it may not be possibly to escape when the time came for the inevitable retreat. Aragorn did not answer the lord of Eden Ardhon but instead continued to stare ahead at the juggernaut rumbling towards them. It was a sight that would make men or break them and he felt a swell of pride knowing that those fighting with him were holding their ground despite their fear.
“NOW!” He gave the order at last.
A wall of arrows almost as deadly as the approaching phalanx flew through the air with the release of bowstrings from every archer in the line. The phalanx began to waver as the arrows cut down a good number of Haradrim who were leading the charge, their spears quivering in their grip and some tumbling into the dirt along with their dead masters. The bodies that felt to the ground provided suitable obstruction for the warriors following closely behind. Some trampled over their dead and others were brought down by the obstacles as another barrage of arrows was released and rained death upon them.
The phalanx crumbled effectively enough for the defenders to attack without fear of being unable to escape the wall of sharp steel. The archers were firing at will now that the space between the two armies had narrowed so much that very soon they would be meeting each other. However, as even that narrow margin disappeared, the archers were giving up their bows for swords and daggers. Legolas had produced his twin blades, while Gimli’s axe awaited the first taste of blood. Aragorn held Anduril’s point to the sky in an almost reverential gesture to the enemy before the fighting truly began.
The two armies slammed into each other like the smashing of waves against the rocks. The earth beneath them seemed to shudder as each roared with their own war cry and the sound of voices was drowned in the harsher noise of steel meeting steel. From the walls of Lossarnach, the militia watched in rising anxiety, as their comrades appeared overwhelmed by the Haradrim horde that was swirling around them.
Aragorn lost sight of Legolas and Gimli almost immediately after the two armies had converged on the field. There was little time to seek them out because he was soon fighting to stay alive. He had not dispensed with the garments he had worn when he rode to meet Legolas at Lebethron and was rightly mistaken for being just another warrior, not the king of Gondor. The only thing that could give away his identity was Anduril but Aragorn knew that in the heat of battle, no one would be paying close attention to his sword, only how he wielded it.
How he wielded it was to fight as if he were a Ranger of the wilds, not a king. He swung his blade at Haradrim warrior swinging a curved sword at him, scimitars, he believed they were called and sent the enemy staggering backward. The Haradrim fought with brute force, this much Aragorn had remembered about his enemy from his experiences at Pelennor, there was very little finesse to their combat.
His present opponent recovered quickly and used the curve of the blade to swing a powerful blow at Aragorn. Anduril took the brunt of the strike easily and parried skilfully before executing a sharp riposte. As the Haradrim stumbled backwards, Aragorn saw another approaching behind him to aid his comrade. Aragorn turned his body long enough to spear the man in the dead centre, halting his progress in one deadly strike. The warrior fell as Aragorn extracted his weapon and swung to meet his other opponent’s attack. As their blades met once more, Aragorn forced the enemy backward in a powerful shove and took advantages of his loss of balance to strike. Aragorn slashed Anduril across his chest and then across tore out his throat in quick succession. The Haradrim sank to his knees but Aragorn did not need to see to know he was done for.
From the corner of his vision, he could see another rushing at him. The king turned around in time to avoid being speared by a vicious looking spike. The Haradrim that would have impaled him was determined to have him however and Aragorn knew it would take more than swordplay to stop him. While trying to evade the sharp stabs the warrior was attempting to pin him with, Aragorn reached for the dagger at secreted in his booth and swung it as the Haradrim came at him again. The weapon buried itself deep in the enemy’s skull and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief as the pike fell away from his grip. What respite he gained from this victory was temporary because he had only to look up to see more waiting to take his opponent’s place.
Searching for Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn could see nothing of his friends though he caught sight Eden Ardhon’s captain, Nunaur who was moving with the grace only the Eldar were capable. The elf was apparently a good deal better with a sword than he was with an arrow and it was evident in the bodies at his feet as he battled the Haradrim with something almost akin to relish. As Aragorn found himself facing another combatant, the king supposed that the elves were not that different from men in that even they were affected by the heat of battle.
*************
The enemy apparently considered elves a great threat for Legolas found himself surrounded as the two armies met and the more personal business of combat superseded the indifference of arrows and pikes. A trio of Haradrim converged upon the elf armed with spears, scimitars and daggers glared at the elf in open hatred, preparing to rush him at once. Legolas allowed them to make the first move, unwilling to engage in haste. He had faced far more terrifying beasts of evil in his time so it took a great deal to unnerve him and he had also learned the virtue of patience and allowing the enemy to strike first
He did not have long to wait.
The first, carrying a spike rushed at Legolas and as he stepped out of its cruel path, the second swung his scimitar at the prince. Legolas used both of his short swords to deflect the blow and kicked out with one foot, forcing the Haradrim swordsman back. The third lashed at him with his dagger, his blade tearing elven skin across Legolas bicep. The intent was to injure but succeeded only in provoking the elf’s anger who swung out one of his swords in a sharp swing that sliced open the man’s throat. Legolas used the momentum of the swing to spin around as the Haradrim swordsman, recovered from the initial attack attempted another strike.
