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. As Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien rally its forces and protect the eastern boundaries, Aragorn asks that Eden Ardhon maintain a neutral position in light of its vulnerable position near the Haradrim border.
Following the declaration of war, the combined armies of the Easterlings and Haradrim, called the Easterling Confederacy, led by a mysterious leader, have recruited allies across Middle earth to assail Gondor and Rohan from all sides. A pre-emptive strike is inflicted upon the village of Lebethron, where the entire population is murdered as a warning to Eden Ardhon, the elven colony in South Ithilien to not interfere in the conflict.
With the Confederacy dividing its forces to confuse the enemy, Lossarnach, the ancient fiefdom of Gondor comes under assault with only a handful of defenders. As word is sent to Ithilien where the Gondorian armies along with the Rohirrim Cavalry are gathered, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and a handful of elves successfully prevent the fall of the city which would have been an important foothold for the Confederacy if it had succeeded. However, the involvement of the elves result in orders issued to strike at Eden Ardhon.
Meanwhile rogue Dunlending tribes assault Edoras while the bulk of the Rohirrim is at Ithilien and the remaining forces protecting the city are lured away by the goblins of Moria. Disaster is averted when Lothiriel discovers a Dunlending scouting party and returns to Edoras to raise the alarm. Edoras is saved by the return of the Rohirrim cavalry led by Eomer, the King of the Mark but not before Lothiriel is forced to use her magic to kill.
An intercepted courier reveals to Legolas Greenleaf the impending danger to Eden Ardhon in retribution of his involvement in the defense of Lossarnach. Legolas returns home in the wake of significant damage to Eden Ardhon and the surrounding wood as well as the heinous violation of many of its women, including his own wife Melia. Enraged, he returns home to Mirkwood and convinces his father that the elves must join the conflict if they choose to remain in Middle earth.
With the allies of the Reunified Kingdom, nursing wounds from multiple attacks, the Easterlings and the Haradrim finally launch their biggest assault upon the fortifications of Ithilien, where Eowyn, the White Lady is forced to take part in the battle against overwhelming odds. The arrival of Legolas and the elven army of Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien save Ithilien. Faramir returns home to Ithilien and learns that Eowyn was injured during the battle and that he is going to be a father. In Edoras, Eomer marries Lothiriel of Dol Amroth before he leaves Edoras to attend a council of war in Ithilien, where it is decided that the armies of the Reunified Kingdom will retaliate by launching an offense against the territories of the enemy.
***********
On this day, the boy had become a man.
If his father were alive to see it, it would have been an event of joyous celebration. These were the moments that fathers and sons shared best; it defined their relationship for the rest of their lives and continued when the son became the father to a new generation. His father had been an anomaly who had not wished for this occasion as much as others in his village. If he were older, he would have understood that as his father's only child, the man was not eager to see the boy grow to manhood as other men might have been with a household of sons. For his father, the boy was all that was left of a dead wife and he was in no eagerness to see his son grow to adulthood and leave him behind when his life took the boy upon a different road.
The boy who was called Damin knew little of this except that he had been loved and perhaps had been raised with a gentler hand than rightly traditional for his people. While other boys learned to fight, he had dreamed of the far away places and travelling the world to fill his senses with wonder and discovery. His father told him of days when the world was not so hard, when there was no famine, when the dry, arid heat of their lands was a place of beauty not so ravaged by the wars of gods and creatures beyond their ken. He longed to see these places. Sometimes, he would sit upon the edge of their village and stare into the vastness, knowing that there was more than just sand and heat waiting over each dune.
His father had seen the lands beyond their village for he had walked across the desert with many others, some like Sola's father who had returned home and others like Marayan's, who had not. He had many friends whose fathers had left their village and returned home and others who never came back at all becoming lost in those distant lands. Their deaths were grieved but their passing an honor, for the village elders often spoke that it was necessary to defend one's home, to take arms and protect it at all costs, even when the cause did not seem right or just. To guard against the enemy was to hurt him first, to show him that they were strong and fearsome, worthy of respect and therefore caution.
Damin learn this in school with other boys his age, absorbing it with as much understanding but tempered with his father's wisdom who often countered that while it was necessary to fight, it was also sometimes necessary to yield, to sue for peace and survive. His father had been a contradiction, a man who believed in peace and yet forged weapons for a living. He made the finest weapons of war and Damin was proud to see great warriors from all across the land come in search of his unique blades. Damin himself was too small to handle any of his father's wares and in truth, his father was not eager for him to know the weapon. It was a source of some irritation because other boys were already rewarded with their own and he was not.
However, he had his dreams and his secret plans of far away adventure, where beasts greater than the mumakils lived. Great serpents breathing flame that flew in the air leveling whole villages and eagles who wings could carry a man across the sky, did battle with them. In secret, his father spoke of races older than man, of such profound beauty that to gaze upon them was akin at looking into the sky and seeing Varda's starlight embodied in flesh. He wondered about these folk who did not die, who were luminous in their hearts and in their knowledge, who had been alive longer than man.
The great lord who ruled over them was one of such folk, fair and beautiful. He lived in his tower far away from their own lands, in a place of his own, surrounded by wall of mountains that spewed ash and flame to keep away the enemies. Their lord ensured that they would never fall under the dominion of anyone. Since he was born, Damin heard the tales of the lord's envoys who came and took away their best warriors to protect their lands; some as recent as three seasons ago when a good deal had gone across the desert. Damin had watched them go, amidst the weeping of women, who never understood the importance of such duty, wearing their mail and carrying their curved blades, ready to fight in a great conflict whose outcome everyone feared.
It was the conflict that preceded the Great Hunger.
They did not come back, most of them and those who did, seemed sad as if the honor that was promised to them when they marched was no more. They returned home and suddenly there no longer seemed to exist enough food. Their return proceeded a spell of heat where no rain came and what meager crops they had failed, withered away in dust and thirst. The tributes and gifts of grain from their great lord no longer came and for the first time in his life, Damin knew what it was to feel a hunger so intense, it gnawed at one's inside and drove away dreams of adventures into forgetfulness.
His father no longer made swords and what he had, he could not sell at their proper price. He went away with some of the other fathers and they returned many weeks later with bags of seed and tools for farming. Water became precious and none of it could be wasted as village began planting. Their water was rationed because they needed to irrigate crops and though it was hard for their lands was never good for such an occupation, small buds were coaxed through difficult soil in the spring. When it came time to reap the benefits of what they had sown, the harvest had been a small one but enough for them to stave off the effects of the famine.
Then he came and it all changed again.
He came from the south, with skin as black as jet and he wore the cloak of an animal skin and when he journeyed with a small army, Damin thought that their lord had finally come to deliver them from their hunger, that their burden was over. However, the lord was not a lord, he was a king and a warrior king at that. He brought no tribute but instead, spoke of breaking the cycle of hunger by going forth one last time to the lands beyond the dunes, to take back what they had lost. He spoke of honor and glory with such eloquence that Damin was moved. When he left, many had gone with him and his small army had become a much larger one.
His father had remained behind and more strangely had not made swords for the departing army. The warrior king had told him he was a fool and Damin could not understand why his father would be rebuked for not wanting to fight. There were tears of sorrow in his father's eyes when he saw them march away and the women wept again. Damin wondered why there should be such sadness when the warrior king had promised the fruits of this departure would be the end to the famine and all would have food in their bellies for the coming months, perhaps for all time.
And like the others, only a few had come back
But this time, there was no sadness or defeat in their eyes when they returned. Damin saw something he had never seen before. He saw their fear and it spread across the village like a brush fire. Damin had tried to ask his father why were people fleeing for the hills, why the return of the soldiers had caused such anxiety. His father did not answer but spoke that there were races beyond their lands and while they could be cruel, they could also be kind also and his father did not think they would be cruel.
"They are the First Born," his father had explained.
"Are we going to see them father?" He had asked.
His father nodded grimly and replied, "yes."
Half the village fled, terrified of some coming evil. Many remained including his father who did not believe the stories that was spoken about in hushed whispers, stories the children were not supposed to hear but his father began making swords again. This time, these were not for warriors on the way across the desert but for people Damin saw everyday, the shepherd, the baker, the farmer and the merchants. Even the warriors who returned home were now preparing for the coming storm of which none of the elders would speak but whose presence was overwhelming because of their fear.
Damin understood why when he was awoken one night by the thundering of hooves against the dirt. He woke from his bed and ran to the window, hearing a growing cacophony of sound as the rest of village made the same discovery. He peered out of the window and saw the signal fires throughout the town coming to life. Bright tongues of amber gave illumination to the invaders, their hair gleaming in the light as they rode through the village astride horses with no saddles. Damin had seen horses before but never in so many number and he had never seen them ridden like this. They did not possess the formidability of the mumakils but they able to move into narrow streets and they crossed the village faster.
The screams began soon after the first arrow flew from the riders on horseback.
They flew fast and accurate, striking the villagers whom had emerged from their homes to defend themselves. Women and children were ordered to remain in their homes as the men went to fight. From his window, Damin saw them, the invaders, their gleaming mail, their elegant swords, and their swift and sure arrows. He saw the fathers of his friends falling, struck down by the riders who cut them to ribbons and spared no one man, not even those who in the face of danger had dropped their sword and fled. They were struck down ruthlessly, a savage death delivered by a not so savage enemy.
He saw them climb off their horses when it was time to sweep the village and eradicate the last remaining bit of resistance. Long, golden hair that captured the light as they moved and they moved like nothing Damin had ever seen. Graceful like birds in the sky, their armors gleaming like a thing of beauty against their bodies. It was easy to be mesmerized even when they raised their swords to kill. He watched and knew at last that these were the folk his father had spoke of for so long, the fair and beautiful folk from across the desert. The ones who did not know death and yet had little difficulty dispensing it this night.
He watched them sweep into houses, entering them amidst screams and emerging from them after those same cries had ended abruptly, their blades dripping with blood, droplets following them across the dirt. They killed only the men and that realization was slow to dawn upon Damin in the face of the carnage he was bearing witness to. It was only when he saw his father at the door of his room, ordering him under the bed, did he realize the danger.
"I do not want to hide," he protested, staring at his father who was holding a sword in one hand. In all his life, Damin had never seen his father wield a sword even though he was a weapon smith. The curved scimitar in his hand was old and not the same as those his father sold to others. Without hearing him say it, Damin knew that this was his father's sword, the one he carried with him when he had crossed the desert in his youth.
"You have to hide," his father had said before embracing him and there was a finality to the act that brought tears immediately to Damin's face. "You will not emerge until I come for you," he added but Damin looked into his eyes and knew he was lying.
His father left him huddled beneath the frame of his bed before running out once more. Damin's head was pressed to the ground and he heard the door swing open followed by the clanging of swords. However, it was a sharp cry that made him forget all about his father's warning. He hurried out and paused at the sight of what greeted him. The tall man, with the long golden hair stood there meeting his gaze, his blade wet with blood while at his feet Damin's father lay dead, his blood creating a crimson pool beneath him. The golden warrior stared at Damin for a moment, his blue eyes taking in the sight of him before his brow furrowed into an unfathomable expression that Damin would have recognized as guilt had he been older.
"I am sorry little one," he whispered.
Damin had said nothing and lowered to his knees, his small hands brushing his father's cheek. He was unaware that the tears running down his face was a far sharper blade against the warrior who had taken his father's life than any that could break skin. The golden warrior turned away, unable to look upon what he had wrought and it was only then that Damin's hands found the hilt of his father's sword. A burst of rage and grief forced the child, who would turn nine on his next birthday, to take up the blade and lunge at the warrior retreating through the door.
The enemy swung, sensing the danger with a keen sight that Damin did not think was real and reacted accordingly as any soldier confronted by a sudden attack would do. His blade sliced through Damin's heart, cleaving it in two even before he realized what he had one. As Damin's life drained away in seconds, he saw the face of his killer, one of the fair folk and what his father used to call an elf, twist in agony, an expression of profound horror following him into the darkness of death.
As death claimed Damin of Axinar, who held a sword in his hand when he fell, his last thought was that on this day, the boy had become a man.
His father would have been proud.
The dry heat burned into his skin beneath his clothes and for once Aragorn Elessar was grateful that his armour was packed away for the moment and he had no need of it. Gazing upwards, the sun seemed to glare back with indifference and forced the king of the Reunified Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. Lowering his eyes to the road ahead, he longed for a view of rolling green hills, tall trees whose roots ran deep into fresh loamy soil and the light mist of morning drifting across the land. He thought of his days in the wild, enjoying the quiet beauty of the forest and wished more than anything that he could be there today instead of this desolate place they were forced to traverse.
Ahead of him, there was nothing but empty dry, craggy terrain, where scorpions lurked under every stone as some of his men had learnt the hard way since this journey had begun. Water was a commodity more valuable than gold in this place and during the past weeks, they had learnt to ration it carefully. Watering holes did exist but they were rare and since the maps of this part of Middle earth spoke of no rivers for quite some distance, their advance into enemy territory could grind to a halt if they wasted their water supplies. It was not to say that they were unsupplied. In truth, they were exceedingly well equipped because Aragorn’s first order after the decision to invade was made was the creation of an efficient supply line, which they had done.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Faramir too had given his armour and was clad once again in the clothes that he had worn as a Ranger. It was an idea Aragorn had subscribed to even though he was force to don sufficient regalia to ensure that no one mistook him for anyone but the king. In terms of morale, it was a necessary evil unfortunately. The Prince of Ithilien was staring into the distance but Aragorn doubted he was aware of anything ahead of him, preferring to let his horse to do the work of riding. The king suppressed a little smile, perfectly aware of what thoughts were running through the younger man’s head especially after learning that he was going to be a father.
"Have you thought of a name?" Aragorn could not resist teasing.
Faramir turned to him with question in his eyes, realising that Aragorn had spoken if not exactly what he had said. "You spoke?"
"I see you are going to be no good to anyone until this child is born," the king joked.
Faramir laughed conceding defeat.
"I apologise Aragorn," Faramir replied, familiar with his king well enough to know that the man liked to be addressed by his name, not by his title. Faramir suspected that this allowed Aragorn to keep some semblance of his former life intact, to know his identity had not been absorbed entirely into the persona of the king. "My thoughts are elsewhere," Faramir confessed.
"That is no surprise to me," Aragorn smiled, remembering how he had behaved when Eldarion was born and was planning to take great delight when Faramir exhibited those same symptoms. "I asked if you had thought of a name."
Faramir nodded, recalling the few days he had spent in Ithilien before the council had made their decision to take the offensive in their war against the Confederacy. Eowyn was still recovering from her injuries during the battle at their fortress of the Eastern Eye and he had spent most of his time at her side, when he was not required to deal with preparations for their march into enemy territory. Even though the event was months away, both of them had delighted in enjoying what scant time they had together discussing it like any proud couple about to bear their first child.
"If it is a girl, Eowyn wishes to name her Théodwyn after her mother," Faramir revealed.
"That is a pretty name," Aragorn nodded, recalling that Theoden’s only sister had passed when Eowyn and Eomer were children. "And if it is a boy?"
"If it is a boy then he will be named Boromir," Faramir said quietly.
"That would be fine indeed," Aragorn replied meeting his gaze and showing his approval of Faramir’s choice. Even now, Aragorn missed Denethor’s oldest son deeply and knew that Boromir would have thrilled in the war they were waging upon the enemies who had plagued Gondor for all his life. He remembered their drinking sessions during their journey with the Fellowship and the memory of all of Boromir’s dreams for Gondor. The One Ring had used his love for his homeland to break him but Aragorn would never begrudge him for that. Boromir was his friend and would be for all time.
"I think he would have liked to have been an uncle," Faramir added sadly.
A moment of awkward silence followed where neither man spoke. Instead, they cast their gaze upon the road ahead and continued their trek across the dry, parched land. It had been almost two months since they had departed from Ithilien and began the journey southwards. Travelling along the Harad Road, they crossed the River Pouros into the lands of Haradwaith, home to the Haradrim. During their incursion into enemy territory, there had been a few engagements but nothing matching the intensity of battle that had taken place when the Confederacy had invaded Ithilien, Gondor and Rohirrim lands. Aragorn suspected that the Haradrim were consolidating their forces to defend more important targets deeper in their territory.
The elven army had taken the lead in the offensive because they required less rest than an army of men and were able to cover greater distance. Aragorn wanted them to conduct reconnaissance of the terrain they travelling since their knowledge of Haradwaith was scattered at best. An accurate knowledge of where the local watering holes were, what communities might aid them in exchange for mercy and perhaps some supplies of grain - because Aragorn knew the country was in the grips of a famine - might lessen the cost in lives for both armies. They were journeying to rendezvous with Legolas and hoped that the elf and his folk had succeeded in securing the valuable information required.
The sound of hoofs beating behind them caused Aragorn to look over his shoulder and see Eomer approaching. The King of the Mark had departed earlier to inspect the ranks of the Rohirrim cavalry and offer words of encouragement during this long trek. It was a duty that Aragorn had advised all the leaders riding with him to attend, having done the same for the Gondorian foot soldiers. It was purely for the purposes of morale because Aragorn believed firmly that kings should never become too set apart from their people. He marched with them for a few paces, soliciting their opinions on any improvements that could make the journey smoother and employed them when suggestions were good. He knew Eomer and Imrahil were of similar mind and the effect seemed to improve the speed of their advance.
"How are the Rohirrim today? Aragorn asked when Eomer joined them.
"Hot and bothered," Eomer said shortly, removing his helmet when his horse sidled along side of Aragorn’s steed, Roheryn. "They do not mind the journey as much as they mind the heat and the anticipation of battle. Its this slow, moving caravan that bothers them."
"Typical cavalry men," Faramir snorted, "always believing that their component of the army is the most important."
"Well," Eomer gave him a look, "it is difficult to imagine why anyone would choose to fight without a horse."
"You Rohirrim have been spoiled by your saddles," Aragorn laughed. "There is nothing like keeping one’s feet to the ground in order to gain true perspective of a situation."
"I will remember that during the next battle when you are all being trampled to death by mumakils, " Eomer said dryly.
"There should be a village ahead," Faramir remarked, studying one of the few accurate maps they had of the area. Legolas had provided it during their last meeting and as Faramir looked across the dry, arid landscape, he could see no signs of it yet. Still, they were moving uphill and would most likely see it once they had passed the crest of the rise.
"Axinar," Aragorn nodded, remembering it from his own study of the map. "It is meant to be a small farming community. Their principal crop is corn."
"Corn?" Eomer stared at him. "Judging by the land, their rains have not come in quite some time, are they able to sustain growth?"
"Meagrely, I understand," Aragorn replied. "The Rangers who have come this deep have claimed that many communities, now deprived of Sauron’s tributes were forced to make their own food. Maize is a coarse grain but I believe it can grow with very little rain."
"If they had followed through with the treaty," Faramir shook his head, despising the fact that they were warring needlessly with an enemy whose people were the verge of starvation.
"Yes," Aragorn nodded sombrely. If it were not for the shape shifters who destroyed the treaty that the Reunified Kingdom was attempting to forge with the Confederacy, they would not be here now. The ruination of the treaty had driven the Confederacy to adopt desperate measures to feed their people and those measures were nothing less than an assault upon Middle earth.
Lebethron, Lossarnach, Edoras, Ithilien and Eden Ardhon had been summarily attacked and the cost in lives had mobilized the greatest army of men and elves in the Western lands since the War of the Ring.
"Do you hear that?" Faramir asked as they approached the top of the hill.
"What?" Aragorn looked at him.
"Listen," Faramir instructed his king and his face became taut with concentration.
Aragorn and Eomer exchanged puzzled looks before focusing as best they could on this elusive sound that Faramir was speaking of. A moment passed and then another where there was nothing and then, they could hear it. It was soft still because of distance but there was a sharpness to it that carried in the wind.
"It’s weeping," Faramir raised his eyes to Aragorn. "I think it is weeping."