Legolas halted the path of the curved blade with one of his swords, made of elven craft and forged steel far denser than anything men could produce. The heavy scimitar, requiring two hands to wield it, was stayed in mid air as Legolas, who only needed one hand to hold each of his swords, used the other to spear the Haradrim soldier through the chest. Blood spurted out of his mouth, forced there by his ruined heart. Legolas pulled back, confident that he provided no danger and having the last of the trio to deal with. As the thought formed into an action, the prince saw the Haradrim running at him, his spear jutting ahead. Legolas put away both his sword because it was not swordplay that was needed now.
“I will wear your pretty hair on my scalp, elf,” the Haradrim troop hissed. He spoke in his native tongue but Legolas had lived long enough to understand some of it.
He jab the spear at Legolas in a sharp thrust, which the elf was able to side step easily before clenching his fist around the wood as his opponent pulled back the weapon for another attempt. Legolas tore the spear out of the Haradrim’s grip with both hands and kicked out his foot, first against the back of his knee to bring him down and then against the chest to land him flat on his back. No sooner than the enemy had landed, Legolas swung the spear in his hands with a neat arc and impaled the soldier through the chest with his own weapon. The body beneath him jerked spasmodically as a spray of blood splattered across Legolas’ tunic.
“Pretty indeed,” Legolas muttered under his breath as he retrieved his swords and prepared to face more enemies.
**************
While he had fought them before, Gimli wondered why these Haradrim could not channel their aggressive strength with some precision. Though they were fierce warriors, they relied too heavily upon brute force and knew nothing about skilful battle. It was far different for warriors of Gondor, as he had learnt from Boromir and later Faramir. In Gondor, skill was as important as strength. Boromir who had been a formidable man physically had used his size to enhance his skill on the battlefield and had been a most fearsome opponent on the field. Even when he had fallen at Parth Galen, he had done so ensuring that numerous Uruk Hai had died first.
The skill of the Gondorian warriors showed as the pitched battle around Gimli continued with more and more bodies littering the ground. Fortunately, he was relieved to say that most of these fallen appeared to be Haradrim although this might simply be because there were more of the enemy then there were of the defenders. Gimli himself had been responsible for more than a few of the corpses being trampled underfoot by those who continued to fight. The blade of the dwarf’s axe was stained with blood as once again, size proved to be little hindrance to his ability to hold his own in any battle.
A Haradrim warrior came at him, once again Gimli saw the same look of derision as if a dwarf was a lesser opponent. Gimli shirked off the insult because he knew that it would be to his advantage and was proven correct when the enemy came at him recklessly, swinging his blade over his head towards the dwarf, leaving himself wide open for attack. Gimli rushed forward, swinging his axe with just as much power only his hastened pace allowed him to escape the reach of the sword bearing down on him. Before the blade could be lowered any further, Gimli had planted his axe firmly in the stomach of the enemy. The sword fell harmlessly to the ground as the Haradrim warrior doubled over in agony, blood gushing from the fatal found.
Gimli pulled his weapon out of his opponent and saw another eager to finish what his soon to be dead comrade had been unable to accomplish. Unfortunately, this enemy was not as presumptuous as the other and when he attacked, he did so with care because he had seen how swiftly Gimli had dealt with his predecessor. The long pike he carried came rushing at Gimli who had to drop to his fours to avoid being speared. The dwarf scrambled across the dirt for a short distance and quickly leapt to his feet as the Haradrim warrior spun around to resume his attack. Gimli stood his ground with his axe bared, waiting for the right moment to strike. The enemy, angered by his audacity to hold his position, hastened his pace and as Gimli saw the sharp spike coming towards him, prayed that his gamble would succeed.
Within inches of the sharp point, Gimli moved out of the way enough to ensure the Haradrim enemy could not turn around with coming to an abrupt halt that would throw him off balance. As the length of wood moved past him, Gimli brought down his axe upon the weapon and snapped it cleanly in half. Haradrim weapons were no match for a dwarf axe and the spike gave way easily. As its master tried to regain control of the situation, Gimli swept his axe in a mighty blow that drove the air from the enemy’s lungs as well as the life from his body. Letting out a breath as the Hardrim died at his feet, Gimli looked across the battlefield and saw the endless sea of Haradrim and knew that it would not be long before Aragorn would have to call the retreat to the city walls.
As it was, he could not see any of his comrades amidst the fighting but knew that all were too hardy to do anything as inconvenient as getting themselves killed after surviving enemies such as Saruman, the dark elf Eol and especially Sauron. Suddenly his senses came alive with alarm and Gimli turned around to see a towering shadow above him. Appearing to Gimli almost as tall as a troll, the warrior of the Sunlands looked down upon the dwarf with his dark eyes and his even darker skin. There was a split second of time when Gimli felt for the first time in his life, terribly small. However, a split second was all the time he had before the great hand of the enemy swatted him aside like a fly.
Not since he was running for his life at the hands of the cave troll had he been flung away like a child. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder first. The side of his body ached in pain but he was allowed no time to dwell on the pain when he saw that towering shape before him again. He saw against the sky, the enemy’s sword preparing to strike and rolled out of the way as it came down with a swoosh of air in the place where he had just been. The blade embedded itself in the dirt as Gimli struggled to his feet and struck out wildly, his axe slicing into the dark warrior’s thigh. The enemy cried out in pain and then brought down his fist against the dwarf’s back, forcing Gimli into the dirt once more.
Gimli felt the pain flare throughout his spine and made his legs difficult to move, however, knowing his life depended on it, he rolled over once more and saw the enemy preparing to bring down his sword again. This time, there was no time to move and all Gimli could do was block the blade against his axe and hoped that his underestimation of Haradrim’s weaponry was not mistaken. The axe did not yield under the steel of the sword but the power behind it almost made Gimli come undone. The warrior grinned at him, pulling back a revelation of white teeth, a contrast of colour against the dark lips.
“You fight well little one,” the Haradrim spoke Westron in a soft hiss of a voice. “But this contest is done. I had hoped to meet my equal but one of his companions will do as well.”
“Little one!” Gimli brought up his foot and kicked hard in the one place that no man could call himself truly protected, thought it was an unspoken thing among men that it was not a place to assault in civilised combat. Unfortunately, Gimli had a greater affection for his skin then anyone rules of chivalry.
The warrior of the Sunlands groaned painfully as he doubled over in pain and Gimli pushed him off forcefully. Fired by anger and the sensation of his mortality, Gimli prepared to cleave the enemy’s skull apart. However, the dark warrior seemed to recover quickly, more so then Gimli would have given him credit and raised his sword to block the strike, albeit rather weakly. Unfortunately, it did not appear as if he would have the chance to deliver another for suddenly he heard the cry of another warrior rushing blindly into the path of his weapon and taking the blow meant for the enemy on the ground. In surprise, Gimli saw the man’s chest as the blade met skin and turned blood and bone into pulp under the crushing power of a dwarf axe.
For a moment, Gimli was stunned at the sacrifice the other had made and when he looked again for the dark warrior that had almost taken his life, the dwarf saw that he had disappeared.
*************
Aragorn looked around him and saw more and more Haradrim troops crossing over the lines, spilling towards the walls of Lossarnach. The battle was going to invade the city, there was no doubt of that but Aragorn could control how many were left by the time they had to quit the walls. Reaching for the horn at his belt, he knew the remaining forces that still lived had t retreat into the city. He did not know how many of their number had been lost because the ground was covered with bodies and death granted men a certain anonymity, however, he knew that they could not linger here to be overrun by the Haradrim who had brought with them a sizeable force.
Lifting the horn to his lips, he blew loudly into it. The sound moving across the air like a banshee’s wail as a signal to those who had been waiting with anticipation as they battled for their lives, to quit the combat currently engaged and make for the Lossarnach’s walls. The signal was not just to those on the battlefield with him but also to those who were presently manning the walls, who had their own tasks to fulfil once the call for retreat came. Aragorn sounded the signal again, to ensure everyone heard it before he turned on his heels and began running towards the wall where some Haradrim were already going. The retreating defenders, ensuring that they would be the only ones scaling the walls of Lossarnach, were cutting them down.
As he was running towards the wall, Aragorn saw Fenreg’s body in the ground and felt a surge of grief for the young man who had worked so hard to defend his city the past few days. There was not even enough time to retrieve the body since there was only a narrow margin of time to reach the wall before the archers waiting there did their work. If anyone of them survived the night then there would be plenty of time for burials, however, the business at hand was to ensure that they saw sunrise when it finally arrived. Aragorn searched the faces sweeping past him and saw Nunaur making his way across the field with Legolas. Both elves were clearly marked by battle but did not appear seriously injured.
Aragorn saw the ladders leading to the top of the wall and the Haradrim that were being assaulted with arrows and spears by those who guarding it. Even if the signal for the archer’s next wave had yet to be given, a number of them had taken the initiative to ensure that none of the Haradrim who penetrated the defenders lines could reach the ladders. Those who were not struck down were retracing their steps, trying to reach their brethren to take comfort in the strength of numbers. One of them swept towards Aragorn, swinging their scimitar as they ran forward.
Aragorn met the blade with his own and made swift work of the enemy when he tore the sword from his opponent’s hand and ran him through with Anduril. He did not even pause in his advance to the wall and saw Gimli not far away. The dwarf was clutching his arm and Aragorn averted his course to join his friend.
“You are hurt,” Aragorn declared upon reaching Gimli who had reached the base of the wall.
“I will live,” the dwarf grunted. “It is good to see that you are in one piece.”