"Look," Eomer said a moment later when they reached the top of the hill and looked down at the village of Axinar below them.
"Sweet Elbereth," Aragorn’s voice escaped him as he saw what had driven the voice from both Eomer and Faramir in seconds.
Beneath them was a village no bigger than Lebethron which had been the first to suffer the brunt of the enemy invasion. The community was small in comparison to the cornfields at its northern face. The fields of green was a stark contrast to the rest of the parched landscape and Aragorn saw water bores positioned around them to irrigate the dry soil. The field was untouched and looked pristine, a welcoming sight for a people who were accustomed to forests and great, rolling hills of green. However, the rest of Axinar turned his blood cold in his veins.
The sound of weeping was still too far to be heard clearly but Aragorn had no need to hear it any sooner. Bodies were strewn across the street, blood draining into the dry sand. Women were lamenting the fate of their men, some cradling bodies rocking back and forth, holding their children in their arms, children who were now fatherless. Some buildings were gutted with fire, the embers of which had already started to cool because they had seen no evidence of a fire before this. A great calamity had swept through this village and committed an act of butchery he had not seen since Lebethron.
"Who did this?" Eomer demanded, the man of Rohirrim so much like Boromir at times in the fact that he shared the man of Gondor’s strong sense of outrage as well as temper. "Most of those men look like farmers."
Aragorn did not speak but a dreadful suspicion was creeping up his spine, one he dared not voiced even though he could see the same conclusion dawning upon Faramir, if not Eomer. Eomer’s senses were too filled with disgust at the carnage to think clearly as to who might be responsible but for Aragorn and Faramir, who were not as impulsive as the horse lord, the answer screamed out in their minds.
"Faramir," Aragorn said staring at head at the devastated village, not even turning to his Steward as he spoke, "tell everyone we will hold here for now. I want a small detachment of men to help with the bodies and see what rations we can spare. With the men gone, these folk have no one left to harvest the corn. Also, we will need Pallando. I believe he is riding with Imrahil at the rear. We will need him to speak for us."
"It will be done," Faramir nodded, tugging the reins of his horse gently and retreating up the column of the army.
Aragorn nudged Roheryn forward, his expression one of stone.
"You are going down there?" The King of the Mark asked the obvious question.
"Yes," Aragorn nodded sombrely, seeing nothing but the dead,. He prayed that he was wrong but deep inside of him, he knew he was not.
***************
Eomer would not allow Aragorn to go into the village of Axinar alone. While the army halted their progress on the outskirts of the community, the two riders made their way into the village and saw the aftermath of a bloody night of terror. Women were weeping next to their men, children were wandering about, the horror of last night’s events reflected in their dazed expressions. At the sight of them, the women screamed and ran away in fright, picking up their children and vanishing into their home of mud brick. Goats, which appeared to be the primary meat source in this part of the realm, brayed anxiously in their pens at the human stampede. The heat of the sun was taking its toll upon the bodies, bloating them as the stench of dust began to take on a decidedly rancid odour.
Aragorn dismounted and swept his gaze across the village, at the faces too despaired to run in fear. There were trails of blood leading from the open doors of houses, a clear indication of what violence transpired here the night before. He wiped his nose at the smell of charred wood and stared at one home long enough to see the burnt skeleton within its ruins. A child peered out a window and quickly retreated as flies buzzed noisily around the corpse in front of her home. Aragorn walked to the dead man and waved away the flies feeding off his blood and torn flesh. He studied the man’s hands briefly and noticed the worn leather of his flesh, the hard calluses. Whatever, this man did for a living, it was not soldiering.
His eyes caught sight of a brooch and reached for it. Examining the fine piece of silver in his hands, his stomach hollowed and he clenched his fist around it, not caring that the pin dug into his skin or that after a moment, rivulets of blood were running down his hands. He wanted to scream but he was almost beyond anger. He had not been so angry since he had found Boromir but this time, it was not a murderous Uruk-Hai that had earned his rage and that realisation made his anguish even worse.
"Aragorn," Eomer came to him and saw the blood. "Your hand."
The King of Rohan took Aragorn’s hand and Aragorn did not have the will to stop him. Eomer opened his palm and saw the blood drenched brooch in his hand. It did not take him long to reach to the same conclusion as Aragorn and his intense green eyes met Aragorn, wanting the Gondorian king to tell him that he was wrong but Aragorn said nothing of the sort and Eomer could understand why Aragorn had acted as he had.
"This is elvish," Eomer exclaimed, staring at the ornate design of the elven brooch. He had seen the trinket against the cloaks of Legolas' soldiers. "How could it be elvish?"
Aragorn could not bring himself to answer because he feared the worst. Ever since Legolas had offered to use his army as an advance party, Aragorn had prayed that the elf had no ulterior motive for the gesture. Now it appeared that he had been right and Legolas had an agenda that none of them were aware.
"They would not have done this," Eomer stated, "they could not have. These people are farmers and common folk by the look of them. They are not soldiers." His gaze wept across the lay of village and absorbed the full measure of his tragedy.
"We will wait until Pallando arrives," Aragorn said quietly. "He knows the Haradrim tongue, perhaps he will be able to learn what happened here."
"You think that the elves did this, do you not?" Eomer met his gaze, astute enough to see past the anguish Aragorn was trying so hard to hide.
"It is possible," Aragorn finally confessed.
"You are wrong," Eomer declared because he counted Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm as one of his friends. The elf was always so calm and collected. To imagine that he could be party to such butchery was beyond Eomer's ability to grasp and yet Aragorn, who knew the elf best, believed it. He believed it so much that his blood had run red over his hand at the discovery of the brooch.
"Oh Elbereth," Eomer hissed because now, he was starting to believe and as his skepticism gave way, the ramifications of the truth began to take shape in his mind. "We cannot let him do this."
"It will be difficult to stop him," Aragorn said turning away and wondering if there was anyone left alive that could benefit from his skills as a healer or were the elves thorough enough to have left no wounded behind, only the dead. "Firstly, we need their numbers in this war since we have not even penetrated the heart of Haradwraith and secondly, as disgusting as this butchery may appear to us, he is clearing our way."
"Clearing our way?" Eomer swung around and faced Aragorn, "is that what you call this? This people are dead! These are fathers, uncles, brothers and husbands who have been murdered before their people. I agreed to ride with you to conquer these lands to ensure peace, not to become party to this slaughter. What has been done here today will be branded into the minds of every child in this village and they will grow up thinking that we are not better than murderers. All that has been done here is to laid the seeds for future acts of vengeance when children become men!"
"DO YOU THINK I DO NOT KNOW THAT!" Aragorn shouted with just as much rage. "Do you think it does not tear me apart inside seeing that this violence may have been the result of my friend’s anger? Ever since Eden Ardhon, he has been a different person and I cannot reach him. He blames himself entirely for what happened to Melia and his people and the utter annihilation of the Confederacy had become his obsession!"
Eomer swallowed, understanding Aragorn’s turmoil and like the King of Gondor had no adequate response. "What are we do if they are responsible for this?" he asked quietly even though the notion that someone else had perpetrated this crime was dwindling fast in Eomer's mind.
"I do not know," Aragorn spoke honestly, "but at the moment I do not know how we can stop the elves. He has filled every elf in his army with outrage over what was done at Eden Ardhon. To them, there is no greater sin than rape. That it was done to the women of an elven colony, there is no forgiveness and there will be no restraint. I suppose if they are responsible for this, we ought to be grateful that they only killed the men."
"That is not a consolation that I can live with," Eomer said sourly and drew in a deep breath because he did not like the taste of Aragorn’s words and yet he would have to swallow it. He would have to because Aragorn was right.
If the elves were on a crusade then Elbereth help them, no one would be able to stop them.
******************
They would not linger long at Axinar.
Aragorn could not stomach being forced to look at the faces of despair in the wake of the attack the night before, particularly after Pallando the Istar confirmed irrefutably from the survivors that it was the elves who responsible for the massacre. From what he had been able to ascertain from the distraught womenfolk who were questioned, Legolas and the elven army had swept through the village after dark and killed every man who opposed them and then continued on those who did not. The elves had been extremely precise in their actions throughout the village, moving from home to home in a methodical manner and ensuring that when they left no adult male was left alive in any household in Axinar.
While the army camped on the hill where he had left them, Aragorn assisted the detachment of men with the disposal of the bodies. Pallando had informed Aragorn that the Haradrim did not bury their dead but rather sent them into the afterlife in a pyre of flame. It was sensible considering the terrain of hard earth made it difficult to dig for purposes other than farming. Cremation ensured a quick efficient means of burial without unnecessary exposure of the body, which would decompose quickly in the heat.
Aragorn had sent for Pallando prior to their departure from Ithilien. The wizard had been in Isengard for the past months, offering guidance to the acolytes trained by Gandalf before he departed across the sea. While Pallando did not wish to become master of Orthanc, remembering all too well the corruption of the last person to bear that title, he did remain close enough to ensure that all of Gandalf’s students could seek him out if they needed assistance. Aragorn could not deny that it was comforting to have the older man's presence during this campaign. The last time Aragorn had led an army, Gandalf had been at his side to most extent and the wizards’s counsel had been valuable indeed. Pallando was proving to be a similar asset since he knew the terrain to some degree having journeyed through here once before as well as knowing the languages spoken by the Haradrim.
Pallando, who had a deep friendship with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, was clearly disturbed by the massacre in Axinar. They no longer deluded themselves into believing that it could be anything else. Legolas had been the first member of the Fellowship to encounter the wizard and they had formed a deep friendship. It was Legolas who had encouraged Aragorn to meet the one of the last remaining Istar in Middle earth. For Pallando, it was difficult to believe that the passionate, noble elf had been responsible for this carnage.
As the day stretched into night, Aragorn and his men ensured that the village were supplied with what rations they could spare which was to say less than adequate, considering that the harvest was months away and there was not enough livestock to sustain them in the interim. Even if there was, the traditional role of women in Haradrim society ensured that they were knowledgeable only in matters involving the household and the rearing of children. Some were skilled in the crafts, namely weaving and basket making which was considered acceptable pursuits by Haradrim society but farming was entirely a man's duty.
"Perhaps we could leave some of our men behind," Faramir suggested as they discussed what to be done as it drew closer to their time of departure.
"We could never be assured of their safety," Aragorn replied, having thought that. "We assume that the Haradrim have marshalled their forces to engage us further ahead but if we are mistaken, they may well return here and it would not bode well for our soldier if they were found in a village where all the men were murdered."
"I have difficulty believing that Legolas did this," Eomer confessed. His previous disbelief still lingered even though he no longer doubted the culpability of the elves in the massacre. It was just so impossible to believe.
"We all do," Pallando said sympathetically, "but in their time, they have known wrath and in their wrath, they can be terrible indeed. Take heart that there is some measure of restraint in their actions. They could have killed everyone here, they did not."
"We must keep moving," Aragorn said finally moving away from the subject since there was little they could do about it, "we will meet up with Legolas soon enough and discuss the matter fully."
"I doubt you will make him see reason," Faramir added.
"I do not expect him to see reason, but I am hoping that he has not done to all the villages ahead what he did here," Aragorn declared grimly.
"You do no think…." Eomer exclaimed in horror at the full ramifications of Aragorn's statement.
"Axinar is perhaps the first village of size we have encountered," the king answered, "from this point on they will grow until we reach the larger cities. If Legolas is conducting a methodical cleansing of all havens the enemy might attempt use to launch an attack upon our forces, then it is very possible. I pray that it is otherwise."
"We will need more than prayer if the elven army has embarked on a crusade," Pallando replied, remembering the exodus of Feanor, the Kinslaying that followed and all the destruction that was wrought in the world when the elves had decided to avenge themselves against Morgoth or die trying. In the end, Beleriand had been destroyed and Feanor, as well as most of his kin, was dead.
Pallando hope it would not come to that for Legolas.
**************
In the city of Mahazar, on the banks of the river Sanara, Dallanar, king of Haradwraith pondered how the grand scheme to restore the pride of his people had taken such a disastrous turn. Staring out of the balcony window, the king’s gaze swept across the line of trees that kept the city from the grounds of the palace. With the exception of the palace, Haradrim architecture ensured that most buildings in the city were constructed low to the ground, following the traditional belief that the king should always stand higher above ordinary folk. It was a bit of nonsense that Dallanar did not himself subscribe to but it would have been considered a grave insult to remove the tradition.
Fortunately, from the balcony of his throne room, he was afforded a panoramic view of Mahazar and the Sanara that ran along its eastern border. Canals had been built centuries ago to bring water into the city, turning Mahazar into a true oasis in the desert. The Sanara was the main waterway in Haradwraith and along its banks, the great cities of Near Harad and Far Harad had been built. The river connected both parts of the Haradrim nation and was not merely a primary water source but also an important transit way. In the centre of this winding river system was Mahazar, the undisputed capital of Haradwraith for that had been established by the forebears of Ulfang, almost five centuries ago.
It was not a city of tall spires and white towers like Minas Tirith. Other than the palace, no building in Mahazar was built higher than three floors. Instead of spires, the main architectural characteristic of Haradrim buildings was its domed shape. The domed shape had been adopted primarily to combat the harsh sand storms that sometimes blew in unexpectedly from the desert. The occurrence was rare but the damage wrought had taught Haradrim architects to relinquish the traditional concepts of construction. Erected from either sandstone or mud brick, depending on economic circumstances, Mahazar was now a domed city with the short palms trees littering its streets. During the interludes of war, it was a busy place, with traders, merchants and people from all walks of life going about their business.
Gods, he loved it.
As a child he would wander the streets, becoming lost in smells, sights and sounds. In those days, Mahazar had been a grand place indeed during the pause between wars. Though it was a fact of life that they could be called on to serve the lord of Mordor at any given time, for most past Sauron was some distant force that provided their outer regions with tributes while demanding their industry be devoted to the business of war. They knew that he had plans for a great battle and that the enemies of the west would be quick to infringe upon their territories if they did not display a show of strength. The men of the west were always encroaching upon their lands, claiming lordship of Middle earth.
They had been bred to think of the races of the western lands as the enemy. The dislike for Gondor had become so ingrained into their existence that they no longer knew how to exist in any other way. When Dallanar had embarked upon his war, it had been for as much as territory as an assurance that Gondor did not attempt to conquer them in their weakened state. The famine had yet to reach the cities along the river but the rest of the Haradrim nation was suffering, as terribly as the Easterlings in their own lands. More and more starving people were flocking to Mahazar and cities like it, and though the Sanara was a healthy river with plenty of bounty, even Danallar knew that it was dangerous to overfish. If the Sanara were to run dry, it would be nothing less than disaster for the Haradrim.
The drought had yet to break in many parts of the country with crops failing everywhere. Driven by hunger, the people of Haradwraith were being forced into the cities but the relief they found there would only be temporary. Dallanar had thought the invasion of the Reunified Kingdom would provide him access to grain rich lands that would feed his people. The Gondorian king was weak and too filled with notions of peace to be able to mount a suitable defence if Dallanar could keep him off balance. The horse lords, though formidable, were no match for the mumakils. He had sent agents across the enemy territories in secret, gathering allies from disaffected races that had been defeated in the War of the Ring. To reclaim pride and vengeance, they were happy to assist in the war effort.
The only gamble had been the elves.
He knew that if there were any elf remaining in Middle earth that would become involve in the affairs of men, it would undoubtedly be Legolas Greenleaf of Eden Ardhon. His ties with the Gondorian king were too well known. Dallanar had gambled on the elf wishing to protect his own when he had ordered the slaughter at Lebethron. However, that had done little to keep the elves from aiding in the defence of Lossarnach, a strategic target that would have been invaluable to the eventual downfall of Gondor. In anger, he decided the elf needed a more prolific lesson and so the order was given to attack Eden Ardhon.
In truth, he found rape distasteful but it was a useful tool and employed against elves, whose especial hatred of it was infamous, Dallanar was certain that it would enough to teach Legolas the abject lesson he needed to learn. There were rumours that the elf had married a human and an Easterling at that. The possibility had been discounted because the notion was absurd. The Eldar did not join with mortals. However, in the wake of Eden Ardhon, Dallanar was faced with the unexpected news that the elf lord’s wife was indeed an Easterling and that she had been one of the women violated.
His words to Legolas during their battle had been nothing more than posturing. In reality, he had not been at all happy to hear that she had been defiled and had assumed that the lady would have been removed from Eden Ardhon as any queen would have been under the threat of the attack. When he had learnt that an Easterling female had been among the violated, Dallanar realized he had made a fatal mistake because it was one thing to inflict such an evil upon his people but to ravage a wife? That was an entirely different kind of hate and one not so easily quelled. In Haradwraith, a wife could be assured of her husband’s utmost protection even if her freedoms were limited. It was a mistake that had culminated with the elven forces swarming to the rescue of Ithilien and almost annihilating the bulk of the Confederacy’s army.
Now, he stared through the balcony at Mahazar while behind him, his generals read reports of the enemy’s advance into Haradwraith. Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon had fallen to the elven advance, villages and towns that had been savagely attacked with every man in the village slaughtered. The outer lands were swiftly becoming a population of women and children. The elves were spearheading the push towards the capital cities and following behind, wiping out any lingering resistance was the Gondorian king and his allies. So far both sides had avoided major engagements because Dallanar was determined to choose their battlefield. As much as he despised it, he would have to abandon the outer regions for the defense of the larger cities.
"Enough," he turned around and faced his war council," I have heard enough."
"Sire," Khamis, the supreme commander of his army wore no repentance on his face for the grim delivery of news. "We must amass our remaining forces to defend Sanara belt. The Firstborn do not sleep as we do. They require little rest so they cover great distances. In a matter of weeks, they will be upon our doorstep."
"What about our allies in Khand?" Dallanar asked.
"The Variags are marching as we speak but they will not arrive for at least 45 days," his prime minister replied. "The Easterlings are conscripting since it is believed the Firstborn will turn their attention to Rhun once they are finished with us. It is in their best interest to prevent Haradwraith from falling. If the Firstborn can be halted at the Sanara belt, they may reconsider the invasion of Easterling territories."
"Then we have a sizeable army at our disposal if we can hold them," Danallar looked at them for confirmation.
"Yes," Khamis nodded. "However, we ourselves suffered losses at Ithilien, our ranks are low."
"Then we will follow the lead of the Easterlings," Dallanar declared seeing no other solution and refusing to concede defeat, no matter who the enemy, "we will conscript. Every man past his eighteen year will make himself available to military service or face the consequences. I will speak to our people and tell them that there are barbarians at our gates, that the murderers of our Lord Sauron seek to destroy us just as he predicted. We will stoke the fire of outrage in them so fiercely that it will overwhelm the First Born and the Alliance of the Reunified Kingdom."
************
"Are you alright Master Gimli?" Haldir of Lorien asked of the dwarf who was perched on rock at the edge of the elven encampment, staring out into the horizon of desert terrain watching the slow descent of night upon the land.
During the day, the land of Harad was warm and dusty but at the night, the temperatures lowered considerably and it was actually quite pleasant. There was a light breeze sweeping across the desert on this night but not enough to assail them with grains of sand though they had become more than accustomed to it in recent weeks. Gimli had endured the worst of it for he was constantly shaking dust out of his beard, which seemed to perfect catchment for the infernal particles. However, the physical discomfort was the least of the dwarf's worries at this moment. What caused him grave concern had nothing to do with the desert and everything to do with the state of mind of his best friend.
"I am well, Master Elf," Gimli said gruffly, wishing to be left alone. He and Haldir did not have a relationship that could be considered warm. In truth, he wished he had reconsidered Aragorn's offer to journey with the king instead of accompanying Legolas in this advance expedition into enemy territory.
"I merely wished to be left alone," Gimli added. He had no desire to be rude, however he needed solitude at this time and had little patience for conversation.