“There are those wished I was not, that is for sure.” Aragorn said quickly as he looked over his shoulder and saw the Haradrim in close pursuit. The defenders would not be able to make good their escape unless the Haradrim were delayed and with that realisation, Aragorn took to the horn once again and delivered the second signal that was meant entirely for the archers perched on the wall. No sooner than the baying noise filled everyone’s ears, did the sky become filled with arrows flying towards the Haradrim forces rushing against the wall like an ocean swell.
“You first my friend,” Aragorn ushered Gimli up the ladder as he looked behind him and saw the arrows raining death upon the Haradrim in pursuit.
“You are king,” Gimli grumbled, never one to make any discussion simple. “It should be you.”
“I do not have time to argue with you Master Dwarf,” Aragorn retorted and pushed Gimli up the rung. “Get moving!”
Gimli muttered something in his native tongue, which Aragorn was certain he should not repeat in polite company. However, the proud dwarf had nevertheless succumbed to his insistence and had begun scaling the ladder. His progress soon indicated to the former Ranger that Aragorn had been right to insist that Gimli went first. He was struggling hard to maintain a grip and Aragorn suspected that the injury to his shoulder was worse than Gimli would admit too. Unfortunately, Aragorn’s healer’s instincts would have to wait for the moment. He sheathed Anduril and began his own journey up the ladder, glancing anxiously over his shoulder to gauge the progress of the Haradrim advance.
Finally Aragorn reached the top and found that there were others soldiers behind him and was grateful that the barrage of arrows was giving them precious time reach the top. Unfortunately, the Haradrim were quickly proving that Lossarnach’s defenders were not the only ones who knew how to make good use of their archers. As Aragorn saw a battle line form in the distance, he was suddenly shouting on top of his lungs for anyone on the ground to hasten their pace because time was swiftly running out.
“Archers!” Aragorn shouted, trying to capture their attention through the pandemonium. “Direct yourselves at the enemy line. They are preparing to shoot down our warriors.”
By now Legolas and Nunuar were already on the wall and the elves’ first duty had been to acquire more arrows in order to join the throng of bowmen firing with all the skill they could muster at the enemy below. Aragorn was uncertain as to what had become of the other elves that had chosen to join Legolas in the business of protecting Lossarnach but hoped they had not come to harm for this was never their fight to begin with. It was their loyalty to Legolas and Legolas’ loyalty to him that had placed the elves in this dangerous position.
“Let see your arm?” Aragorn asked Gimli once they were on top of the wall.
Gimli was trying hard to hide the pain of his injury but Aragorn could see by the way his arm was hanging limply at his side and the grip that was barely managing to keep a hold of his axe that it was overwhelming him.
“You do not have time to nursemaid me Aragorn,” Gimli replied, loathing his weakness.
“No I do not,” Aragorn said abruptly and relieved him of his axe, “but I do not need to lose another warrior when we have so few to spare, so let me look at your arm and that consider that a command instead of a request.”
“You do not have leave to command me Aragorn,” Gimli retorted but his will to argue was half hearted.
“Fine, consider it a threat then,” Aragorn declared and grabbed Gimli’s shoulder before snapping it into place and extracting a loud curse from the dwarf. Gimli’s teeth were gnashing by the time Aragorn was finished with him but the initial pain and the unpleasant sensation of bone against bone soon subsided into a dull throb that was somewhat manageable.
“Better?” Aragorn stared at him as Gimli moved his shoulder and was surprised by how much less it hurt.
“Considerably,” Gimli said still becoming accustomed to the fact that he was no longer in excruciating pain. “What did you do?”
“Dislocated shoulder,” Aragorn remarked. “I merely slipped it back into place.”
“Thank you,” Gimli nodded, retrieving his sword before he stared sharply at Aragorn. “The one who did this to me, he called you his equal. At the time, I thought he meant swordsmen but whilst I battled him, there was a moment when I almost had him. He escaped when another threw himself before my axe to prevent it. Aragorn, I think he might have been their leader.”
Aragorn thought quickly and looked down into the Haradrim being cut down by the arrows although there were not enough bowmen to prevent all of them from advancing towards the wall. He thought of the elusive leader of the Easterling Confederacy whose identity was a closely guarded secret that none of his Rangers had been able to learn. Was his nemesis down there, commanding this army as he was commanding the defenders of Lossarnach?
“Would you recognise him if you saw him again?” Aragorn asked quickly.
“I would but only because he is difficult to miss. He is not a man of Harad or Far Harad. I think he comes from the Sunlands.”
“The Sunlands?” Aragorn exclaimed. “You mean like Melia?”
“Melia is not pure blooded,” the dwarf answered shaking his head. “This warrior was. He was tall and big. His skin was much darker than Melia’s almost black like his eyes. He swept me aside as if I were a child and he was disappointed that he was not fighting you, Aragorn.”
“That moment will come soon enough,” Aragorn said coldly, trying to find his nemesis in the invaders below and knew that their confrontation would have to wait. At present, the game this unseen commander had set in motion was still in play and Lossarnach still had a long night ahead of it.
**************
Legolas armed his bow and struck down a Haradrim clambering up the ladder, attempting to reach the walls of Lossarnach with the rest of his comrades. The arrow speared him through the chest and Legolas barely noticed his fall because the elven lord was already reaching for another arrow. As another Haradrim hurried up the ladder to take his place, Legolas removed him just as swiftly and continued to do so until there were no more. The other archers were also doing the same though they were not blessed his speed and some of the Haradrim warriors were managing to reach the top of the wall. Fortunately, the militia by way of swords, spears and even boiling oil quickly vanquished these.
It continued for hours, this business of keeping the wall clear of the enemy. Bowmen fired an inexhaustible supply of arrows into the advancing enemy while others employed more direct methods. The bodies of Haradrim were beginning to pile the base of the walls for as far as the eyes could see but they continued to come, relentless and possessed. Legolas could feel his own limbs become heavy as he saw the dogged determination of Lossarnach’s defenders, forcing themselves to keep fighting despite their exhaustion and lack of sleep. Through sheer force of will, they continued to hold the wall against the invaders and Legolas could not help but admire the beauty of all that proud determination.
Leading this display of triumph despite their adverse situation was the king of Gondor, who himself stood on the front line, who did not leave the wall and fought just as hard, even harder some might say, to ensure that they were not overcome by the Haradrim. It was Aragorn’s voice that kept up the morale of his people and it reminded Legolas of the days after the Battle of Pelennor when the word had swept through Minas Tirith that the king had returned. It was a marvellous thing to see hope come alive on the faces of those who had been without it for so long. It was that faith in their king that kept the defenders of Lossarnach fighting even though it seemed like the Haradrim’s numbers were endless.
Suddenly, with the first rays of sunlight filtering through the night sky, the advance along the wall ceased and suddenly the enemy was retreating. For a moment, Legolas considered that this could be a ruse designed to trick them but then a cry swept through the enemy ranks and the warriors that had been so determined to take the city began to withdraw. They left their dead where they were and moved slowly off the battlefield as if they were in little hurry to escape. The warriors of Lossnarch looked upon the withdrawal in silence, uncertain that what they had achieved was a victory. In fact as they saw how many Haradrim were withdrawing, they were certain of it.
“This departure means nothing,” Nunaur who was a seasoned veteran of numerous wars remarked confidently as he watched the enemy disappear.
“I agree,” Legolas nodded. “I think this is a strategic withdrawal, not an admission of defeat.”
Aragorn had made his way across the length of the wall, his eyes still fixed ahead at the withdrawing enemy although he held no illusions as to why the Haradrim were departing. For the first time since the onset of the battle, Aragorn was able to approach Legolas since the fighting had kept them apart. Although they captured glimpses of each other during the night, neither had been able to exchange words and the abrupt cessation of hostilities made Aragorn seek out the elves counsel.
“They are leaving to reconsider their strategy,” Aragorn announced when he reached Legolas and Nunaur.
“I believe so,” Legolas met Aragorn’s gaze and showed his agreement with the king’s assessment of the situation. “They have probably discerned that they are wasting too many of their men in this attempt to scale the wall.”
“They will be back and most likely with some other plan to invade the city,” Nunaur added.
“We do not have much time,” Aragorn replied. “At best perhaps a few hours before they resume their assault and I am uncertain of what form it will come.”
“We managed to hold them off this long,” Legolas declared, hearing the weariness in Aragorn’s voice. Sometimes it was easy to forget that even someone who was capable of bolstering the spirit of others in times of crisis could need the same words of hope. Aragorn was forcing himself to keep faith for the sake of his people but Legolas could see his doubts and fear of failing them was a great weight upon his shoulders.
“Gimli believes that the leader of the Easterling Confederacy may be leading this attack,” Aragorn announced, his gaze sweeping across the ranks of the departing Haradrim as if will alone could reveal the identify of his nemesis to him.
“Are you certain?” Legolas exclaimed, aware of how elusive that piece of information had been these past months since the declaration of war was made.
“The man he fought said that he wished to fight with his equal, but a companion of mine would do. He almost killed Gimli and when our friend almost took his life, one of the Haradrim soldiers sacrificed himself to prevent it.”
“Definitely a person of some importance,” Nunaur agreed. As the march warden of Eden Ardhon and the captain of Legolas’ warriors, he knew that it was a soldier’s duty to protect his lord and there was no question of his willingness to sacrifice his life if it meant achieving that end. “I think Master Gimli may be correct. It sounds like the behaviour of a soldier protecting his king.”
“He has proven himself to be a shrewd opponent,” Aragorn replied, still staring beyond the walls. “I fear what he may level at us when the Haradrim return.”
“And you have managed to hold Lossarnach when by all rights it should have fallen with the first wave of attacks,” Legolas reminded Aragorn. “Your words have turned farmers into warriors, willing to lay down their lives to protect their homes. Do not underestimate yourself.”
“Thank you my friend,” Aragorn offered Legolas a smile. “As stubborn as you are, I am glad that you are here. We could not have done this without your aid.”