Haldir was not an elf capable of being deterred by an unruly dwarf and lowered himself next to Gimli who was staring at him in growing annoyance at not being left alone. The march warden ignored the muttering noise of disapproval made by the dwarf, remembering with fondness their first meeting, which was less than amicable. Dwarves and elves seldom saw anything eye to eye, which was why he had been somewhat surprised by the friendship forged between the Prince of Mirkwood and the Lord of Aglarond. However, Haldir sensed that he had an ally in Gimli and at this moment, he needed to be in the company of someone who was just as distressed about what was happening around them as he.
"These have been difficult days," Haldir stated tentatively as he gazed up at the stars and found no comfort in Varda’s light.
"Is that what you call it?" Gimli answered, his voice barely managing to sound biting.
"I do not know what to call it," Haldir confessed. "I know that I will not be able to look at myself in the mirror for many years after this."
Gimli turned sharply to the elf, surprised that one whose prejudice for dwarves was infamous, would make such a personal comment. He saw Haldir’s gaze devoid of its usual arrogance or haughtiness, which stayed his urge to make a sarcastic comment.
"I doubt you will be the only one," he admitted after awhile.
"It was not meant to be like this," Haldir replied, grateful that Gimli had deign to speak to him instead of brushing him away. "This was meant to be a campaign to prevent what happened to Eden Ardhon from happening once more. When I heard that the Lady Melia had been defiled, I was outraged."
In truth, he had been more than outraged. As one who once thought he might have loved the lady, he had been furious despite his reconciliation with his feelings about her. One only had to see Legolas and Melia together to know that they were made for one another and Haldir had was not one to pine for someone he could not have, especially when she was human. However, despite all the very sensible reasons why he should not love her and had learned not to, he still cared for Melia. To hear that she had been harmed so callously had made him more than willing to join Legolas on this crusade to end the Confederacy threat.
"I wanted to avenge her honour almost as badly as the Prince," Haldir continued to speak, "it was my counsel that aided Thranduil efforts in convincing my lord Celeborn to sent troops under the Prince’s banner. It was meant to be a righteous cause, to avenge and cleanse the world of men from a people that not only threatened our allies but also ourselves but I never imagined it would come to this."
Until he had spoken, Haldir had not realised how unsettled he was by what had been transpiring since they had entered Haradwraith. He had stood loyally at the princes’ side, issuing orders that made him baulk in horror but delivering them nonetheless because duty demanded that he did. He knew others were similarly discontent by the orders given by Legolas Greenleaf but the lingering anger at what had taken place at Eden Ardhon quelled their objections. Yet he had seen their eyes in the aftermath of carrying those orders and while they were not ready to disobey, they would not be able to forget what they had done for a long time to come.
Haldir knew he would not that was for certain.
"There is a fine light between justice and revenge," Gimli replied after awhile, sympathizing with Haldir because his axe had been similarly stained in the first battle at Axinar, "I think what we have done can hardly be called justice."
Haldir did not disagree with him. Since Axinar, Gimli had only attacked in order to defend himself despite Legolas’ orders to the contrary. Too much did the actions of the elves resemble the butchery at Lebethron, and it was to Gimli’s everlasting shame that he had taken part in the bloodshed. He suspected that when Aragorn arrived at the rendezvous point where they were now awaiting him, the Gondorian king would be no less happy by the path of destruction they had left behind.
"I had hoped you could reason with him," Haldir looked at Gimli.
Gimli snorted derisively before responding, "he does not listen to any reason that would rob him of his revenge. Legolas made an oath to the Haradrim king that he would pay in blood for what was done to Melia and Eden Ardhon, I do not think that it was an idle threat. He means to destroy the Haradrim king for unleashing the Easterlings upon Melia and once he is done here, it would not surprise me if he turns his attention to Rhun."
"There are enough of us who will follow him," Haldir replied. "The audacity of defiling an elven colony has sparked a fury in my people not seen since Finwe's death."
"As I recall," Gimli looked at him, "that ended very badly for everyone involved. I am not letting that damned fool of an elf bring ruin to himself and everyone else, including the lady for whom all this is about. If she were here, she would be utterly horrified by what he has done."
"Then perhaps you should bring her the news," Haldir met his gaze.
"You mean return to Gondor and bring her here?" Gimli exclaimed in shock.
"If I could leave to do the deed myself I would," Haldir replied. "However, it cannot be me because I must stand with the prince as his lieutenant in this conflict. You are his friend but you are not bound by any oath to remain at his side."
"Aside from the oath of friendship," Gimli pointed out.
"You will be preserving that friendship if you were to bring Melia here," Haldir returned. "You know as well as I do that she is the only person that may reach him before he destroys himself to avenge her."
Gimli shifted uncomfortably, unconvinced that this was the best course but there was logic to what Haldir was saying. It was true, Melia would never stand for this. She had been unhappy as it was to learn Legolas had embarked upon the quest to acquire an army of elves to fight in the war. She had as much spoke it though Legolas was hardly capable of listening at the time.
"I must consider this further," Gimli spoke after a moment. His mind was not yet set to go but he was being drawn to Haldir’s proposal because of its sense. He loathed going to Melia and bring her such new, almost as much as he hated betraying his friend by this action but Haldir was right, if they did not do something, Legolas would destroy himself and possibly what good will that existed between elves and men. Aragorn and Eomer may have been angered by the actions of the Confederacy in their territories, but neither man was believer in vengeance and it had been Aragorn’s fervent wish from the beginning of his reign to unite the races of men.
"I cannot leave just yet," Gimli explained himself, "When Aragorn arrives, there will be a council of war and I must be present for that."
"For all the good that it will do," Haldir sighed. "I sense that the Elfstone will have little desire to discuss anything after he learns of what has happened at Axinar."
With that, Gimli could not disagree.
************
When Aragorn had voiced his suspicions, or rather fears, that the fate of Axinar might have befallen the other communities on the road to their rendezvous with the elven army, he had prayed that suspicions were all that would come of his worries. However, upon reaching the townships of Laxor, Brecat and Turazon, he came to the conclusion that the situation was indeed as terrible as he feared.. In each community, they were told the same terrible story about the invaders who attacked under the cover of dark, killing with impunity every male they came across during the night. Only the women and children were left to see the dawn and the wail of anguish that chased the passing army as they departed, burned into the hearts and minds of all who heard its sorrow.
Furthermore, the news of elven savagery had traveled far according to the Rangers who intercepted the army some days before their rendezvous with elven forces.
While Faramir and Imrahil followed him with without question because they were both princes by Gondor’s grace and were loyal to their king, Aragorn knew that Eomer and the Rohirrim seethed in disgust at the sight of the slaughter. Eomer had said little but Aragorn could sense that the horse lord was beginning to question his part in this campaign against the Haradrim. If something was not done soon to assure Eomer that their path of conquest was nothing more than an organized reason for murder, the King of the Mark would return to Rohan with his much needed cavalry. Unfortunately, Aragorn could offer him no assurance until he saw the Prince of Mirkwood for himself.
As it was, he was in no fit mind to talk to Legolas because Aragorn was furious and it was an anger that built over the course of their journey. A part of him was unable to believe that Legolas had been responsible for the bloodshed he had seen. Legolas, who had been his friend for the past sixty years, who had been at his side as a member of Fellowship and had battled more evils with him than any other person alive. Legolas had always been the paragon of elven dignity, the calm voice whenever all others about him were steeped in panic. If there was one thing Aragorn could rely upon, it was Legolas’ ability to offer his sound counsel when his own blood was boiling with the unrestrained heat of human temperament.
How on earth had it come to this?
Aragorn supposed that if it had been Arwen, he would behave no differently. The very thought of someone defiling her as Melia had been defiled hollowed his stomach and made his hands clench into fists. However, he did not have the luxury to examine his own hypocrisy, not when so many were dying around him. The journey to the rendezvous was sullen among his companions and when the elven camp came in sight, Aragorn was forced to call for calm since Eomer’s first instincts were to confront the elf and shake a satisfactory answer out of him. Fortunately, the king of the Mark was more accessible to reason than Legolas was at this time.
The elves had chosen to camp on the tributary of what was Haradwraith’s main waterway, the Sanara. Like the Anduin, though lesser in scale, the Sanara provided irrigation and water for many hundreds of villages scattered throughout the region. After making the crossing through the harsher terrain of the country, the respite by the river was more than welcome, though the mood within both camps was sombre. The elves were still festering their anger at Eden Ardhon close to their heart, along with some other burdens of which they did not speak, while the human army were trying to come to grips with the realisation that their allies in this conflict might have gone mad.
Aragorn bid the others to refresh themselves while he went to see Legolas first. Eomer’s blood was too hot to risk a meeting straight away and as Aragorn was directed to Legolas’ tent in the elven camp, he wondered if he was in any better state of mind. He strode across the encampment, barely aware of the greetings that were offered him as he passed, though he did manage a cursory acknowledgement, trying to calm himself before he faced his friend. The images of Axinar and all those smaller villages were appearing before his eyes in quick flashes, taunting him with the grim memories of their doom.
Legolas occupied the largest tent in the elven camp, notably because it would also serve as the venue for his conferences with his lieutenants. As he approached the open flap, he could hear the voices within. His entry into its confines was permitted by the elves on guard, who knew who he was and stood aside without offering any challenge. Aragon stepped inside and saw Nunaur, Haldir and Gimli gathered around a table with Legolas at the head of it. There were maps splayed across the surface though none of the elves were staring at it. With their senses, they would have known he was approaching even before he reached the guard.
"Well you’re a sight for sore eyes!" Gimli said boisterously as he approached the human and hugged him warmly. Aragorn was grateful to see the dwarf in one piece but wondered if Gimli had done anything to talk Legolas out of his murderous course. No sooner than the thought left his head, Aragorn knew that Gimli would have most likely tried but Legolas was no longer listening to anyone.
"It is good to see you Master Dwarf," Aragorn smiled faintly and met Gimli’s gaze. In doing so, he saw that Gimli’s relief was more than just because they had not seen each other for a time. In that one instant of contact, Aragorn could tell that Gimli was just as unhappy at what was happening as he was.
"Aragorn," Legolas started to say with a smile when Aragorn cut him off.
"Gentlemen," Aragorn said coolly, "I would like a moment with the Prince."
Nunaur and Haldir exchanged anxious glances while Legolas’ smile faded from his face. The elf and the human met
each other’s eyes and as the others quickly vacated the tent to give the king of Gondor his private audience. Even Gimli left without saying a word.
The moment they were alone, Aragorn who had been ordering himself to maintain his calm, that shouting, screaming and violence would avail him nothing, lashed out with his fist and sent the elf sprawling backwards. Legolas stumbled against the table, almost toppling it with the weight of the impact. He had little time to recover when he felt Aragorn’s hands on his tunic, pulling him to meet Aragorn's gaze.
"I take it you are displeased with my progress," Legolas said dispassionately as he glared at Aragorn.
Nunaur and Haldir had made a hasty return to the tent upon hearing the commotion. As Legolas wiped a smear of blood from his lips, he looked past Aragorn’s shoulder at the two elves and bid them to leave. Aragorn cursed himself for his temper and used the pause to calm down once more. This was not how he had anticipated their reunion to transpire but then Aragorn had expected a great deal from Legolas that had not come to pass.
"You murdered innocent people," Aragorn accused once they were alone again. "I saw what you did at Axinar and all those others places. You murdered every man in the village!"
"I did," Legolas returned sharply. "From what I have been able to discern, the battle of the Eastern Eye drained the Haradrim ranks. Their army, what is left of it, is in tatters. The Easterlings, out of fear that we would be turning our eye to Rhun, parted company after their failure at Ithilien and returned home to fortify their defences. In order to counter us, the
Haradrim will have to conscript to fill their ranks. What I did was merely a pre-emptive strike."
"A pre-emptive strike?" Aragorn stared at him, unable to believe that this was the excuse that Legolas was using to justify his actions. He had fought in many wars during his time but even Aragorn was stunned by the callousness of the elf’s reasoning. "Are you telling me that you murdered those men to keep them from fighting for the Haradrim in the future?"
"It would seem the sensible course," Legolas said dispassionately.
"Do you take me for a fool?" Aragorn hissed. "Do you think I do not know what this is? You are not so cold or ruthless without reason and your reason has nothing to do with this war!"
Legolas' eyes became hard as flint and he returned with as much venom, "my reasons are none of your concern. My participation in this war is. We have done what we have set out to do; we have ensured that your way here was clear of threat. Beyond that, you have little reason to complain."
"Complain?" Aragorn stared at him as if it were a stranger before him, not his best friend.
"Legolas, listen to yourself. You are not a murderer. In your heart, I know you do not mean this bloodshed you have caused. You are angry and rightly so. If it were Arwen, I cannot say I would behave any differently but this is not the way to win. To take it out on innocents makes us no better than the animals who harmed Melia."
"I did not rape anyone!" Legolas exploded. "Have you forgotten what they did at Lebethron? Have you forgotten all those people who were butchered, men, women and children! They were strung up like meat and not before their women were raped, everyone of them? They spared no one not even children! How dare you compare me to them? I killed men because they will become our enemies. Sauron has poisoned these people! All they know how to do is kill in his name. What I did was ensure that the old ways that they had been taught, die with them. The new generation will be spared his malice."
"No," Aragorn shook his head; "all you have done is ensure that the next generation will see us as nothing more than the butchers who murdered their fathers."
"Perhaps, that may teach them some fear," Legolas returned, "Perhaps they will understand that there are consequences to invading someone’s homeland, that one cannot murder and rape without impunity."
"I think you have taught them that lesson most prolifically," Aragorn declared, "but it stops now."
"Stops?" Legolas stared at him. "Are you presuming to command me Aragorn? I believe my father and Celeborn gave me command of the elven army."
"Unless you wish to fight this war on your own," Aragorn said coldly, unable to believe that he was using this tone with his friend, a member of the Fellowship, no less. How in Elbereth’s name had it come to this? Aragorn asked himself for the second time this day. "You will hold back because if I see another village rorted as Axinar and the others were, I swear to you that Gondor will withdraw. As it is, it took some convincing to keep the Rohirrim from leaving after what Eomer witnessed in Axinar."
"We can fight this war on our own," Legolas declared but Aragorn sensed a little crack in his seemingly impenetrable façade. "We were alone before your people awoke at Hildorien, we will manage just as well without you."
"You think so?" Aragorn returned. "Fortunately, my Rangers are better informed than you. The news of what you did at Laxor, Brecat and Turazon has spread across the entire eastern lands. They know of the massacre as far as the Inland Sea. The Easterlings fear that once the elves are done in Haradwraith, you will march to Rhun and commit the same slaughter. So they no longer think it is in their best interests to protect their borders, they are amassing to join the Haradrim to fight you here before it reaches their territory. There is also talk that the Variags are sending an army five thousand strong from Khand, so as much as you think you do not need us, it is my duty to tell you otherwise."
There was a long pause and Aragorn saw that Legolas was seeing the wisdom of his words and was forced to concede the point but the edge of his hatred was still sharp and unabated. As much as Aragorn loathed admitting it, Legolas would obey because he had to, not because it was the right thing to do.
"It appears that I have little choice but to agree," Legolas said stiffly.
"You have more choices than you know," Aragorn declared. "Legolas, I am not your enemy, I am your friend and we have been together through more things than it is possible to name. I grieve with you for what was done to Melia, it tears at my heart because she, like you, is part of my family. I want to make those who harmed her pay just as much as you but not like this, not at the costs of innocent who did nothing this brutality."
"She did nothing to warrant this brutality!" He shouted. "And you have no right to say anything because you do not know how I feel! You did not place Melia in the path of danger! I did that and I was not even there to when they defiled her!"
"Legolas…" Aragorn stared to say because he could see the open wound in the elf’s heart, the terrible anguish he felt because he considered himself culpable for all that had transpired not merely to his wife but to his people.
"I do not need your pity," he snapped. "I will do as you ask. I will tell my army to exercise restraint but hear me in this. I will not tolerate any compromise when it comes to this war. The Haradrim will fall. I made oath to burn his city around his ears and I do not intend to break it."
************
Aragorn left the tent shaken.
Not even when he had seen Gandalf and Boromir die had he been so unnerved by any one event. If he were any less of a man than he was, he would have wept in the wake of his exchange with Legolas. It was as if when the Easterlings had raped Melia, they had succeeded in killing his best friend too. Aragorn wished there was a remedy to heal the wound inside Legolas because words were doing little to move the elf.
"I take it, it did not go well," Gimli remarked, stepping out of the shadows when Aragorn emerged from the tent.
"Not at all," Aragorn said meeting his gaze, knowing that in Gimli, was the one person who could understand his pain regarding Legolas because Gimli was the third part of their trinity. "I do not know to reach him. He cannot see anything beyond vengeance."
"I tried to reason with him," Gimli said softly, "but he is beyond listening. He is beyond everything I fear."
"Do not blame yourself," Aragorn placed a comforting arm on the dwarf’s shoulder. "I do not think Galadriel herself could talk any sense into him at this moment."
"Perhaps not Galadriel," Gimli replied and raised his eyes to Aragorn, "but certainly it is a lady he needs to hear."
It took but a fraction of a second for Aragorn to grasp his meaning before the king was opening his mouth to speak.
"I will ride out in the morning," Gimli answered before Aragorn could say the words.
"Yes," Aragorn nodded, "bring her here and if she is unable to talk any sense into him then I do not know what other course there is left to us."
"Other than to let him kill them all?" Gimli looked at him.
"I will not allow that," Aragorn said firmly and prayed that he was as good as his word.
Authors Note:
I realise I have been taking a good deal of liberty with regards to the geographical aspects of the Easterlings, the Sunlands and in particular the Haradrim. In order for you to have a better idea of where everything is (in my twisted imagination), I've manipulated one of the Middle Earth maps on site to produce this crude representation. Please take this as my own interpretation of the Haradrim and Sunlands and not to be mistaken for canonical information.
Councils of war were by their very nature, sombre affairs.
For those who did not relish the notion of war, a gathering where one had to discuss with others, the best method of annihilating another race, was generally tolerated with begrudging reluctance. A Council of war was often the private crucible in which the public posturing, exaggeration and threats made between enemies prior to a conflict was whittled away in favour of the truth. In the war room, the false fronts put in place for the benefit of the enemy was dismantled for a true assessment of capability and resources. It was a serious business indeed that had changed little in its methodology during throughout ages of warfare.
Following the War of the Ring, the leaders of the Ruling Council of Middle earth had prayed they would never again find themselves assembled in this fashion. However, as they had come to learn on numerous occasions since then, hope and reality seldom bore any resemblance to each other. And existed on two differing planes. Yet even as they sat down to the weighted issue at hand, they were burdened by more than just the issue of war but rather the seething tensions that had arisen in the wake of the massacres at Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon. It preyed heavily upon the minds of all present as they sat before each other.
Aragorn had not spoken to Legolas after their previous exchange but had returned to some measure of calm when they sat down to discuss their plans for the conduct of the war. Present were Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Eomer of Rohan, Faramir of Ithilien, Gimli of Aglarond, himself representing Gondor, while Legolas Greenleaf represented the elven armies of Eryn Lasgalen and East Lorien with Haldir as his second in command. Only Pallando the Istar remained unaligned though this was not entirely a disadvantage because Aragorn found that wizards often saw things a good deal clearer than either men or elves.
The tension within the tent was so thick that for a while no one spoke. Legolas’ gaze met no one’s and Aragorn was certain he knew that all eyes were upon him. The air was pregnant with the anticipation of an outburst and glancing at Eomer, Aragorn knew that if explanations were demanded of the elf, it would most likely come from the King of the Mark. Rohan had bore witness to the onslaught of Uruk-Hai during the War of the Ring and the massacre they had seen during their journey to this rendezvous point was too reminiscent of those attacks for Eomer to tolerate with silence. Even though he had been slow to believe that the elves were responsible for what they had seen, his acceptance had come with intense anger and moral outrage.