“It is an honour to serve the Elfstone,” Nunaur replied without hesitation.
“And someone needs to see to it that your skin remains attached to your body,” Legolas replied with a smirk.
“Likewise,” Aragorn retorted. “I hope you do not have cause to regret this, Legolas.”
“I would regret it more if I did not aid you in your time of need Aragorn and my presence here is not any avocation of war. I am here as your friend and nothing more,” Legolas answered sincerely.
Aragorn did not answer but feared the Haradrim would not be able to make that distinction.
**************
The dawn came with no sign of the Haradrim making their return. While some in Lossarnach were ready to leap to the conclusion that the enemy, discouraged by their vehement defence of the city, had left for good. However, the majority of Lossarnach’s defenders were grounded in reality and anticipated that an even more vicious attack was eminent. In between catching a few hours rest before the arrival of the next onslaught, Aragorn ensured that they prepared as best they could for the coming melee. While their comrades slept or worked, guards patrolled the walls, keeping a vigil at the first sight of danger. The dawn should have been a time of hope but for those inside the city, it was a limbo where they knew not what the twilight would bring.
Aragorn ensured that no one dwelt too heavily on the coming battle, occupying their thoughts instead with preparations to survive it. He tried to think of what the enemy would do, having failed the initial incursion and was almost certain that a siege would soon follow. He did not doubt that they would again try to storm the city walls but they would do so ensuring that those within it were too preoccupied with other matters to stop them. Thus the business of protecting Lossarnach from these efforts became the main occupation of its defenders during the hours before the second attack.
The interlude between battles was also time for them to tend to their injured. Though it was dangerous to emerge from the safety of Lossarnach’s walls, the sight of their fallen brethren lying in the field was too much for many to endure and that kind of demoralising prior to any engagement was a dangerous thing. A small band of militia was given the task of retrieving Lossarnach’s dead. Among these, was Fenreg, Steward of Lossarnach, who had fought valiantly until he was set upon a five Haradrim who assailed him with multiple injuries. His flesh was so mutilated that he was returned to his city walls with his body covered and as they were unaware of how long this siege would last, no proper burial could be afforded other than one in fire.
It was a grim duty but no more terrible than anything that awaited them when the Haradrim returned.
“You need to take some rest,” Legolas said to Aragorn after seeking him out in the house of healing. Legolas was certain that Aragorn was the only one who had yet to take some time to replenish his strength. The king had been busily directing the fortification efforts, ensuring that his men were not demoralized by making himself accessible to them and then aiding the healers in the healing room set aside for the injured.
“I am fine,” Aragorn said as he put the finishing touches on a wounded man’s bandage.
“You are not fine and this self flagellation does not aid your people,” the elf said firmly. “Even they worry for you. They came to me when they realised how thick headed you were about listening to good advice.”
“ I always take your counsel,” Aragorn retorted straightening up from his seat next to his patient’s bed.
“Except when it pertains to your own well-being,” Legolas frowned. “Now you can come with me willingly or I will lay you flat now and you can sleep here.”
“You would not dare,” Aragorn challenged even though he knew that Legolas was serious. “I am king you know.”
“And this matters to me how?” Legolas gave him a look.
“Good point,” Aragorn conceded defeat. “I will take your advice.”
“That is fortunate,” Legolas said satisfied. “It is good to know that I am able to move you with the proper amount of inducement.”
“Do not get ahead of yourself,” Aragorn remarked as they started out of the room. “The only elf I am afraid of is my wife and you are not as pretty as she, though I have heard it said…” he started so say with an expression of boyish mischief upon his face.
“Conclude that sentence and I will hurt you,” Legolas growled shortly.
Aragorn laughed shortly, glad that there was opportunity to do so despite their present circumstances. It was a good distraction from how much the odds were against them. Even as they spoke, he was certain that the enemy was somewhere, plotting a means to break through their defences and could succeed if reinforcements from Ithilien were delayed for any reason. They left the house of healing behind and stepped onto the walkway along the wall. Beyond the bodies of the dead Haradrim, the vale of Lossarnach still remained beautiful despite the violence that had been wrought within its confines only hours before.
“Strange how it remains so untouched,” Aragorn stared into the landscape.
“The land is the one constant in all things, Aragorn,” the Prince of Mirkwood remarked as he followed the man’s gaze. “It outlives everything, even the elves. I have no doubt that in the past this vale has seen much bloodshed, wars that have been robbed their due in the histories and long after we are gone, there will be many to follow but the land will remain the same, unchanged and indifferent.”
“I wish they would stop for a little while,” Aragorn said softly, feeling deeply sad at the situation he now found himself with the people he cared for. “Is it so much to ask for Legolas, to have some peace?”
“For you I fear not,” the elf said with most honesty than Aragorn would prefer to hear. “You are the one to bring peace Aragorn. It will not come about without you and it is perfectly willing to wait for you. That is your fate and the hope of your people.”
“My mother often said that to me though she never had hope in her eyes when she spoke,” Aragorn replied. “I wonder what she would think of all this.”
“I think Gilraen would have been proud,” Legolas said gently, even though he was surprised to hear Aragorn speak of the lady.
Legolas himself had known Gilraen and she was a woman to be admired. Perhaps that is why Aragorn loved Arwen so for she possessed Gilraen’s nurturing strength. Aragorn had been a young man when she died but Legolas remembered the day well. The youth he was, had stood there at the place where they had chosen to rest his mother’s worn body, staring at the monument of stone built to mark her passing. Legolas had remembered staring at this boy, destined to be a king and knew that he would be because he had kept his grief under control by sheer will. Will like that could move mountains or more precisely win a kingdom.
His face had been an impassive mask but the eyes, oh the eyes spoke such sorrow.
“I will never know,” Aragorn answered, his gaze lost in the descending curtain of night.
Legolas waited for Aragorn to speak but the king remained silent, his eyes staring at the horizon with unflinching attention. The elf thought for a moment that this was a subject to difficult for the man to discuss and had decided to leave the subject alone when he followed Aragorn’s gaze and realised that the king’s preoccupation had little to do with the painful memories of his mother’s demise and everything to do with the arm that was making its way over the horizon to the walls of Lossarnach.
“They have returned,” he said softly, meeting Legolas’ eyes.
“You knew they would,” Legolas reminded, inwardly bracing himself for more bloodshed.
“I did,” Aragorn answered, “though I must confess, it took longer than I thought.”
An amazing transformation came over Aragorn then, one that Legolas never ceased to marvel at. The silent, introspective man he knew disappeared with a sudden straightening of posture and the release of a held breath. Legolas had seen it numerous times and had never seemed to lose the fascination of the metamorphosis, that first moment that he had dared to announce his lineage to Eomer on the trail of the Uruk Hai who had stolen away Merry and Pippin. All traces of Strider vanished in place was Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan and the High King of the Reunified Kingdom.
“Come my friend,” Aragorn said firmly, very much in character now. “We will see what else they can throw at us.”
**************
On the opposite corner of the White Mountains, the Rohirrim were also licking their wounds after being ambushed in the dark by the goblins of Moria. Eomer supposed that in the scheme of things, it was only logical that the Easterlings would approach the foul inhabitants of Moria to aid them in the war against their enemies. The Easterling Confederacy was slowly pulling together all the races with some grievance against Gondor and its allies and the goblins stood as much to lose as the rest of them in the continued prosperity of the Reunified Kingdom.
It was well known that Gimli had made several incursions into Moria, attempting to purge it of the influence that had seen the destruction of Balin and his people. There had been rumblings for some time that the northern kingdom of Arnor might be wiling to commit troops to reach that end in order to exploit the rich mithrail deposits beneath the Misty Mountains. As if it was not enough that the dwarfs had invaded Moria numerous time to exact vengeance for their dead kin at the hands of goblins who allied themselves with the Balrog.
However, with Gimli a member of the fellowship and close friend to the king, the day when men and elves united to rid Moria of its unholy occupants did not seem so distant and it was in the best interests of the goblins that they threw in their lot with the Easterlings. Even with the mithrail fortune existing in the mountains, the Easterlings had no interest in the realm of the goblins since the conquest of Gondor and Rohan would yield riches in itself. Eomer wondered what promises they had made to the goblins about dividing the spoils between themselves, the Dunlendings and the goblins. How far did this alliance truly delve.
These were questions Eomer could not answer immediately, though he had no doubt in his mind that the goblins had waylaid Bowen and the Rohirrim the way they had intended to ambush Eomer and his men. Eomer was not even certain that the message from Bowen was truly legitimate but another part of the plan to draw them from Edoras into the foothills where they were vulnerable. Had the plan been to take the king’s head and leave the Rohirrim leaderless? Eomer could not answer but the architect of all this scheming was proving to be as shrewd an enemy as Saruman himself.
During their twilight ambush at the hands of the goblin, Eomer and the Rohirrim had manage to fight their way into the open plains where they were in a better position to defend themselves. The King of the Mark did not want to think of how had lost during the initial skirmish but in the cold light of day, he was forced to concede a loss of almost a quarter of his men. If it were not for the prescience of the animals they rode, that number would have been far worse. Once in open country, the Rohirrim were in their element, night or not and they only had to prevail until morning before the goblins were driven back to their hiding places. This was done easily enough for the Rohirrim were not warriors to provoke.
Still, they did not emerge from the battle unscathed and when they found a place to shelter after the fighting was done, they were still reluctant to rest easy until the sun had rose over the horizon once again. Goblins were notorious for their weakness to the sunlight and only during the day could the Rohirrim be truly confident that they were safe. Thus after the breaking of dawn, Eomer allowed his men to rest while taking a small scouting party with him to search for what remained of Marshall of Riddermark and his riders. Despite Carleon’s protests that he stay with the main party and rested his injuries, Eomer was determined to go and in the end, the Third Marshall of Riddermark ensured that the only way to keep the king safe was to remain at his side.