Fortunately, Faramir and Imrahil who were no strangers to diplomacy, with the former being the Denethor’s younger son and accustomed to all aspects of politics and the later being prince of his own realm, were able to hold their emotions in check. Eomer was a warrior and had a warrior’s sensibilities even though he was now king. Gimli’s emotions were hidden beneath his crusty exterior and only Legolas and Aragorn had any idea how much what had transpired had affected. Aragorn had no doubted he was just as furious as Eomer but he would say nothing because his eyes reflected guilt at his participation at Axinar.
Elves were difficult to read and Aragorn, who knew Legolas longer than anyone else, was usually able to see past the façade of aloofness the prince kept over his emotions. Elves were built that way, even Arwen to a certain degree, kept their emotions restrained behind their beautiful masks. If he did not love her so, he would not be able to see the shift of colour in her sapphire eyes that indicated her mood had altered and so it was with Legolas. He could wear a mask of stone and Aragorn could still tell what he was about by his eyes. Aragorn looked into Legolas’ eyes now and saw nothing but darkness and knew that it was an apt description of where the elf was at this moment.
Haldir’s however, did not seem so impregnable and Aragorn sensed that he disliked what was happening but was too conditioned to duty to speak it out loud. He was the faithful servant of Lord Celeborn for as long as the Third Age, the elf knew how to keep his own counsel no matter how much he may dislike the way events unfolded around him. Celeborn gave him to Legolas as a lieutenant of the combined elven army and Aragorn had no doubt that he would serve the Prince of the Woodland Realm with the same devotion.
"We should begin," Aragorn finally broke the silence, deciding that it was best to get on with the business at hand before this continued silence caused someone to speak out of turn. "Legolas, what news do you have about the lands beyond this region?"
Legolas shifted in his chair, needing no elven insight to sense the resentment in the room . He decided promptly that he did not care because it was not their wife who had been violated and until such a tragedy befell them, they had no right to sit in judgment of his action. He was grateful Aragorn was making no statement regarding the attacks upon the villages because he could see Eomer itching for an explanation and Legolas was hardly in the mood to provide him with one when it ought to have been clear enough; the Haradrim, like the Easterlings, were the enemy.
"This land is mostly desert," Legolas opened, "there are sufficient watering holes scattered throughout the desert but these cannot be called rivers in any manner in which we are accustomed. I believe that there are large reserves of water beneath the ground that sustains these pools and it is the source that gives life to the communities in the desert. Our scouts eastward have seen a number of these villages."
Haldir promptly spread open a large map across the table that revealed the lay of the Haradwraith and the points on the parchment where these villages were to be found before Legolas continued speaking once more.
"From what we have discerned from the folk of these parts, there is little in the way of cities for at least a hundred leagues. Upon crossing that distance, there is a border of mountains, through which there is a small pass that one must cross to reach their more fertile lands. Beyond the frame of mountains which they call the Wall lies the river called the Sanara."
"I know of it," Pallando offered, "while its size does not compare with the Anduin, it flows from Near Harad to Far Harad and connects the northern and southern realms. Along the Sanara is where you will find Haradwraith’s wealth. They call the lands along its banks the Sanara belt."
"If the land is so fertile, why are they starving?" Imrahil inquired preferring to ignore the tensions of the room and offer pertinent discussion.
"The fertile lands expand no more than a day’s journey on foot from the banks of the Sanara. In that space, the land is well irrigated by the river, beyond that there is desert and what farming is done, has all but been exhausted to feed the rest of their people," Haldir explained, hoping that no one asked how they came about this information.
"This land has been in drought since Sauron’s end and since then, the tributes that the dark lord used to keep these people loyal to him have disappeared. All Sauron required of the Southrons and I suspect the Easterlings as well was to fight. He provided ample tributes in the form of food supplies to ensure that their industry would be focussed on the business of war. There are more weapon smiths in Haradwraith than there are farmers and therein lies their difficulty. They are starving because most of them have never had to feed themselves."
"So if we wish to subdue them, we must take the lands of the Sanara belt," Aragorn said contemplatively.
"Yes," Legolas replied stiffly, "the rest of Haradwraith is desert and inconsequential with little villages that cannot amass the strength to do little else but starve. However, the lands along the Sanara Belt can house thousands that will be able to plague us for years even if we wipe out every village in the rest of the country."
Aragorn saw Eomer's jaw clench involuntarily and feared that the King of the Mark might make an outburst regarding the massacres at Axinar but fortunately, Eomer displayed surprising restraint by remaining silent and letting his gaze fall away from Legolas. Aragorn sensed that if Eomer continued to meet Legolas' gaze, the urge to speak up regarding what had happened would become too much for the spirited Rohirrim king.
Eomer's response was not lost upon Legolas who in typical elvish perception noticed the rage beneath the man's eyes. However, Legolas ignored it even though something churned inside of him to know that he had earned the distrust of almost everyone present. He wished they could understand that what he was doing was for the best. The Easterlings and the Haradrim had proved, time and time again, that they were a race not to be trusted. Legolas was simply doing what the others could not by taking this harsh stance against them. It was not merely for the sake of vengeance or for Melia, but to ensure the protection of Middle earth from these barbarians. It pained him that not even Aragorn understood this.
"We must march for the Wall immediately," Aragorn announced deciding that it was best to propel them past the tension by keeping their focus on their reason for this gathering. He glanced at the map before him, paying particular attention to the range of mountains that lay between the army of Ruling Council and the Sanara belt.
"What is your plan?" Gimli asked because he recognized that familiar gleam in the Aragorn's eyes from their time together in the fellowship. It was not long after the quest had begun that Legolas; Boromir and he were able to discern when Aragorn's contemplative musings had evolved into something more tangible by reading the expression on his face. This moment was no different.
"This pass appears to be the only way through the Wall," Aragorn pointed out, his eyes still fixed upon the map. "If I were the Haradrim king, I would attempt to engage us here because it is a narrow passage and we will be at our most vulnerable position when we attempt to cross it."
"Yes," Faramir nodded immediately, understanding quickly what his king was alluding to. "If they are amassing troops to resist us, then those forces would be most effectively employed when we attempt to cross the pass."
"If we march quickly," Aragorn continued with his explanation, "we can make the pass before the Haradrim gain their support from the Variags and the Easterlings. I do not believe they would risk an attack otherwise."
"They call it the Splinter," Imrahil noted, grateful that his elvish lineage allowed him to read some of it.
"Yes," Pallando nodded recalling the folklore behind the name, "they call it that because they believe the wall was splintered to keep them faithful to Morgoth as well as eternally vigilant against their enemies."
"No doubt a piece of fiction propagated by Morgoth," Legolas snorted derisively, revealing his clear disdain for the Haradrim by his dismissive remark. "These people are tainted by their notion that all who fought against Sauron and his former master will eventually come for them. For them, our attack was an inevitability."
Once again, Aragorn saw Eomer wanting to speak out, but the Rohirrim lord exercised his restraint once more even though Aragorn could see he was doing so at great effort. It would not be long before Eomer's resolve splintered as finally as the crack in the Wall.
"I wish we knew a little more about this belt of which Legolas’ speaks," Imrahil remarked, using his statement as an excuse to diffuse the tension. Like Aragorn, he was aware of the seething resentment in the room and while he felt the same outrage as Eomer, in the business of war, one's personal feelings had to take second place to the good of the cause. And at this moment, though repugnant, Legolas' s' actions aided the cause.
"I do have a suggestion regarding that very matter," Pallando offered, easing back into his chair taking the opening that Imrahil had provided to bring to the table a new matter that needed prompt discussion.
"What sort of suggestion?" Aragorn looked at him, grateful that there was something else to focus their thoughts because he knew that the moment the meeting was done, Eomer was going to demand an explanation from Legolas regarding his behaviour. Unlike Faramir or Imrahil, Aragorn could not command Eomer to desist, nor would he try. Eomer was a king in his own right and had every right to question an ally on his conduct. However, Aragorn could stave off the inevitable by giving every bit of business they had to discuss its due.
"Despite the efforts of the Prince and your own Rangers, we still know very little about the lands of the Sanara belt. I myself journeyed once through these lands but that was almost three centuries ago and I did not linger long enough to garner anything that could be of use to you now. I think if we are contemplating the annexation of these territories, then we must have more than just passing information of the lands we are about to invade. We need accurate intelligence regarding their strength, the fortifications of their cities, their supply routes and the number of men at their disposal. Your Rangers are unable to penetrate the cities because they cannot assume the guise of the enemy, doubly so for the elves whose methods may be efficient in its brutality, are nonetheless incapable of providing the detail we need."
Legolas' mask remained stony but there was no one present who doubted Pallando's allegation as to how he had acquired his information and in their silence, there was little refute made on Pallando's statement in regard to their need for accurate intelligence. In truth, Pallando wished to bring about a swift conclusion to the war. If Haradwraith could be defeated quickly, with Aragorn being allowed to administer the annexed territories with benevolence, then the Haradrim may learn that their fears of subjugation were merely propaganda remaining from Sauron's dominion over them. It would allow them to yield and in doing so, provide Aragorn with the opportunity he needed to built a lasting peace with the minimum of lives lost. However, a long war would only give the elves the excuse they needed for wholesale slaughter and might erode the good intentions of Gondor and Rohan as well.
"What do you propose?" Aragorn asked, and Pallando saw that he had the Council's undivided attention.
"I propose to journey to the Sanara belt in order to discern their capital city so I can discern their strength and their plans of attack. It will also be to chart the area for any useful information we might need during our advance."
A slight exclamation of shock and surprise moved through the group following Pallando's statement. Even Legolas appeared shock by the enormity of what he had suggested, not to mention the danger involved.
"Alone?" Aragorn asked, once he had managed to overcome his astonishment.
"That is exceedingly dangerous, Master Pallando," Eomer looked at the wizard with equal concern. "Granted you may appear as one of them but your fame as a wizard of Gandalf’s ilk is well known."
"I think that a wizard is more than capable of protecting himself," Haldir pointed out, rather surprised by these humans who believed that Pallando was not entirely capable of protecting himself against the Haradrim. If anyone had reason to fear, it was the enemy should they try to overcome the Istar.
"Spies are no good to anyone if they are discovered," Eomer returned acerbically, having little patience with anyone elvish at the moment, "even those who are capable of protecting themselves."
"He is correct," Legolas surprised everyone by agreeing with Eomer when he turned to the wizard and added gently, "they would recognise you Pallando and that would render your efforts to learn anything useful, worthless."
Despite his darkened state of mind, Legolas still counted Pallando as someone he cared about deeply. If it were not for Pallando, he and Melia would be dead at the hands of goblins in the far edge of the world. Thanks to the wizard who had delivered them from that certain death, Legolas and Melia had been give the chance of a life together. No matter how disconnected he might feel from everyone at this moment, Legolas could not forget that, nor would he willingly stand by and left the Istar place himself in danger.
"A little glamour is all that I need to remain hidden," Pallando assured him, grateful for the emotion behind the Prince's words, and even more so because it proved to the Istar that vengeance was not all that Legolas was about. There was still a part of him that lingered in the light, a part that was still salvageable.
Aragorn did not speak in protest or support for the idea because he was too busy thinking about the possibilities of Pallando's covert foray into enemy territory. More than any other person present, Aragorn knew the value of accurate information. For the better part of sixty years, he had been a Ranger who had wandered the wilds gathering news of Sauron’s evils and the fulfillment of the prophecy regarding Isildur’s Bane. So much of his success in becoming king was due to the friendships and the knowledge he had garnered in those decades of secret observation, where he walked among the people who would either become his allies or his enemies in the coming battle with Sauron. He knew the value of moving covertly in the shadows and listening closely. Pallando’s plan had a good deal of merit and if anyone could manage to hide among the Haradrim, it was Pallando.
"But this is madness," Gimli declared, ever the skeptic. "You cannot simply go there alone. What if they were to discover you despite the magic? I do not recall magic making Gandalf invincible."
"I will go with you," Faramir stated suddenly.
Aragorn was protesting even before he had registered the words leaving his mouth.
"Absolutely not," Aragorn declared almost aghast by the possibility. "You would be even more conspicuous than he!"
"If he can conceal himself then he can conceal me as well," Faramir replied promptly, "besides, this sun has suitably bronzed my skin and if I were to darken my hair and remained beneath the cover of a cloak, there is no reason why I would call attention to myself at his side." Since the wizard had brought forward the possibility of travelling to the Sanara belt, Faramir's mind was already formulating the notion of accompanying him on this journey.
"Do not forget," he stared at Aragorn, "that like you I was a Ranger as well."
"You were a Ranger," Aragorn reminded him sternly with emphasis on the past tense, "you are now a Prince of Ithilien and my Steward. I need you here. Even if I did not, your capture would compromise us our position in more ways then you know."
Aragorn knew that he was protesting so vehemently because he did not like the idea of Faramir entering enemy territory under any circumstances. Not only was Faramir a trusted friend but he was also Boromir's brother and after failing the man of Gondor at Parth Galen, Aragorn had an ingrained need to protect the remaining son of Denethor despite himself. Besides, he did not want Faramir placing himself in harm's way unnecessarily now that Eowyn was with child.
Faramir met his gaze and guessed immediately what was at the heart of Aragorn's resistance because this was not the first time he had encountered it. He knew that his king would always feel responsible for failing his brother and coped with that perceived failure by ensuring that no harm came to him. While Faramir appreciated the Aragorn's efforts because it felt as if he still had a protective older brother looking over his shoulder, Faramir would not shirk his duty to his king or to cause for which they were assembled here in this foreign land.
"You know that will not happen," Faramir said firmly and with enough resolution in his voice to give even Aragorn pause. "I spent years in Ithilien, watching Mordor and gauging its strength. I did so without incurring Sauron's wrath and staying well out of sight of his orcs because I knew how to remain hidden. We need accurate intelligence if we are to proceed, not merely in casual observance but also from a military standpoint. This skill I have, this skill we need."
"As much as it despises me to admit it," Imrahil spoke up after Faramir's passionate speech, "I must agree with Prince Faramir. I am in no hurry to see my kinsmen place himself in danger but Faramir has served Gondor well in this capacity before and if we are to make for the Wall, then we must have accurate information. I mean no disrespect to you Master Pallando but you are a not a military man where else Faramir has been little else in his life."
"I cannot dispute that," Pallando replied, forced to concede that point.
"This glamour," Eomer turned to Pallando, "will it be able to protect you both?"
"It will," Pallando replied, uncertain whether or not he wanted a travelling companion but deciding the choice was out of his hands since Faramir appeared very determined indeed and despite himself, there was a certain logic to his presence. Still, if he was forced to take a companion, he could do no worse than the Prince of Ithilien who was known for being something of a scholar as well as a warrior. It was a rare combination and might prove useful.
"Do you know what the Haradrim would do to you if they found you out?" Legolas asked quietly. He was just as anxious about the Prince's safety as Aragorn. Since becoming lord of Eden Ardhon, their friendship had been further strengthened by their dealings as the respective masters of north and south Ithilien and though the importance of the mission could not be denied, he had no wish to see Faramir harmed either.
"I do," Faramir nodded. "With all due respect to Pallando, he has not commanded men to fight, I have; and in having that dubious distinction, I know what to seek out when gathering our information. Aragorn," he glanced at the king, "if we find allies, there must be someone in suitable authority to be able to negotiate with them in your stead and I believe that as your Steward, that duty falls to me."
Faramir's argument could not be refuted even though Aragorn wish he could. The Prince of Ithilien was correct on all accounts and Aragorn knew that his personal feelings on the matter were the main reason for his objection. With a sigh, he knew he had to concede the point in this instance because a king had to rule with his head and not with his heart. Aragorn could send other men to accomplish the deed with Pallando but he knew inwardly that none would be as effective as the Prince of Ithilien.
"If you are determined to go, then I can see no reason why you should not," Aragorn said quietly, "but I expect you to take every precaution. I have no desire to return home to your wife and tell her that I have lost you in enemy territory."
"If it were to come to that, I rather it you than I " Faramir joked, attempting to bring some brevity into the taut atmosphere. Unfortunately, it was an effort that failed to put anyone at ease. What he and Pallando would be embarking upon was dangerous and no amount of levity could change it or assuage their fears for him.
"When will you leave?" Gimli asked.
"There are some preparations to make but I should like to go within the next two days," Pallando replied glancing at Faramir, "would that suit you Prince?"
"It would suit me," Faramir nodded.
"Then it is settled," Aragorn said sombrely, wishing that thing were anything but that.
***********
The humans had been quick to depart from Legolas' tent in the wake of their discussion, and the reunion Legolas Greenleaf had hoped to enjoy with his friends when their respective armies joined each other, had been dashed the moment Aragorn had struck him. It was clear by the tensions during the council of war that the others were no happier with him then Aragorn. Obviously, they could not understand what he was enduring so he was not quick to blame them for their actions. However, as intractable as he was regarding his conduct of the war, Legolas did not wish to lose his friendships with Eomer, Faramir and Imrahil or in particular, Aragorn.
Aragorn wanted nothing more than to return to his own tent in order to rest as well as recover from the ordeal that had been their first Council of War in enemy territory. He noted with relief that Eomer and Imrahil were returning to the Rohirrim encampment as well. Aragorn could not deny fearing that Eomer may confront Legolas over his actions in the villages they had seen prior to their arrival here. Aragorn doubted that Eomer would find Legolas’ behaviour satisfactory considering how unrepentant the elf had been about the whole affair during their earlier encounter. The king of the Mark had been remarkably restrained during their council meeting but Aragorn suspected Eomer would not be able to keep his temper if he saw just how unmoved Legolas was about what he had done. Aragorn could not blame the Rohirrim king for his anger, not when the same images of destruction were burned into own memory as prolifically as they were burnt into Eomer's.
"Aragorn," Legolas called to the king when he emerged from his tent and saw Aragorn heading towards the Gondorian encampment.
At the sound of his name, Aragorn halted in his steps beneath the night sky and looked over his shoulder to see Legolas waiting at the entrance to his tent. The elf did not seem as haughtily confident as before and there was a tinge of something in his eyes that gave Aragorn reason to believe that perhaps Legolas was willing to talk. He was not so optimistic as to believe that Legolas had changed his mind about his behaviour at Axinar, but there was a conciliatory expression on the elf’s face that was reason enough to hear him out. However, Aragorn quashed the flaring hope inside of him that Legolas’ descent into darkness was not as complete as he thought. Until he had proof otherwise, Aragorn was skeptical of anything Legolas had to say, not after what he saw at Axinar.
"Prince," Aragorn said formally, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Legolas drew a deep breath and met his friend's gaze, unable to ignore the aloofness in Aragorn’s voice. It hurt him more than he could possibly believe to see the coldness in Aragorn's eyes and know that he had earned the disdain his friend felt for him at this time. From Aragorn’s point of view, Legolas supposed that he did deserve the man’s distrust and suspicion. Unfortunately, Legolas could not oblige Aragorn in his wishes. After all, the king could not begin to fathom what he was feeling and therefore could feel no empathy in his actions.
"Aragorn, I do not wish to fight with you," Legolas said sincerely as they stood before each other like two cliffs separated by an ever-widening chasm.
"I do not relish it either," Aragorn returned with just as much emotion and wished the iciness in his heart was not as cutting as the cold chill of the desert air lashing against his cheeks. He hugged his cloak closer to his body and wondered abstractly, how one could be cold in a desert before realising that the chill was more than just upon his skin.
"It is not I who has placed this wall between us old friend," Aragorn continued as he stared Legolas in the eye, "it is you."
Legolas dropped his gaze towards the ground, unable to maintain contact with Aragorn because he had no wish for the man to know the demons plaguing his innermost thoughts. Aragorn knew far too much about him already.
"I know," he conceded the point and saw Aragorn's surprise at his admission. "Do you think me so far gone that I cannot admit my mistakes?" He asked quietly.
"I do not know," Aragorn replied, "you stand before me bearing the guise of my best friend and yet your actions are that of a stranger. I no longer take anything for granted where you are concerned."
"I did what was necessary," Legolas answered, making no effort to explain himself because it was a path taken already and the place it had led them to would be no different if they argued again. "They are a dangerous people. They always have been. You only see what I did at Axinar; you do not remember their treachery. They have not changed since Ulfrang the Black betrayed us at Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It was ill done when Morgoth reached these people first because he has tainted their thoughts against the First Born and all who serve the light. What I did may seem harsh but when all things are accounted for, it is only a splinter in comparison to what they have wrought upon us."
Aragorn could see that Legolas was making an effort to explain himself but his argument was flawed because it was weighted with guilt and responsibility over what had transpired at Eden Ardhon and to Melia. He wished he could absolve Legolas the way the elf needed him to; but Aragorn could not, because Legolas did not understand that what he was doing was unacceptable, even in war.
"That does not make it right Legolas," Aragorn declared emotionally, "we cannot fight the enemy by sacrificing ourselves, it is the same as letting them win. In any case, we often think that the enemy is evil because it makes it easier to fight them; but in truth, most of the time they are simply like us, divided by circumstances. If Morgoth had reached the men of Hildorien first, who is to say that we would have turned out differently? Sauron was able to sway the men of Numenor with words alone. He sent them to war against the Valar. The Easterlings, the Haradrim and all the races that live east of Mordor have been conditioned to obey Sauron and to despise us, they have never been afforded to chance to learn better. We cannot teach them otherwise by brute force or slaughter."
"You cannot teach them anything until you have conquered them," Legolas pointed out, feeling his heart sink because he knew that no amount of explanation would sway Aragorn into seeing his point of view. "They will not be conquered by compassion Aragorn, they will only use it to their advantage."
"I know you believe you had good reason," Aragorn replied, drawing the same conclusion about Legolas regarding his friend’s staunch beliefs. "But your reason comes from your pain, pain you have not yet addressed. I see the hurt inside you even though you wear a mask of stone. Your agony screams out to anyone who knows you and with every drop of blood you spill."
"You know nothing of what you speak!" Legolas snapped, feeling Aragorn's words piercing his skin like sharp blades. "I thought if I tried to explain, you would understand. I do not want our friendship to end because of this."
"Do you think I want that?" Aragorn lashed back with equal vehemence, not about to let Legolas retreat now that they were getting to the heart of the matter. Legolas needed to talk about it no matter how unpalatable it was to his sense. The anger was eating him inside and until he released it, Legolas would be slave to it.
"You are more than simply my friend," Aragorn beseeched him, "you are like my brother and when I see you in this manner, it tears me apart because I know what you have done is not borne out of malice or hatred but pain, pure and unadulterated pain. Legolas, it was not your fault!"
"I am the one who made the choice!" Legolas shouted and stormed towards the tent opening again.
"You made a choice for friendship," Aragorn returned, following him. "You wanted to help us at Lossarnach. There is no shame in that. I am sure Melia understands that!"
"Melia understands," Legolas said bitterly as he turned to face the king and upon doing so, allowed Aragorn to see the terrible sadness in his eyes. "She understands and she does not blame me. How can she blame me when all she can think of is the child she was unable to save? The Easterling bastard snapped the girl's neck in front of her! Snapped her neck and then raped my Melia while she was weeping her failure! Melia doesn't hate them Aragorn; she hates herself for being unable to stop them! It doesn't matter that she more than paid the price for that failure by what they did to her, all she can think of is failing Anna. How can I do anything but hang my head in shame when my wife hates herself for living? That is what I have done to her."
And with that, he disappeared into his tent, leaving Aragorn staring after him. The king of Gondor did not follow because frankly Aragorn would not know how to answer him.
Aragorn raised his eyes to the stars and lingered for a moment beneath Varda’s light before turning away from the tent. He resumed his journey towards the Gondorian camp because he did not know how to counter Legolas’ argument and wished more than anything that Gandalf was here. Gandalf would know the right words to say because Elbereth knew he did not. Gandalf had been mentor to all of them and he always seemed to know what to say when things were at their worst. Aragorn did not have that gift and he sensed that unless he found the right words, he would have to abandon Legolas to the path of darkness that the elf had chosen and pray that he would find a way out before it was too late.
**********
Under the same sky, though further away than either Gondor or Haradwraith, the night air was not so cold because the wind sweeping across the land was a dry, dust carrying draught. It left patterns upon the sand dunes as it continued its airborne journey. The warrior known to his people as Kirin lowered the hood of his cloak over his brow to ensure that his eyes were shielded from the tiny grains of sand drifting through the air as he made his way through the quiet streets of his home. He knew he was not late but the others would have most likely arrived early to escape the light windstorm that was assailing him even as he neared the enormous sandstone building before him.
He was called Kirin by his father who had named him after the Kirinki, a species of bird that existed in the land of the Valar. When he was born, he had been such a frail and tiny infant that it was feared he would not survive to adulthood but his father was certain that he would prevail and make his mark to all who had doubted him. Thus he was named for the legendary birds that were known for their slight size but were able to sing with voices so high that men could not hear them.
It had been a long time since Kirin had to prove himself and as undisputed leader of his people, the origins of his name was remembered only as a curious sort of joke. In a matter of months, he would reach his twenty-eight year but he was already the veteran of a dozen wars and could not remember a time in his adult life when there was not a battle to wage somewhere. Kirin had come to the conclusion that he would die on his feet and in battle, a fate not wholly unacceptable to him because he was a warrior and a warrior’s end was what he deserved. However, he was not a man who relished war and he certainly did not wish the same for the generations who came after him. Thus when the news from Haradwraith reached him, he knew that he had to act.
Entering the Great Hall of Gathering, Kirin was soon surrounded by sandstone walls that curved upwards into a domed ceiling peaked by a circle of coloured glass that allowed them to see the stars above. The entire structure of the building consisted of its main hall that was floored with dark marble and was large enough to house hundreds. There were no chairs, only woven rugs across the hard floor surrounding a raised dais in the centre of the room where all could see a speaker when he took the stage to address the gathering. On the walls, hung the portraits of great leaders and thinkers, men who had shaped their culture whether or not in the guise of warriors or teachers.
On this occasion however, there were only forty men awaiting his arrival when Kirin made his way down the aisle leading to the dais. His presence brought to gradual silence the rumble of voices in the hall as all eyes shifted to him and awaited patiently as Kirin took his place before them. During his journey, he offered those he passed a nod of greeting and customary salutation. He knew most of the faces before him but there was some who were not known to him. This was hardly surprising because the quorum came together only twice a year unless of course there was a matter to be discussed that could not wait.
Like now.
Just as they were unknown to him, Kirin knew that to some, he was also a stranger. They only knew him by the chain of gold worn around his neck that held his sigil for all to see. It told those who did not know him who he was, even if they had never laid eyes upon him before. The sigil’s intricate design gave him the right to speak for them and the right to lead them. Upon reaching the dais, Kirin bowed slightly before taking sitting down and placing his sword before him.
As was with the custom of his people, the attendants to the meeting were already seated on the woven mats with their swords laid before them as a gesture of willingness to negotiate. Though they were representative of many tribes, they lived and warred under the same banner. Their number was the largest it had been in almost a decade and Kirin was pleased to see that all of them had travelled so far for this meeting. Now that they were finally assembled, he saw no reason to delay the discussion he had summoned them from far and wide to attend.
"My friends," Kirin began, requiring no need for introductions since that business was conducted during the welcoming feast a day before, "you know why we are here. We have a choice before us, a choice that will define the fate of our people."
He paused to let those words sink into the thoughts of the men gathered and saw in each of their eyes that the words had profound meaning since none were untouched by what Kirin spoke. Each man thought of the battles he had fought and thanks to their beliefs, there had been many indeed no matter what corner of their country they resided. They thought of friends and family who were absent from their lives because of the constant warfare that seemed almost endless and steeped in futility. It would have been easy to yield, to submit to the wishes of their enemies but surrender was not in their nature and for that, they had paid a high price.
"War has come to Haradwraith and soon to the lands of Easterlings," Kirin announced. "Many months ago, we received reports that King Dallanar, leading the Confederacy, planned to invade the western lands of Gondor and Rohan. I have just received a detailed report from one of my spies in Dallanar’s court that his incursion into that territory has come at a terrible price. Not only has Dallanar been pushed back into his own territories by his enemies, it appears that they have pursued him into Haradwraith. It is believed that the armies of Gondor and Rohan are presently on route to the Sanara belt and leading them are the First Born."
A roar of disbelief echoed through the gathering of warriors present and Kirin could not blame them for their astonishment. When he had first been told of the news, he too had received it with similar astonishment. To his people, the First Born was as revered as the Valar. Indeed, their forebears had served the sons of Feanor faithfully in the First Age but had little contact with them since the sinking of Beleriand when they travelled to this land to tame themselves a new land to call their own. It was believed that the elves no longer warred, that they left such brutality to men who were more than adept of spilling blood. To think that the First Born were leading an army of men to annihilate the Haradrim was more than a little difficult to accept.
Unfortunately, they had to accept it if they were ever going to know a lasting peace.
It took some minutes for Kirin to regain some semblance of order in the room so that he could continue speaking. There was more news to impart and not all of it had to do with the present of the First Born in the invasion of Haradwraith. What he had to tell them would shake them all to the core and there was really no delicate way to deliver the news.
"Why are the First Born involving themselves in a matter that is clearly for men alone?" Andros, one of the southern tribal leaders asked astutely. Andros was not a man prone to unfounded outbursts and it did not surprise Kirin that this question came from him. "I heard that they were all sailing to Aman to dwell with the gods."
Fortunately, Andros’ question silenced the remaining voices reacting to the news as everyone turned to Kirin for his answer. "It seems that the First Born have not departed this realm completely. I have heard that the king of the Woodland Realm remains, as does the Lord of the Golden Wood who is husband to the fair Lady Galadriel. While the Peredhill has sailed across the sea, his city remains and so does his kin. Even the Sindar elf Legolas Greenleaf has established a new colony in the woods of South Ithilien."
They were not so far away from the known world to be ignorant of the tales regarding the Fellowship who embarked upon the quest to destroy the Master Ring of Sauron. The deeds of Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf the Grey and the rest of the Nine Walkers were known to all his people. During the past three years, what was seen as an infamous crime by the former allies of Sauron, was celebrated by Kirin’s people as a legend of courage to be admired by all. There were children born to his people who had never seen an elf in their lives yet knew of the Fellowship and of Legolas Greenleaf.
"I find it hard to believe that they would involve themselves in the affairs of men even if such was the case. Gondor and Rohan has cause to attack because of the Confederacy invaded their lands but it was my understanding that Dallanar had no wish to involve the Eldar in this conflict," Andros added further.
"I share you skepticism," Kirin said directly to Andros and then continued to explain. "It was Dallanar’s intention to intimidate the First Born into remaining neutral in the conflict. However, his methods of intimidation left a great deal to be desired and he made a fatal miscalculation in his dealings with the elves."
Kirin thought of what his spy had told him and even now had difficulty believing the sheer audacity of Dallanar’s reasoning. How could he have been so presumptuous as to gamble the fate of his people on such a mistaken belief. As one who led himself, Kirin could not imagine taking such a risk with so many lives at stake. Unfortunately, Dallanar was about to learn the price of his presumption and unfortunately for him, his people may learn it with him.
"Erroneously believing that the race that fought the balrogs and Morgoth's dragons could be cowered by a Haradrim threat," Kirin continued speaking, "Dallanar directed the Easterlings to attack Eden Ardhon, the elven colony under the lordship of Lord Legolas. From what I’ve been able to discern, the city and the wood surrounding it was ravaged by flame and by the onslaught of mumakils. If that were the extent of it, I believe the First Born would have withdrawn and allowed Dallanar his victory but it appears there were further orders issued beyond the sacking of the city."
"What sort of orders?" Radil, another tribal chieftain inquired. Radil was oldest of the tribal leaders and it was only bloodline that kept him from occupying Kirin’s seat a leader among them. Nevertheless it was not a circumstance that made the older man resentful for he was a good friend and wise councillor.
"He ordered that the women were to be violated and to this end, the Easterlings who carried out the sacking were most efficient. What women they found were subjected to this disgrace, including the wife of Lord Legolas," Kirin announced grimly, his stomach hollowing in disgust because this effected him on a far more personal level than anyone present were aware at the moment.
Kirin could not volunteer any further information because the room exploded into a roar of outrage as men across the room expressed their disgust as such heinous actions. Among his people, to violate a woman was a crime that was akin to murder and deserving of the harshest penalties. Kirin shared their anger and tried to call for calm so that he could tell them what had resulted from Dallanar’s actions in Eden Ardhon.
"The First Born will destroy the Haradwraith!" Someone shouted and this cry was echoed throughout the chieftains.
"It would appear so," Kirin announced grimly. "The Eldar army leads the advance into Haradwraith and so far Axinar, Laxor, Bracat and Turazon have fallen to their onslaught with the massacre of every male capable of bearing arms. Only women and children have been left unharmed. Dallanar has pulled back what remains of the Haradrim forces to the Sanara belt in order to protect the cities but he cannot withstand the united assault of the First Born, Gondor and Rohan. The savagery of the elves has prompted the Easterlings into mobilizing. They fear that since they are the ones directly responsible for the assault on Eden Ardhon, the elves will turn their attention to Rhun once they have secured Haradwraith. The Variags of Khand are dispatching five thousand troops to help with the defense. They wish to halt the elven advance in Haradwraith before its spill into their border."
Kirin paused and let the words sink into the consciousness as the conflict in all its ugliness and scope was laid before them. They had a decision to make even though for Kirin his own mind was made up. Unfortunately, leading the tribes did not mean he was able to arbitrarily decide who they would fight. Such a decision required the consent of all the Tribes.
"There you have it my friends," he spoke after a moment. "This is the war that we have been waiting for all our lives, the one that will bring an end the constant need to defend our homes against the enemy. We have fought against the Easterlings and the Haradrim for centuries because we would not serve Sauron. For that, they have plagued us with all manner of peril and yet we have prevailed. If the Haradwraith and Rhun fall to the men of the west, we will at last know peace. The Gondorian and Rohirrim army will be joining the elven ranks, if they have not already and begin the push eastward. What we must decide is if we wish to aid them in this effort. If we can strike an alliance with the armies of the west, we can offer them the opportunity to force their enemy into a war on two fronts."
A murmur went through the crowd as everyone considered the possibility of choosing a side in this war and once again, Kirin saw Andros rise to his feet with a question upon his lips.
"Are we certain that the elves will trust us?" He asked. "If the First Born are massacring villagers in vengeance for the assault upon their colony, how certain are we that they will not see us as enemies? We are unknown to them."
And here it was, Kirin thought to himself, the last piece of the puzzle they did not have which he knew, the piece that had given him the idea to throw in their lot with the armies of the west. He hoped they saw the value of it as much as he did.
"There is a further piece of information that has come into my keeping," Kirin said neutrally. "It is regarding the wife of Legolas Greenleaf."
The mention of the lady silenced everyone because they were all puzzled as to what an elven lady had to do with the decision they were making.
"I have learnt that she is not of the First born but a mortal," Kirin announced and saw understandable shock on the faces before him.
"Do they marry mortals?" Radik asked with genuine curiosity.
"Apparently so," Kirin answered, "it is said that the wife of Legolas Greenleaf is not merely human but she comes from the Sunlands. My friends, I know that this may be impossible to believe and when I first heard, I could not begin to describe to you my astonishment but it is the truth nonetheless. The wife of the elven Lord Legolas is none other than Melia, daughter of Hezare."
In the wake of the news, there was none of the excitement earlier but rather muted shock. They all knew of Melia, the only daughter of Hezare their greatest general, who had fled more than thirteen years ago to parts unknown following the death of her father. It was assumed that the girl was dead, After all, women could not survive on their own for very long without a man. However, no one had expected this to be her fate.
"Yes," Kirin began speaking again, certain that they were listening to his every word. "There is no doubt, the wife of the elven lord is Hezare's daughter. They have been wed for little more than a year and she rules now as his side as the Lady of Eden Ardhon. In light of this intelligence, we have a valid reason for striking an alliance with the First Born that is beyond all reproach. Melia is the daughter of our greatest warrior. We who cherish the memory of Hezare cannot ignore the injury to her honor. Upon my personal honor am I bound to align myself and my house to the cause of Lord Legolas because custom dictates that I must pledge allegiance to the husband of my kinswoman. The Tribe of Bors will not sit by and allow one of its own to be disgraced."
The agreement to fight for Hezare's daughter roared throughout the room as filled the gathering hall with thunderous applause. Kirin could feel the walls shudder around him in the commotion and he hoped that wherever she was, Melia knew that she had a family who still considered her one of their own, even now.
Kirin had certainly never felt any differently, especially when it was he that helped her to escape.
***********
It was not quite dawn when Aragorn appeared at the edge of the Gondorian camp and stared at the horizon, knowing that beyond the craggy terrain and parched desert landscape, his homeland awaited him. It had been so long since he had seen Arwen that he ached each time he thought of her touch and it instinctively drove his fingers to the Evenstar pendant that hung from his neck. Tracing the smooth texture of the jewel that was given to him by one who made all jewels pale in comparison, Aragorn felt closer to his wife even though she was leagues away. He missed her terribly and wondered how she coped with his absence because without her, there was a gaping emptiness in his heart.
The camp was silent because most of his men were still catching up on their sleep after the hard trek to reach this rendezvous point. Aragorn was alone as he swept his gaze across the collection of tents and bodies sprawled over bedrolls. The Rohirrim camp was nearer to the watering hole because of their horses, and Aragorn was grateful for that because it meant that the horses would be down wind from the rest of them. He had told no one of his early rising but it was a secret he would be unable to conceal indefinitely. Indeed the moment he cast eyes upon the other leaders of the Ruling Council, he would have to provide some explanation if it was not entirely the truth.
His attention shifted away from the camp at the short neighing of a horse or rather a small pony. Turning around, he saw Gimli preparing his mount for the journey across the desert, ensuring that all the necessary gear was attached to his saddle. The pony was ridiculously small in comparison to Aragorn's own horse, but then a dwarf riding was a rare enough occurrence without anyone expecting him to be astride a full size animal. The pony was from the mountains of Rohan and had been a gift from Legolas to the dwarf. Aragorn smiled remembering the occasion when Gimli had proved to Legolas that he was more than capable of riding the animal.
He longed for those days once again.
"Are you ready?" Aragorn asked approaching the dwarf.
"More or less," Gimli declared making sure the saddle was secured properly to the animal. "It's going to be a long ride but I think I can manage it."
"If you like, I can send one of my men with you," Aragorn offered, not liking the idea of Gimli becoming lost in all this vast open space now that the dwarf had mention some trepidation in the journey.
"I do not need a nursemaid," Gimli snorted gruffly, even though he was aware of the sentiment behind the suggestion. "If I can learn to ride this blasted nag, I can ride to Gondor."
The pony snorted suddenly as if it took offense at its master's description but was soon rewarded with a gentle stroke of its flaxen mane by Gimli. In truth, the dwarf really did love the animal even though it would require the inquisitors of Mordor to make him admit it openly. Aragorn watched his friend with the animal and felt a deep sense of pride at Gimli's courage in fighting the dwarf's natural aversion to riding in order to master the animal.
"I have no doubt of that," Aragorn replied warmly before meeting his gaze with a more serious tone to his voice. "You know what to say to her?"
"Yes," Gimli nodded having discussed this with the King of Gondor before this departure. "Tell Melia that the elf is in trouble."
"Knowing Melia, that will be enough to set her on the road here," Aragorn replied. "She has a Ranger's conviction."
"Not to mention stubbornness," Gimli retorted before adding further, "what if she wants to know what kind of trouble he is in?"