It did not take long to return to the place where the Rohirrim had been attacked and in the daylight, it was hard to picture the gloomy, grey rock filled slope as being the scene for a life and death struggle. However, there was ample evidence of it in the bloodied weapons and armour that lay on the ground. Litter for the aftermath of battle. There were no bodies and that fact alone sent a streak of outrage through the search party for there could be only one reason for it. Goblins were man eaters. Pressing on, Eomer and his men continued their search and it was not long before they found the site where Bowen had fallen.
It was as terrible as they feared.
Once again, the refuse of a great battle or in this case, an ambush was evidenced all around them. It had taken Eomer many days to reach this place so the goblins had more time to deal with his Rohirrim brothers. Bowen had not fared as well as his king mostly because Eomer had more experienced dealing in foul kind such as goblins and Uruk Hai after being on the front lines of Helm’s Deep and then Pelennor. In any case, Bowen and his army had never left the place where the trap had been sprung and the goblins saw no reason to hide their victory when they knew no one would be arriving for many days to make them account for their terrible deeds.
Here there were bodies or more accurately, bones.
Eomer tried not to imagine what horrors had been faced by the injured that were to helpless to defend themselves or fortunate enough to have been killed outright. He found their bones, skeletons that had been dismembered and then gnarled clean. There was meat on many of them and the sight was so much like a slaughterhouse than many of his search party had been forced on their knees to retch in disgust. Eomer did not blame them for the Rohirrim were not men who were possessed of weak constitutions but what they found was enough to reduce the strongest man to horror.
It occurred to Eomer that it was not the goblins that had frightened the horses so but rather the stench of blood that he and his human companions had been unable to detect without the beasts’ superior sense of smell. There was blood everywhere. It was caked on rocks, on the leaves of scant bushes. It was by far the most horrific thing that Eomer had seen and the discards of helmets, armour and weapons bathed in the same inflamed Eomer’s outrage to a white-hot fury.
Unfortunately, all that could be done in the wake of such carnage was to give burial to what dismembered remains there could be found. None of the skeletons remained intact, leading Eomer to the assumption that the goblins had days to satisfy their taste of man flesh. The burial was a grim task that many of the less seasoned men of the Rohirrim were unable to manage. Only veterans of war who had seen similar scenes of carnage were capable of performing the task. Eomer himself had taken part in this duty and there was a prevailing silence of seething anger as they gave their dead comrades the burial they deserved following the death that they had not.
It was traditional that the weapons of a fallen warrior should be buried with him and such was the case here, even if they could not discern who owned what weapon they found. As they gathered the weapons that would join its masters in their final resting place, Eomer noticed something that had not occurred to him before. In the wake of what they had seen, he could not deny that he was in the same stupor of shock as his men. However, the realisation leapt at him and led quickly to darker possibilities.
“Carleon,” he addressed the Third Marshal of Riddermark in the midst of the collection as he held a goblin arrow in his hand. “Have we found any weapons other than those belonging to our people and the goblins?”
Carleon, a veteran of Pelennor who had risen through the ranks of the Rohirrim quickly since, straightened up immediately and stared at his king with suspicion. “No,” he shook his head. “We have not.”
Eomer absorbed this and in doing so become decidedly more anxious because he as being forced to an unpleasant location. “We received intelligence from the Rangers that the Dunlendings were moving towards this area. The Rangers were certain of it and that is why Bowen and his men set off to engage them.”
“Yes,” Carleon nodded wondering why Eomer was telling him things he already knew. “However, their intelligence should have included the movement of the goblins as well.”
There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice that Eomer could not blame him for. The king was similarly enflamed by what they had seen today. However, outrage had to be set aside when looming in the distance was an even greater peril, one that Carleon could yet see.
“Not if it were a trap to lure us here,” Eomer replied, remembering how they had been caught in a similar trick not long ago. “Think of it Carleon, they allow themselves to be detected by the Rangers so that the Rohirrim would investigate. The word of the Rangers is not enough to bring forth a greater Rohirrim force but if a message were sent from the Marshal of the Mark, summoning the king, that is another matter entirely.”
“Then this was all an effort to bring you here to murder you?” Carleon exclaimed, furious at the subterfuge. The Rohirrim preferred to face their enemies without schemes. They believed in the purity of face-to-face confrontations and had little patience with deceptive strategies designed to weaken the enemy before that moment. This business of luring a king away from his people to assassinate him stabbed at the heart of the Rohirrim code of conduct.
“No,” Eomer replied, feeling his breath quiver as he released it to answer. “This was about ensuring that the bulk of our forces would be away from the Golden Hall when the Dunlendings move to take Edoras. That is why they are not here. The goblins were to either kill us or delay us so that the Dunleandings could make their way to the heart of Rohan without interference.”
Carleon could not speak but his face registered his shock. Eomer could not blame him because only one word filled his thoughts with this terrible deduction.
Lothiriel.