That was not so easy to answer, Aragorn decided as he lapsed into silence while he considered how to respond to Gimli's query. If Legolas was right and Melia was already burdened with the guilt of being unable to save the child murdered by the Easterlings, how on earth was she going to cope with the knowledge that her husband was rampaging through Haradwraith slaughtering innocents because of her? Though she was in no way responsible for Legolas' actions here, it could not be denied that the slaughter was committed out of her husband's need to avenge her violation.
Yet it was also wrong to deceive her if she wished to know the truth.
"Then you must tell her," Aragorn spoke finally because there was no other answer. She had a right to know even if he wished otherwise. Melia was a strong woman, far stronger than Legolas gave her credit, Aragorn was certain. One could not be a Ranger of the North for as long as she without possessing an iron clad resolve. He was certain that as painful as the truth might be for her to hear, Melia would be able to endure it.
"I was afraid of that," Gimli frowned. "She has been through a great deal already, must she be told?"
"It will be hard to conceal when you return to these lands. She is an Easterling of noble birth with enough education to be able to speak their languages and that of the Haradrim. She will hear the truth one way or another, it is best that it comes from us, not from strangers."
"I hope we are right about this," Gimli met his gaze and despite his crusty demeanor, Aragorn could see the extent of his worry for Legolas as well as Melia. "He will not be happy that we interfered."
"By the time he knows, Melia will be here and I do not think that Legolas is so lost to his hatred that her presence will not in some way give him pleasure," Aragorn confessed. "Hopefully enough to diffuse his outrage that we have gone behind his back to fetch his lady."
"Alright," Gimli sighed, "but if I am impaled by any elvish arrows, I will hold you entirely responsible."
Aragorn laughed as Gimli mounted the horse and was able to meet the king eye to eye for a change. "What will you tell him when he asks where I have gone?"
"I will tell him that you are on king's business," Aragorn returned.
"I do not think that will satisfy him," Gimli replied, "just do not let him think I abandoned him."
"He knows better than that," Aragorn answered.
"I used to think that but I am no longer as certain," Gimli said sadly. "I long for the friend with whom we chased Uruks across Rohan, I miss him."
"We will get him back," Aragorn reached for his arm and squeezed gently. "I am not ready to give up on Legolas just yet."
"Neither am I," the dwarf answered returning the gesture with as much affection. "Do you have any tidings for your lady?"
Aragorn thought of all the things that he wanted to say to Arwen and knew that neither message nor words spoken by another could convey the depths of his emotions whilst they were apart.
Aragorn met the dwarf's gaze and said simply, "tell her that I think of her."
If Aragorn had believed sending Gimli alone to Gondor had been difficult, it was nothing in comparison to the mission he was allowing Faramir to embark with Pallando.
Even as he watched the younger man and the wizard preparing to depart from the camp a mere two days after Gimli had left for his journey, Aragorn wondered if he had not taken leave of his senses by permitting Faramir to accompany Pallando into the heart of enemy territory. As king, he knew the decision he had made was sound. No one was better suited for the task of entering the Haradrim stronghold than Faramir. Aragorn was forced to agree with Imrahil that Denethor’s youngest son would be more than capable of assessing the strength of the enemy. However, the part of him that was Strider, disliked intensely the notion of sending Boromir’s brother and his friend into such a perilous situation.
With Gimli journeying across Haradwraith to Gondor, Eomer unbidden in his distaste for the manner in which the elves waged their wars and Legolas, so far beyond himself that to Aragorn he might as well have been a stranger, Aragorn had no wish to part company with another friend, be it a spiritual or a physical separation. However, as always, the desires of Strider had to be put aside for the needs of Elessar, king of the Reunified Kingdom. There were days when Aragorn wished his life were not complicated by the trappings of his lineage. At least, then he could do as his heart desired, not as his mind willed. Besides, were he to forbid Faramir from going, the Prince of Ithilien would never forgive him and rightly so. Like his brother, Faramir was a patriot and serving Gondor was more than just a duty but borne of a genuine love for the land of his birth.
Faramir did not look much like a Prince of Ithilien when Aragorn approached him. The Steward of Gondor was dressed in rather non-descript clothes that made him difficult to place. Aragorn knew the garb well. He still owned the clothes he had worn when he was Strider for the occasions when he needed to travel anonymously. Faramir’s clothes were in slightly better condition and the combination of dark fabric and hooded cloak seemed to suit the mission he was undertaking. As Aragorn looked upon him, he could very well believe that Faramir was just as capable of vanishing from sight, as Aragorn had been when he was still a Ranger.
"I brought you something," Aragorn announced, carrying in his hand the elven cloak provided to him when the Fellowship had paused through Lothlorien.
"A gift?" Faramir raised his brow as he noted the greyish cloak of elven design in his king’s arms.
"Not quite," Aragorn said with a little smile as he handed Faramir the garment. "Consider it a loan. It will help to conceal you when even a Ranger’s skill is not enough. This has accompanied me through some perilous times and it served me well. I hope it will do the same for you as well."
Faramir met his gaze, touched by the gesture and once again asked himself in silence what good fortune had brought the king to Gondor in the guise of this noble man. Knowing Aragorn had lessened the pain of losing Boromir and though the king could be overly protective at times, it was good to know that there would be someone to watch his back in battle.
"Thank you," Faramir said with more emotion then he would like to show. "I will return this to you when I have completed my mission."
"The mission is important," Aragorn agreed but added further, "however, do not risk your life unnecessarily because of it. Intelligence has never been worth the weight of a man’s life, not to me."
Faramir nodded in understanding and held his king’s gaze for a moment. Behind them, the sun was setting quickly into the horizon. Pallando and he had agreed that it would be best if they travelled by night and rested during the day. The travails of the weather was less likely to affect them and the cover of dark would ensure their secret advance into enemy territory be maintained for as long as possible. Faramir saw Eomer approaching in the distance, no doubt the Rohirrim king was coming to bid him farewell and Faramir knew that the opportunity to speak his mind on a particular matter would be lost when Eomer reached them.
"Aragorn," Faramir said quietly, "sometimes when a man is burdened by guilt and anger, he can lose his way. I do not think that the elves are any different. We have held them as the ideals of purity and enlightenment for so long that it is harder for us to accept their imperfections then it is for them to acknowledge them. What was done at Axinar is not to be taken lightly but we have reacted so strongly to it because the deed was committed by an elf. If were it a man who had directed the slaughter, we would be better able to cope because in our hearts, we know our race is capable of such darkness. It is because this deed was carried out by elves that we find it so difficult to bear. Men expect better of elves but we should remember that immortal or not, when they are cut, they bleed the same as we do."
Aragorn stared at Faramir, somewhat taken by the Steward’s impassioned statement and could not deny the truth of his words. This was so much harder to bear because Legolas was an elf. Aragorn had become accustomed to the elf’s serene manner these past sixty years and this side of Legolas not only shocked the king of Gondor but made him fearful as well. Legolas had always been the one person he could rely upon with unquestioning faith. However, Faramir was right, until Aragorn was able to empathize with Legolas’ pain, the elf would continue on his path to self-destruction
"You are far wiser than I," Aragorn found himself saying with admiration.
"Only through experience," Faramir said sadly, "my life is filled with the passing of loved ones who have lost their way."
Aragorn did not ask him to elaborate even though they both knew he was speaking of both Boromir and Denethor. Fortunately, the sombreness of the moment was broken by Eomer’s arrival. The king of the Mark approached them with Pallando and Imrahil at his side. The wizard was dressed in robes of sand coloured material and judging by the wide weave of the fabric would serve quite well in the desert heat. Aragorn swept his gaze over the area to see if any one else was coming to see Pallando and Faramir off on their journey and was disappointed when there was not. He knew that it was unlikely that Legolas would appear when everyone was so uneasy around him but Aragorn had hoped secretly that he would nevertheless.
"I see he has given you his cloak," Eomer remarked, noticing the garment in Faramir’s hand.
"It is rather bedraggled," Imrahil commented unaware of its history.
"You can see why now I viewed him with such scepticism when he claimed to be the son of Arathorn during our first meeting on the road to Rohan," Eomer joked. ‘Isildur’s heir indeed."
"You should consider becoming a court jester," Aragorn returned sarcastically, "you are wasted in cavalry."
"The fabric is elven," Pallando declared, observing the cloak with far keener eyes than any other present. "I assume it is enchanted?"
"Not quite enchanted," Aragorn explained, "but it does allow the wearer a certain amount of stealth when the situation requires it."
"Anything that keeps your head attached your neck will be an improvement, nephew," Imrahil replied, looking at the young man with concern.
"I will endeavour to return your property and keep my head and my body in close proximity," Faramir replied with a smile before turning to Pallando, "we should begin our journey wizard, the night is almost upon us."
"Will you be able to find your way in this darkness?" Eomer inquired because unlike Rohan with its rugged mountains and familiar hills, he could not discern one sand dune from another.
"The stars do not change," Pallando answered before Faramir could. "We will keep our eyes upon the stars and allow Varda's light to guide us."
"Safe journey Faramir," Eomer said grabbing the steward's arm. "I will look to the east for your return."
"Ride well Eomer," Faramir returned the greeting with just as much heart felt emotion.
Imrahil gave Faramir, who was son to his only sister, an uncharacteristic embrace when similar sentiments were passed among the company to their departing comrades. Imrahil had been feeling of late that he should not have allowed Denethor's indifferent manner in the wake of Finduilas' death keep him away from his two nephews. Since Denethor's passing, it appeared to the Prince of Dol Amroth that they would have benefited from the association with a family whose affections were a little warmer than it must have been in Denethor's house. Strangely enough, it had not struck him until Lothiriel's arrival at Minas Tirith when she regarded her cousin like a stranger and drove home how much alone Boromir and Faramir must have felt in their youth, explaining somewhat the close bond between the brothers.
The sun had well and truly set in the horizon when Faramir and Pallando finally departed, with Aragorn staring after them as their horses crossed the landscape and disappeared into nothingness. Aragorn did not know how long he remained watching the two figures vanish into the dark and took note in passing when Eomer and Imrahil left to return to their camps. He wondered if he was mellowing with age because he worried greatly for Faramir.
If Pallando were to be harmed, the Istar's soul would return to Mandos. Death was not an inevitability for a Maia but Faramir passing would mean that once again, he had failed to save a son of Denethor. It was not just the oath he had made to Boromir at Parth Galen but also because Faramir was his friend and had behaved with amazing grace in the aftermath of his return to Gondor. In truth, the Steward could have fought him for his kingship but Faramir never did. He saw Aragorn as his king from the first and gave up his claim because it was the right thing to do. Such nobility was rare and Aragorn did not wish to see it wasted by an unnecessary death.
"I have learnt that if you worry too much about the fragility of mortal existence, you will only twist yourself into knots," a familiar voice said next to him.
Aragorn did not turn because there was only one person who could advance upon him without Aragorn having the slightest inkling.
"I did not think you would come," Aragorn said as Legolas stood next to him. The elf's blue eyes were fixed upon the same point as Aragorn's own.
"He was my friend too," Legolas replied with a sigh, "and a member of the Fellowship. Do you think you are the only one who felt guilt over Boromir's death? Gimli and I share the same grief and Faramir is a great deal like him and yet subtly different as well. He is wiser and far more cunning than we give him credit."
In light of what Faramir had said to him before Eomer's arrival, Aragorn could not disagree. "You should have shown yourself," he glanced at Legolas finally, "Faramir would have like to have seen you."
"I think we both know that it is best that I keep my distance for the time being," Legolas returned.
"You think they will be alright?" Aragorn asked, deciding to avoid any difference of opinion at this time by revisiting old territories of discussion.
"I think so," Legolas answered confidently. "Pallando knows the country and Faramir knows the language of stealth. You have been in this realm have you not?"
"I have," Aragorn nodded, "but that was some time ago and I did not delve much further than this into Haradrim territory."
"If you would care to dine with a war monger like myself, I would be happy for the company," Legolas replied meeting his eyes with a hint of anxiety that he might refuse. For the moment at least it appeared that his old friend was back and Aragorn's spirit yearned too much for their friendship this night, to decline the invitation. Perhaps on some level, Legolas was starting to feel his isolation. He had taken the news of Gimli's return to the west under the guise of some crisis at Aglarond, with little comment although Aragorn was certain that Legolas would miss the dwarf's companionship.
"You are not serving lembas again are you?" Aragorn looked at him with a playful smile.
"How can you have lived in Imladris for twenty years and not learn to appreciate lembas?" Legolas retorted as they turned back to the camp together.
"The same way you have been my friend for the past sixty and still have no ability to retain hard spirits," Aragorn returned smoothly.
"Good point," Legolas answered conceding defeat.
"I thought so," Aragorn smirked and decided for tonight at least, they could forget the war and remember they were friends.
For as long as it was possible.
*************
For Arwen Evenstar, having her dearest friends share the hospitality of her home while Aragorn was away should have been cause for joy. Marriage ensured that they would always be saying their goodbyes when they each returned to the lands of their husbands' lordship and while the occasions when they saw one another was not as infrequent as it could be, the time spent together was always cherished. They were each women who loved extraordinary men, who in their own way were somewhat extraordinary themselves and had formed a kinship that was no less binding then that shared by their husbands.
Thus whenever Eowyn and Melia came to stay, Arwen was reminded fondly of her youth when she lived in Lothlorien. In those days, she was just another maid in the house of maidens, enjoying camaraderie with others her age who knew her only as Arwen, instead of the Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar, Elrond's fair daughter. These days, the title had changed to the Queen of Gondor but the need to simply be herself among those who knew her simply as Arwen had not abated. Unfortunately on this occasion, the joy she would have derived from their stay had faded away because of the circumstances of their arrival.
Despite invitations to Rohan, newly wedded Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was determined to remain in Edoras as a gesture to her husband's people that as their new queen, she would not abandon them. Arwen could not fault her decision and admired that delicate young woman for being determined to serve Rohan. However, with all the trouble Edoras had endured in the recent siege, Arwen would have felt a good deal better if Lothiriel were afforded the protection of the White City. Fortunately, Lothiriel was more than capable of protecting herself, if the reports that Arwen had heard about her role in the attack upon Edoras by the Dunlendings was at all true.
Meanwhile, Eowyn who had been forced to journey to Minas Tirith to sit out her pregnancy in the safety of Gondor's capital city, was not impressed at having to abandon her fortress home in the wake of the Battle of the Eastern Eye. While the fortress had withstood the siege by the Easterlings and Haradrim, the mumakil onslaught had inflicted considerable damage to its structure and Arwen could appreciate why Faramir would send her here. Unfortunately, Eowyn was not one to be ordered to hide away in safety especially when she felt it her duty as the Lady of Ithilien to stand her ground. This coupled with the emotional turbulence that came with being in her condition, made Eowyn's mood temperamental to say the least. At last count, she had made at least five maids and two servants flee in terror.
Melia in contrast hardly spoke at all.
Since her arrival in the White City, the lady of Eden Ardhon had remained understandably out of sight. While she emerged from her room to ride her horse Lomelindi and dine with Arwen and Eowyn occasionally, for most part Melia spent a good deal of her time alone. Arwen and Eowyn did not impose themselves upon her because they knew of the ordeal she had endured and understood that Melia needed time to come to terms with her experience. Also, neither of them knew how to approach her regarding a subject that was not only difficult to discuss openly even, among women, but was also impossible to empathize unless one suffered a similar experience.
Seeing Melia in this way disturbed Arwen more than she cared to admit. When her mother Celebrian was returned to them after her abduction by orcs in the Misty Mountains, there was no doubt of what had happened to her during her captivity. Her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir would not say for certain in what condition they had found their mother, particularly to their father, but even Arwen was old enough to discern what everyone suspected. Even when she had returned home, Celebrian's manner had been detached, silent and very much in keeping with how Melia was behaving now. She had sailed across the sea in order to heal and Arwen hoped that she had done so sufficiently by the time Celebrian and her father were finally reunited.
However, there was no Undying Lands for Melia to flee to, no magic salve or words that could make the pain of what she endured disappear. Arwen was not even certain that the violation was what entirely burdened her mind. There was something else eating away inside Melia and try as she might, Arwen did not know how to help her. As Elrond's daughter, she too had her own healer's instincts and it pained the Evenstar considerably to be so helpless when her friend was in such dire need.
"We cannot let her go on this way," Eowyn remarked as they sat on the balcony, watching the day go by in the White City. It was a beautiful afternoon where birds chirped on tree branches and leaves rustled with a slight breeze, a day too beautiful when one remembered that elsewhere, the world was rife with war.
"Eowyn, there is little we can do," Arwen replied, understanding the lady's frustration because she felt it herself, "we can offer her our support but we cannot force her to talk until she is ready."
"How can she heal herself?" Eowyn replied, picking up the cup of hot tea in her hands and took a small sip before declaring," she pines for the child she could not save, as if there was anything she could have done to prevent it. She blames herself for something that is not fault of her own."
"You know that and I know that," Arwen said gently, "perhaps in some way Melia knows it as well but a person's heart and mind seldom speak in instances like this."
"Legolas should not have left her," Eowyn returned acerbically. "It is just like a man to abandon a woman and ride off to deal with his own guilt. He does not think that she might need him, he simply cares for the fact that he must avenge her. What good is the destruction of the Easterlings going to do for Melia? It is likely Legolas will never find the men who actually did the deed, if they are even still alive and it will not bring back the little girl."
The mention of Legolas immediately filled Arwen with her own concerns about the elf. Their friendship had spanned almost three millennia stemming from the days when Legolas would come to stay in Imladris during the summers.
Galadriel had been aware of Thranduil's concerns for his son because the boy was growing up without a mother. Like the doyen she was, Galadriel decided to take matters into her own hands by suggesting Celebrian make an invitation the Woodland king to have his young son come to Imlardis for a visit. Arwen smiled faintly, recalling the conversation that Celebrian and Elrond thought none of their young children could hear, regarding the Prince of Mirkwood's impending visit. Elrond had been reluctant mostly because he and Thranduil were polar opposites and did not think that a son of Thranduil would be any different. However, Celebrian would not be denied and was determined that Legolas would stay with them, putting forth her case with the stubbornness that could only come from a daughter of Galadriel.
Against that sheer will, not even Elrond had been able to refuse.
When Legolas did finally arrive, Arwen had found a rather shy, quiet boy who said little and held everyone at arm's length. He was so different to Elrohir's extroverted personality and Elladan's more sedate but no less confident manner. For the first few days, he had taken to hiding in the woods whenever it was possible to slip away. It appeared that the skill of stealth for which the Woodland elves were renown was something Legolas had possessed with astounding aptitude. Arwen almost laughed out loud when she remembered how Celebrian had taken Elrond's suggestion to tie a bell around the boy's neck so that they could find him.
It took a good deal of time for Arwen to find his hiding places and when she did, she discovered that he was not so much shy as he was accustomed to being alone. Thranduil loved him without doubt but as king, had little time to spend with a son who should have been a wife's responsibility at this early age. It was Arwen who befriended him first and she learnt that there was a great deal of complexity behind those intense blue eyes. She learned that he felt things deeply and when he decided you were his friend, he was loyal beyond reason. Arwen could have easily fallen in love with Legolas but somehow, they both knew that it was not meant to be and remained dear friends instead.
In learning to open his heart to her friendship, he was soon able to let others in as well and for more summers than even she could remember, Legolas had been a regular visitor to Imladris. Arwen knew him far better than possibly anyone alive save Thranduil or perhaps Aragorn. When she went to live in Lothlorien, he had paid regular visits, aware that she missed her father and her brothers. He taught her how to shoot a bow and Arwen was to learn that he had no equal in this skill anywhere in Middle earth.
Ironically enough, it was Legolas who had first brought Arwen the news from Imladris that Elrond had welcomed a human woman and her young son Estel, into his house.
"He is very quiet," Legolas had said to Arwen, "but there is a strength to him. One can just discern its shape behind his eyes."
"Much like you were as a boy," Arwen had pointed out.
"I think you might be right," Legolas smiled faintly, "perhaps that is why I like him so."
Arwen blinked away the memories of the past and looked upon Eowyn in her present. The Lady of Ithilien was starting to show the effects of impending motherhood by the slight swell of her abdomen through the fabric of the lavender shift she was wearing. They say women glowed when they held life in their bodies and though Arwen could not honestly say she felt the least bit luminescent while she had been carrying Eldarion, she could not deny the luster on Eowyn's skin that resembled a fresh rinsed peach under the sunlight.
"It is not his fault Eowyn," Arwen spoke out in Legolas' defense. "He takes things to heart deeply, he always has. I think he is so blinded by his pain and by his perceived responsibility for what happened to Melia that he is unable to think of anything else. I fear for him."
"He was very different at Ithilien," Eowyn pointed out, unable to deny that Arwen's observations regarding Legolas' behavior was very accurate. The elf had not returned to Minas Tirith after the destruction of the Eastern Eye, having chosen to continue ahead into Haradwraith before the others set out. Faramir had remarked that perhaps Legolas ought to have waited, to have at least seen how Melia was faring. However, the elf was more than a little determined to begin his hunt for the enemy. She had noticed the shadow of concern in Faramir's eyes.
"I fear his anger," Arwen confessed, "he does not bear it well."
"Would any man or elf bear it well?" Eowyn looked at her in question.
Arwen could not answer because there was no answer to such a question. It curled in on itself, like a serpent eating its tail into infinity. If Estel were in the position that Legolas now occupied, she had no doubt his reaction would be any different. However, Aragorn was more than accustomed to dealing with his emotions than Legolas who had for as long as she remembered, had hidden them behind a mask of elven calm. He felt things passionately, which was one of the reasons why he was so restrained. Perhaps he knew himself, hot intensely the fury inside him could burn if it were allowed unleashing.
Arwen feared what he could do if his fury was well and truly enraged. The Queen of Gondor prayed that the reports she was hearing of his conduct since Ithilien were exaggerations of the truth because if there were not then war was the least of the Haradrim's problems. It had been burned the history of her people what the elves were capable of when they were unleashed upon the world in fury. Arwen prayed that Melia would never be confronted with the news that her husband may be leading his people on a crusade to murder innocents in her name.
And yet inwardly, remembering the sweet prince who had been her friend for so long, Arwen knew that unless she failed completely in her judgement of Legolas, that was precisely what was going to happen.
****************
Across the desert landscape, the land of Haradwraith seemed unrelenting to the unsympathetic eye but to one who was able to see past their reason for being here, there was much to wet the appetite. There was a kind of beauty to the place, harsh and unyielding but distinctly its own, One could see it in the sand dunes and craggy mountains that were so unlike the lushness of the Misty Mountains and the lands of west. As the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the First Born moved across the dunes towards the range of mountains known as the Wall, Aragorn could begin to see it. The people who lived in these lands had to be admired for it could be no easy thing to eke a living in such seemingly barren waste.
Aragorn wished more than anything that the treaty he had set out to forge between the Confederacy and the Reunified Kingdom had come to pass. It would be quite something to learn more about the people who dwelt in this land. Years ago, he had journeyed to the Haradrim realm but what he had learnt was a splinter when one considered the many cultures that inhabited the southern and eastern corners of Middle Earth. All the west had ever known of these realms were that its people served Sauron and Morgoth. Since meeting Melia, they had been given the opportunity to learn that the Easterlings and the Southrons had their own traditions and beliefs. At the failed treaty ceremony, General Castigliari had shown Aragorn that they were also capable of honor and it had been the King of Gondor's deepest wish to see a peace forged between their realms.
Of course that was before Lebethron and Eden Ardhon.
Now there was only once course before them and it was a warrior's course. The peace that he had hoped to establish would only come from more war and with the defeat of the enemy. As much as he knew this had to be done, he despised having to bring the Haradrim and the Easterlings under Gondor's banner in this fashion. Unfortunately, what had been done at Eden Ardhon made any negotiation impossible. The leader of the Confederacy had committed the one crime that elves would not forgive and for that, the First Born were prepared to kill every Haradrim warrior able to raise a sword against them.
The army of men and elves continued their journey deeper into Haradrim territory with a shadow of uneasiness hanging over the heads of all who had seen the destruction of the villages and knew that it was the elves who were responsible. While the armies of Gondor and Rohan were comprised of seasoned soldiers who were disciplined enough to obey orders without question, they could not ignore what they had seen at Axinar and the memory of it forced them to look upon the elves in a different light. Faramir's words haunted Aragorn as he saw his men glancing at the elves with eyes that no longer bore the look of silent awe but rather trepidation.
Faramir was right, Aragorn thought as he led his army. It was far easier to bear the burden of the massacre than it was to know that elves were responsible for it.
And yet the elves had committed the atrocities and there was no denying it. Whether or not they noticed the shift in the way they were perceived by men, Aragorn could not say but knowing the perception of elves, he doubted very much that they were oblivious. The morning after Faramir's departure, Aragorn and Legolas found themselves standing upon the edge of different shores once more, an ocean of pain between them. They had dined together the night before and for a short time, were the companions they had always been. However, with the morning came the same distrust because the face Legolas wore was no longer that of his best friend but rather the cold, angry commander who had ordered the slaughter of innocents.
At night when the army rested and made camp, there was no sound of lively chatter or the camaraderie he was accustomed to hearing in a battle field encampment. Everyone seemed so sedate, speaking in soft voices and threading carefully like it was not sand beneath their feet but rather the fragile substance of unbroken eggshells. Aragorn wondered if the war in which his ancestor Isildur had cut the ring from Sauron's hand had been like this. It could not be easy for two races to integrate into a single fighting force. How had Elendil and Gil-galad overcome this hurdle? However, even as the thought crossed his mind, Aragorn knew that the reason for the pall was not because humans and elves were fighting alongside under the same banner, it was because the elves of this particular conflict had proven themselves to be merciless killers.
And the men of Rohan and Gondor were afraid of them.
The situation was not aided by the discovery upon entering deeper into Haradrim territory that many of villages between them and the wall were summarily abandoned. The armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar would arrive at these communes, usually built around a watering hole and find the town completely emptied of its inhabitants. One after the other, they were confronted with empty homes, vacant streets and the evidence that the villagers had fled quickly. It took no feat of genius to understand what had caused this mass exodus. No doubt after what had been done by the elves, the people of Haradwraith believed that a similar fate awaited for any village that lay in the path of the advancing army. Aragorn wondered how many people had been displaced by this flight and it concerned him where they might have gone since the barren wasteland did not offer many places where a large number of folk could hide.
Fortunately, the question was answered when the army arrived at the city of Cordoba.
In a land filled with sporadic watering holes, Cordoba had been given life because of a small tributary that had somehow carved a path through the passageway of the Splinter to culminate beyond the mountains of the Wall. This position gave Cordoba a certain amount of strategic importance, as it had become the gateway to the Splinter, ensuring that any advancing army would first have to contend with the garrison of soldiers that were stationed within the walls of its high fortress like construction. Unfortunately, in the wake of the recent attacks upon the rest of the country, most of these soldiers were withdrawn to the Sanara Belt to defend the capital cities, leaving only a skeleton force to protect the city walls. However, the void left by departing soldiers was soon filled by the hundreds of people who had flocked to the city, fearing the onslaught of the invading army.
Aragorn stared across the plain and saw the great length of the Wall running from one end of the horizon to the other with Eomer, Legolas and Imrahil next to him astride their own mounts. Unlike the Misty Mountains, the Wall was devoid of lush green forests or high snow covered peaks. The peaks of its ranges appeared as a jagged tear running across the blue sky, with sparse vegetation that were in Gondorian eyes little more than shrubbery. Aragorn could understand why it was called the Wall for the slopes of these mountains were sharp indeed and in some places, appeared to climb straight into the sky in a sheer cliff face. Against it, Cordoba seemed small but Aragorn was not deceived into thinking that the slabs of sandstone that enclosed the city were anything but formidable.
From a distance Cordoba seemed peaceful but Aragorn did not doubt that its inhabitants were aware of their presence. If nothing else, the influx of so many refugees would have given them away long before the armies of the Reunified kingdom made their appearance. Aragorn had no doubt that even as he and his comrades stared across the craggy terrain at the city; sentries placed on the watch towers along the wall were giving out the alarm that the enemy had finally arrived.
"Those walls will not be easy to breach," Eomer stated first as the King of the Mark studied the construction of the fortress. It did not look very different from the fortress of the Eastern Eye which had been formidable to say the least, certainly enough to take the brunt of savage attacks from a number of mumakils.
"And they know we are coming," Imrahil added.
"We must take it," Legolas declared firmly, having no wish to linger on the difficulties when their purpose was clear. "The fortress is large enough to conceal a sizeable force. If we bypass it and continue towards the Wall, we are leaving our rear guard to the possibility of attack."
"Legolas is right," Aragorn nodded in agreement, even if he did not like the calculation in the elf's voice as he made the statement. "We have to take the city but a siege is going to be difficult."
"We have the tools for it," Eomer commented, "however, I do not wish to linger here too long. As you have said, if the Haradrim king wishes to attack, we would be most vulnerable when we are passing through the Splinter. If these people delay our advance…"
"Then the Haradrim king may be able to intercept us with the reinforcements from the Variags and the Easterlings," Aragorn concluded.
"Those walls are capable of fending us off for weeks if they are determined enough," Imrahil pointed out. "I do not wish to waste all our resources attempting to breach that city. We are far from home and no way to acquire reinforcements if they tax us too greatly."
"I say we dam the city and burn it down," Legolas stated promptly.
All eyes turned to the elf in shock, unable to believe that this suggestion had come from Legolas.
"Burn it down?" Aragorn stared at his friend, wondering if he had taken leave of his senses. "That is not a military fortress, it’s a city filled with women and children."
"It is an obstacle that we must hurdle if we are continue into the Sanara Belt," Legolas reminded while staring at them as if they were children with no stomach for war. "We dam the flow of the river into Cordoba and begin bombardment with fire and the city will be ours in a matter of hours."
There was no denying the effectiveness of Legolas' plan but it was also extreme and likely to engender the outrage of all the eastern and southern kingdoms that had so far chosen to remain neutral in the conflict.
"No," Aragorn shook his head, refusing to even contemplate such a course of action. "I will not condone such brutality. We are not even certain of what kind of detachment has been left in that fortress. They may not have the soldiers to keep us out and I would rather attempt to negotiate with them before we turn to such brutality."
"You cannot fight this war trying to be noble Aragorn," Legolas declared haughtily and saw the flint in Aragorn's eyes before he wisely softened his words. Aragorn had a warrior's spirit and he was an excellent commander but he was not a man who thirsted for the blood of others even when it was necessary for the greater good. "I know you mean well but you are no novice at this, you know that time is of the essence. We must cross the Splinter before the arrival of the Haradrim reinforcements."
"This has nothing to do with nobility," Eomer interrupted abruptly. "There are women and children in that fortress. To embark upon the course you have suggested would endanger them most of all and inspire even the lowliest, most cowardly man to pick up a sword to avenge them."
"Then we should count ourselves lucky that he showed himself in time to be put down, before he chooses to throw in with the army of the Haradrim king when we leave here," Legolas countered just as sharply.
"Is that all you think about?" Eomer burst out, unable to restrain his anger any further following that statement. "The reason that city is full of women and children is because you and your elves have terrified them into running for their lives. Thanks to Axinar and the others like it, the Haradrim think we're butchers! The possibility of surrendering will not even be considered because they think it will only give us leave to ride in and slaughter them all, not an entirely far fetched notion after seeing what you and your people are capable of!"
"How dare you question my methods!" Legolas hissed. "Thanks to what my people are capable of, we have entered this realm virtually unopposed! The look of war is far different on the ground and we cannot all fight as nobly or appear as kingly as you from your horse! Down here there is blood and sometimes one must spill it in order to win the day! Has that thought escaped the Rohirrim who prefer to defend their people from outside the walls of very high fortresses where the risk to them is minimal? We do not all have a fortress to sequester our people and when we war against those who have harmed our own, we do not mince words with the trivialities. We need to take that city one way or another. The method I propose is not one I would wish upon any folk but it must be done and I would have assumed my comrades had stomach enough for it." He stared at Aragorn and Imrahil in accusation.
"What we have stomach for is not murder," Eomer glared at him.
"Gentlemen," Imrahil stepped in at this point, seeing the gleam of menace in Legolas' eyes. "This avails us nothing."
"Is your intention to kill every man, woman and child in this country?" Eomer asked, ignoring his father-in-law's wise counsel. "That will not remove the stain on Melia's honor. Nothing can."
"Do not bring my wife into this !" Legolas shouted angrily at the mention of Melia's name and the rest of Eomer's accusation, grabbing the horse lord with his fists in readiness to strike. The Rohirrim lord was more than prepared to meet the elf and retaliated in kind. Imrahil had somehow maneuvered himself in between both men trying to separate them. Meanwhile their horses were neighing in protest at their masters' behavior before man and beast were suddenly frozen by an abrupt bellow of rage.
"THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!" Aragorn Elessar fairly roared.
Legolas, Imrahil and Eomer stared at Aragorn who was breathing hard, his face red with anger. The king of Gondor glared back at the trio with narrowed eyes and spoke in a low voice, little more than a growl once he had their undivided attention. "I will hear no more of this bickering from any of you! Do you understand me?" He turned his steel gaze at Eomer. "We are allies in this conflict and until now, I had believed friends as well. I will not have us fighting like children in front of our warriors who rely upon us to keep a cool head upon our shoulders to lead them!"
No one spoke and Aragorn continued to speak, trembling as the words left in a litany of controlled rage.
"We will camp here and in the morn, we will send a message to Cordoba informing its people unless they capitulate and surrender to us, we will begin a siege of incendiary bombardment."
"You cannot…"
"I am not finished," Aragorn cut Eomer off sharply before he continued. "We will give them a day to agree and if they do not, we will give them another day and allow the safe passage of anyone who wishes to leave the city."
"You cannot let them simply walk out!" Legolas exclaimed.
"SAFE PASSAGE I SAID!" Aragorn snarled angrily. "I will agree to your plan but I will not be party to the killing of innocent folk whose only crime is that they chose this city as their sanctuary after you frightened them out of their wits with the possibility of a massacre. If the city does not yield to us in those two days, then we will take those extreme measures that we've discussed but not before then, are we clear?"
"If provision is made for the safe passage of women and children, I will agree," Eomer conceded the point. It was not often that they saw Aragorn in this state of mind and even though they were equals, Eomer could not help be intimidated by his fury.
"Anything that can stop this bickering and bloodshed falls in my favor," Imrahil replied, offering Aragorn a look of sympathy for the difficulties he was enduring on this campaign.
Aragorn turned to Legolas who was connected to his willful gaze with one of their own. Their eyes bore into each other, trying to see who would break first under the tremendous pressure of their hard gaze. In this instance, no one could match Aragorn for sheer will and Legolas broke away first, turning his eyes away to avoid any more of that penetrating glare.
"I will concede to let the women and children go," Legolas replied softly.
"Good," Aragorn replied with a hoarse sigh and dismounted Roheryn. He took the animal by the reins and started to lead it away from the three riders.
"Where are you going?" Imrahil asked Aragorn with concern as both Eomer and Legolas were still recovering from their outburst to feel anything for the king other than a hint of shame.
"Away," Aragorn said quietly. "I need a moment."
He was glad that Imrahil did not question him further because Aragorn needed to catch his breath and prayed that Gimli would return soon with Melia because for the first time in his life, Aragorn had never felt so alone even though he was surrounded by so many.
***********
It did not take long for the army of the alliance to establish itself outside the city of the Cordoba whose awareness of their presence was soon revealed by the number of soldiers that gathered quickly on the wall as they began to set up camp a short distance away. The Haradrim made no effort to emerge from their bastion, deciding to hold position as they observed the enemy taking a clearly offensive position before them. Both armies regarded each other with barely concealed hostility, perfectly aware that there was a kind of protocol to be followed in these affairs and that neither side would attack until the appropriate moment which the Haradrim soon concluded would not be immediate. Instead, they watched the Gondorian foot soldiers, Rohirrim cavalry and elven archers spread out across the plains before them in a giant net, ensuring that though it had not been declared, war almost certainly was upon them.
The night that followed was one of deathly silence with both armies keeping guarded eyes upon each other. In either camp, fortifications were made as Cordoba prepared itself for a siege and Aragorn drafted the message that would be sent to the city's leaders at dawn. He knew that the wording of such documents were important and he crafted it with all the sincerity he could put into the written word, praying that it would convince the enemy that negotiation was possible and that the Reunified Kingdom would not sanction bloodshed if it could be avoided. However, it was difficult for his cause to have any real weight when Gondorian artillerymen were preparing the machines of bombardment. This much, they had learnt at Lossarnach because the Confederacy's assault upon the city had been very effective indeed.
Thanks to dwarf ingenuity, the design of the Haradrim trebuchet was improved for Gondor's purposes and the range and the ability to crumble walls was much improved. The Haradrim watched grimly as soldiers gathered the fodder for these weapons while elven archers sharpened arrows and cast their steely gaze across the distance to see far more clearly than their human counterparts. Aragorn counted no more than several hundred Haradrim soldiers and it was with irony that he remembered how he and the Rohirrim were similarly outnumbered at the battle of Helm's Deep.
At first light, the herald was sent to the walls of Cordoba, to deliver to its leaders the message for a noon meeting in order for their situation to be discussed. Aragorn looked to the meeting with hope, praying that he could convince Cordoba that yielding would not open its people to the slaughter. Undoubtedly, this was what they must believe after the tales of Axinar had returned to them through the fleeing refugees from the villages. Legolas was skeptical that any agreement could be reached and had become more sullen then ever now Eomer had made it clear what his comrades thought of his actions prior to their meeting at the rendezvous.
At noon, with the sun at its highest, Aragorn emerged from his tent and mounted Roheryn once more. Clad in the mail of a king and carrying Anduril in its scabbard, he rode toward the meeting place flanked by Legolas, Eomer and Imrahil. Providing escort was a contingent of elven guards, led by Nunaur whose proficiency as Legolas' bodyguard would ensure that the kings of men accompanying his lord would be similarly protected. They rode to the center of the field, on the flat plain between their encampment and the city of Cordoba and waited. On the walls of the city, the enemy soldiers watched while the armies of the Alliance maintained a presence that ensured that protocols of warfare were observed during this meeting.
The great wooden doors of Cordoba parted just enough for a single file of riders to emerge from its inside. Aragorn had expected to see men astride horses but the beasts that emerged were nothing he had ever seen before and it looked absurd in comparison to a horse. Long ungainly necks, with a decidedly goat like head bobbing upon it. The creatures were larger than horses but their backs were humped and their toes splayed wide and did not at all resemble hooves. Eomer's expression of shock almost made Aragorn smile, while Imrahil and Legolas merely stared with brows raised. Three of these beasts made their way towards the party from the west and perched rather comfortably upon their backs were men who had the look of Haradrim warriors with their red robes and their scimitar weapons hanging from their waists.
"What is it?" Eomer whispered at Aragorn before the trio approached.
"I am not certain," Aragorn answered truthfully, "when I wandered these lands some years before I heard of a creature they called the droma that is the preferred method of travel for the deep desert dwellers, I suppose this could be that beast."
"It does not look very impressive," Eomer replied, his mind filled with questions typical to cavalrymen. "Do you suppose they ride them into battle?"
"I could not say," Aragorn confessed though he could not imagine the fearsome Haradrim warriors entering a battle riding these ridiculous looking creatures.
His curiosity faded however when the Cordoban leaders closed the distance and finally reached their position. The leader was a man not much older than Imrahil however, his brown skin glistened with sweat and showed little signs of age. Beneath the rather elaborate headpiece he was wearing, Aragorn suspected that he had little hair. His facial hair however remained abundant by his beard and by the thick eyebrows over his brown eyes. The rest of him was covered in the customary red worn by most Haradrim and his neck was adorned with gold with one ear pierced. The other two were younger men who resembled the first and Aragorn suspected that they were most likely his sons.
"I am King Elessar," Aragorn introduced himself.
"We know who you are," the man spoke coldly but his eyes were fixed clearly upon Legolas. "You are the king of the Reunified Kingdom, your companions are the lord of Dol Amroth, the horse king of Rohan and," his eyes narrowed as he glared at Legolas, "the butcher of Axinar."
"Lord Legolas of Eden Ardhon if you please," Legolas responded as he stared back at the man stonily.
"Would we have the honor of knowing with whom we are negotiating?" Aragorn interrupted, sensing that this was going to be a futile exercise but was compelled nonetheless to make the effort. Unfortunately, the Cordoban's reaction to Legolas did not bode well for this outcome of these proceedings.
"My name is Satarin," the man introduced himself, "I am First Minister of Cordoba and these are my sons, Oneyros and Caifas."
Acknowledgements were made of these introductions before Aragorn drew a deep breath, hoping his argument could sway this man. As it was, the hatred in his eyes for Legolas ensured that the idea of surrendering would be a difficult proposition at best, if not outright impossible. "First Minister, we have no desire for bloodshed but we must secure your city. If you surrender, you have my word that your people will be treated fairly. No one wants to see needless death here."
Satarin shifted his gaze from Legolas to Aragorn long enough to laugh derisively, "needless bloodshed! Do you think me a fool! I know what was the result of your needless bloodshed at Axinar, Laxor, Bracat and Turazon! I have their women and children here in my city, weeping tales of how the Eldar have done insane, butchering and murdering. This animal here was seen murdering a child!"
Aragorn turned sharply to Legolas in astonishment and saw that the accusation had penetrated the elf's aloof mask and shook the stony expression from his face for a brief instant. However, Legolas was too adept at hiding his emotions to allow the lapse to continue for longer than that and soon the impenetrable veil lowered over his eyes once more. Aragorn however, could not dispel the shock of the news so easily and neither could Eomer and Imrahil who dropped their eyes to the ground because they could not meet Satarin's with anything but horror.
"What was done before," Aragorn said in a low voice, trying to hide just how much Satarin's statement had affected him, "will not occur here. We have no wish to kill innocents but we are at war and your armies were nowhere as considerate when they rode into our lands and butchered and raped our people."
"I cannot say what my king has done with his army," Satarin replied, clearly unmoved by Aragorn's speech. "However, I know what your Eldar allies have done and we will not submit to you. We will not allow you to murder our men who are not all soldiers. Some are farmers, farriers, stable hands, tailors, smiths and craftsmen. You have wiped out the fathers of families who now have no one to provide for them. If you think for one instance I will throw open the gates of my city to let you slaughter them the way you slaughtered the others, then you know less about Haradrim courage than this murdering elf!"
"Enough!" Aragorn shouted, unable to hear that insult once more because he would have to think about what Legolas was accused and this was neither the time nor place for that. "We are assembled here under a banner of truce, I will remind you to afford him the civility due of such an occasion."
"I will offer no civility to a murderer of children," Satarin hissed venomously, "nor I will entertain any idea of peace or surrender, not to one who could condone such behavior, even from an ally."
"And we have no mercy for those who would defend the actions of a king who has committed far worse atrocities than what you are accusing me of," Legolas returned with just as much vehemence. "We will take your city one way or another. I had hoped for the sake of my allies that this could be done amicably but like all the Haradrim, you are poisoned by hatred."
"Legolas enough," Aragorn spoke up trying to keep the talks from turning into a shouting match but it was too late and he knew it.
"You can try but we will make you pay in blood before we yield," Satarin threatened. "While there is breath in my body, we will never surrender not I or any of my sons."
"Then your family will end with you and your sons," Legolas bit back with a gleam of such menace in his eyes that it made Aragorn shudder. "We will take your city and you will be eternally grateful that we were nowhere as brutal as your king was at Eden Ardhon and Lebethron."
"Enough!" Aragorn clutched his arm to silence him. Facing Satarin, he conceded defeat at being able to convince the man of their peaceful intentions and uttered calmly, "I will not take this as your irrefutable answer until you have time to ponder our offer. However, I shall expect a response by the time sun reaches noon tomorrow. If I do not have your surrender, consider yourselves given a further day to remove your women and children for you surely do not want them in the city when we come for you an hour after that time has passed."
Satarin tugging the reins of his mount as he turned back to his city, concluding their 'negotiations' with a chillingly final statement of defiance.
"We will be waiting when you do."
***************
Aragorn did not speak until he saw Satarin disappear into Cordoba's walls once more.
He remained on the field where their discussions had failed so disastrously, unable to prompt Roheryn into moving because his thoughts were too filled with horror at what Satarin had revealed to him. Legolas was still staring at the ground unable to meet his gaze while Eomer's expression was unfathomable. Imrahil was quiet, too seasoned the diplomat to show his true feelings but Aragorn, Aragorn could only stare at Legolas aghast because his mind could not accept that his friend, for all that he had seen in Axinar, could have taken a blade to a child. Yet, Legolas' inability to meet his eyes seemed only to confirm the truth of the First Minister's words.
"Is it true?" Aragorn asked after what seemed like an eternity of time. He could not even look at Legolas when he asked the question and the words escaped him through a clenched jaw.
Legolas' voice trembled when he answered, "it was an accident."
"An accident?" Aragorn raised his eyes to the elf's. "How can the murder of a child be an accident?"
"It was not murder," Legolas said and wondered if Aragorn knew what it had been like for him to discover that mistake, to see the blood on his hands and know that the boy's death had forced him unwillingly over a line he had never intended to cross. When he had taken that child's life, Legolas came to the conclusion that he had not only torn apart Melia's soul but his own as well.
"He came up behind me," Legolas whispered, wanting desperately for Aragorn to believe him. Until this moment, Legolas had not comprehended how important it was for his best friend to understand that he had not meant to kill that boy. "I did not realize that he was a child until it was too late. I would never hurt a child intentionally, you know that."
However, Aragorn's eyes betrayed him when he looked at Legolas. Before this war had begun, Legolas was the last person that Aragorn would believe capable of such a brutal act but seeing Axinar and all the villages following it had forced him to alter his perception of the elf. He saw the anguish in Legolas' eyes and wished he had been able to shield his thoughts because the elf really needed his belief and Aragorn was unable to give it.
"I see," Legolas said with a quivering voice, turning away from Aragorn. Digging his heels into Arod's flanks, the horse bolted forward carrying Legolas away from the three men.
Eomer looked up at Aragorn after Legolas had gone, the unfathomable look that Aragorn had been unable to discern earlier had withered away into something that surprised the king of Gondor somewhat when he recognized what it was.
Pity.
"What?" Aragorn demanded of the Rohirrim king, flinching beneath the hard stare Eomer was giving him. Even Imrahil's initial horror had waned and the older man remained silent because he knew not how to counsel the king in this matter.
"I think you should have believed him," Eomer stated to Aragorn's astonishment.
"I would have thought that of all people, you would have been the first to agree with me on this," Aragorn returned sharply, feeling even worse now.
"There is no excuse for what he has done," Eomer replied quietly, "but it does explain greatly what has happened since."
And with that, Eomer rode away leaving Aragorn the terrible suspicion that he had failed his best friend when Legolas had needed him most.
While the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar were presently halted in their progress beyond the walls of Cordoba, Faramir and Pallando were crossing the desert with surprising speed. Faramir discovered that the Rangers had not exaggerated when they had told the Ruling Council that the news of the massacres at Axinar and the other villages had spread far and wide across Haradwraith. Their journey to the Sanara Belt was fraught with encounters with refugees who were fleeing towards the capital city in sheer terror of being slaughter by the First Born. As the two men of the west continued their journey, they saw more and more evidence of this mass exodus.
However, despite the urgency sweeping across the lands, Faramir had time to absorb the textured beauty of the Haradrim culture, and grieved that there had been so little time to learn more about these people before the actions of all had put them on a course bound for war. He found that while it was easy to believe that the desert was a barren wasteland, Faramir had found it teeming with an odd sort of life that was very much adapted for life in the dunes. He saw small, hardy creatures, from insects to snakes, lizards and tortoises, to small furry things that burrowed in the sand and seemed to know where to find water when it did not appear there was any. He saw great birds sailing through the air and saw shrubs growing where it would seem impossible for any to take root.
It was not just the wildlife that brought the desert alive but also its people. It appeared that only a small portion of dwellers in the desert actually settled around watering holes. In the lands called the Barrens, being the territories beyond the reach of the great river, life continued after a fashion. Most in this realm tended to lead nomadic existences, wandering from watering hole to watering hole, herding goat or sheep. Whole families spent their entire lives never bound to any single place. Faramir wondered what it was like to live in such a manner, to have no home to speak of but merely a collection of familiar places visited time and time again.
The folk he encountered were simple people with little concern over the machinations of their king or the former lord of Mordor. There were those who went to the cities, who broke away from their untethered lives to become more than what they were. Of those, their fates could not be discerned however, to Faramir their tales were no different that any he had heard from the peoples of Gondor or Rohan. It was a difficult time for these people who were being driven harder and harder, from water source to water source, in search of the sustenance to feed their livestock and themselves at the same time. Faramir remained largely silent during his encounters with the Haradrim, mostly because while they appeared friendly enough, he was uncertain how they would feel at having the presence of a western lord in their midst and it was far simpler to avoid the complication by remaining anonymous
Pallando fortunately, proved to be an able translator as they made their journey eastward and was a very interesting companion. The wizard was vastly different than Gandalf but also very much alike the old man whom had been apart of Faramir's life for the better part of his youth. It was Gandalf who had inspired him to learn the history of his country preserved in books and because of him, Denethor's youngest son found a world where he could forge an identity of his own without trying to emulate his brother or win his father's approval.
Pallando, in contrast to Gandalf's all knowing guise, did not seem so infallible and was certainly more human. Faramir suspected that even the Maiar did not escape feelings of guilt and from what Legolas had told him about he and Melia's first encounter with the wizard, Pallando certainly had his share of it. Pallando blamed himself for the deconstruction of Alatar, one of the five Istari who arrived in Middle Earth during the Second Age to combat Sauron. Alatar had his own ideas in how to achieve this and had believed that the creation of a perfect life form, invulnerable to corruption was the manner in which to succeed. It was his obsession with this plan that forced he and Pallando to go their separate ways.
Alatar used as the template for this new life, the river women who were minions of the Valar Ulmo. Unfortunately, it required more power than he had to complete his task and he was forced to ally himself with Sauron, believing that the Lord of Mordor would unknowing aid in his own destruction when Alatar's creations were completed. In Alatar's mind, the ends justified the means but he had made a grave miscalculation because Sauron's powers were dark and possessed the ability to corrupt the spell that would transform the river women from beacons of light into the creations of absolute nightmares.
Melia's mother had been a river woman and the course of Melia’s arrival in the western lands had been engaged in the search the lady. When she, Legolas and Pallando finally found Alatar, the wizard was nearly insane and exhausted from trying to keep his creations from emerging to bedevil an unsuspected world. Pallando, who had been allowed to come to Middle Earth because of Alatar's plea on his behalf to the Valar, was forced to aid in his friend's downfall. Faramir suspected that despite his reasons being compelling, Pallando had never quite forgiven himself for abandoning Alatar and allowing him to embark upon his disastrous end.
They were well past the Splinter when they encountered, after much deliberation as to whether or not contact ought to be made, a group of travellers who did not resemble the nomads they had previously met. For starters, these folk appeared to travel in large caravans and did not resemble farmers or animal herders. Instead, they were garbed colourfully with the creatures that Faramir had now learnt were called droma, laden with wares of every kind. It did not take the Prince of Ithilien long to discover that these were traders who serviced the communities in the desert by bringing them goods from the capital cities that were too far for them to acquire otherwise.
Unfortunately, with the news that the First Born were rampaging through Haradwraith killing everyone in sight, the caravan had decided to end this particular trip early in order to return home to the Sanara Belt. Despite finding Legolas’ behavior at Axinar morally objectionable, as a man Faramir could understand all too well that pain that drove the elf to his bloody course. However in the murderous reputation the elves were gaining across Haradwraith and the panic caused by the massacres throughout the local population, Faramir was beginning to see a deeper consequence of Legolas’ actions. Folk who had no interest in the war might be willing to fight for their king if they believed the elves would leave none alive if they were defeated.
Now that their armies were travelling together as one under Aragorn’s lead, Faramir hoped the people of Haradwraith would learn that the armies of the Westernesse were not invading their country for the purposes of genocide.
The caravan was more than welcome to accept two strangers into their midst with new stories of their own lands to bring to the campfire in exchange. Apparently, one of the Haradrim’s favourite pastimes was the exchange of tales, particularly among those who lived a nomadic or semi-nomadic existence. The passing of stories revealed to them the geographical and cultural knowledge regarding the lands beyond their own. Faramir supposed that in the western lands the same might be accomplished of the wandering minstrels and bards but during the years prior to the War of the Ring, such travel was hazardous and the practice had been more or less discarded.
Pallando’s spell of glamour preformed its function remarkably well and the caravan leader, a man named Roshal was more than willing to accede to Pallando’s request that he and Faramir journey with them into the Sanara Belt. When Roshal admired the horses that they had made their journey, Pallando made them a surprising offer that Faramir was quick to balk at when it was first proposed.
"Give up my horse?" The Ranger stared at the wizard.
"Horses are for the rich," Pallando pointed out as they discussed the matter privately beyond the earshot of others. "As we are attempting to enter Mahazar disguised as travellers and do not wish to raise suspicion, we must relinquish them for something more conventional and least likely to call attention to ourselves. Roshal can afford to purchase them and they will be given good homes since horses are much valued to the Haradrim."
Faramir frowned because Pallando was right much to his chagrin. As a Ranger, he knew the sense of Pallando’s words although the alternate form of travel the wizard would have them use engendered a surge of distaste within the prince of Ithilien at the very thought of it. Unfortunately, the Istar’s argument was a valid one and the reason for their journey was far too important for him to jeopardize because of his personal dislikes. In any case, he supposed that it could not be that difficult to master the replacement for his horse.
No matter how undignified the beast may appear.
Fortunately, Faramir’s mount was not the animal he rode normally because the possibility of having to abandon the creature was not new to him when he and Pallando set out to the Sanara Belt. However, he had seen what these desert dwellers used to travel instead of horses and he would prefer attempting to ride a mumakil than the creature he was forced to accept when the trade for the horses was finally made.
"We will never get anywhere on these things," Faramir remarked as he saw the animal standing over him, masticating a piece of hay that had had become pulp long ago. It appeared as if its lower jaw and the rest of its face was not in agreement as to which direction it should go whilst chewing and Faramir was reminded of grazing cows. The beast stared at him indifferently as he made the statement but its eyes was fixed on its new master. Faramir had the oddest feeling he was being sized and the jet of saliva that splattered on the ground next to his foot from the creature’s mouth a second later was a good indicator that the beast found him lacking.
"They are surprisingly fast," Pallando replied, aware that men of the west were too attached to their horses and the stature of riding one and was thus extremely patient with his younger companion’s obvious distaste. "This beast can carry you for a week without food or water. See the hump?" Pallando patted the swell on the creature’s back, "this is where they store water and food. If we fall into unfortunate circumstances, which are highly likely in this desert wasteland, this animal will bring you out of it where a horse would die."
Faramir truly despised it when Pallando was right.
The rest of the day was spent learning to ride the thing, an experience which reminded Faramir of his youth when it was Boromir doing the teaching. Fortunately, Pallando was far more patient a teacher than his older brother whom, at the height of his frustration, claimed Denethor had found Faramir in the market place, since he could not possibly be Boromir’s brother and be so terrible on a horse. This experience was marginally less intolerable although Faramir had never thought getting the droma to heel in order to mount the beast could be so hard. However, once the animal had yielded enough to allow him that privilege, Faramir had found that the mechanics of it were not so different than riding a horse; it was only the signals that changed.
Roshal had been terribly thrilled to acquire two horses in exchange for two of his dromas since the former was certainly of more value. He invited Faramir and Pallando to dine in his tent and though Faramir would have preferred them to keep to themselves, Pallando had accepted on the invitation, citing that it would be extremely rude to decline since the caravan would aid their entry into the Sanara Belt. Faramir however, was anxious about being in close proximity with so many since his understanding of the Haradrim language was rudimentary at best. Most of the time he had allowed Pallando to speak for him, though Faramir was starting to think that commending oneself completely into the hands of an Istar was not always the best course, if what Frodo Baggins had revealed about his uncle’s adventures with Gandalf was any comparison.
Dining with a Haradrim patriarch was something of an experience. None of these people travelled without the full complement of family, even caravans selling wares. Roshal was no different and when Faramir and Pallando arrived to dine in the man’s large tent, his family including a gaggle of daughters were present, serving food and seeing to the comfort of arriving guests. However, what Faramir found extremely disconcerting was that he and Pallando seemed to be the only guests and that a good deal of pomp was dedicated to the affair.
"Welcome, welcome," Roshal, a short, swarthy man with dark skin and a rapidly greying beard said with open arms and he led Faramir and Pallando to short table on the ground. As Faramir had come to learn since encountering the Haradrim during this journey, they preferred to sit on cushions rather than on chairs.
Faramir let Pallando do the talking as he swept his gaze across the tent and noted the women tittering in his direction from behind colourful veils that partially hid their faces. Faramir was not unaccustomed to their clothing, remembering how Ulfrain and his wife had been clothed during the failed treaty celebrations at Gondor. What he did like about Haradrim fabrics however was their colour, which seemed to border on vibrant to near iridescence. If trade were ever established between their peoples, Faramir was certain that women of the west would be clamouring for their fabrics. The women in the tent did not speak to him directly, even though he saw their eyes shifting furtively in his direction periodically.
The spell did not change his appearance but allowed other people to simply ignore that he was a man of the Westernesse. Pallando had told Roshal that they heralded from lands beyond Rhun and were seeking to establish a new life in a warmer climate as well as explore new territories. Roshal seemed to accept this readily enough and paid Faramir more attention than the former Ranger would have liked because it made him wonder if Roshal could see past his guise. However, if Roshal suspected them of anything, he certainly did not make mention of it.
"The famine does not appear to have effected you," Pallando observed when they sat down to dine and the meals were served.
The aroma of the food was exotic like the Haradrim people, Faramir found himself thinking, and was thick with spices and meat. He saw very little in the way of vegetables other than tubers and the kind that grew in a land starving for rain. The food like their cloth was colourful and there seemed to be some reverence in the way it was splayed out before the guests. The young lady who served him certainly took a great deal of ceremony in the way she laid the table whilst casting stealthy glances at him at the same time.
Strange, he thought silently.
"Well I am not a man without a fortune," Roshal confessed, unperturbed by the question since in this time, the famine was a part of life and not easily ignored. "There is plenty of food in the Belt but that too is starting to dwindle. This feast you see before you are expensive but it is no different than what it costs at Mahazar. So many are flocking to the cities for food and work but there is little of either when there is no rain or crops. I had hoped that I would make one last trip into the Barrens before it was necessary to return home and wait out the war but circumstances have made it difficult."
"We are honoured then that you have been so accommodating," Pallando said genuinely touched by the hospitality shown when it was clear that Roshal had his troubles of his own.
"Think nothing of it," Roshal declared dismissively, "those horses you trade for the droma are worth their weight in gold, certainly worth your meals whilst travelling with us."
He did not see Faramir flinch involuntarily at the loss of the horses
"In truth," Roshal turned his gaze to Faramir, "I had an ulterior motive for asking you to join us."
Faramir, who understood better than he could speak, immediately tensed at that statement. He cursed under his breath because he had entered the tent armed only with a dagger he had hidden within his boot. However, Pallando did not seem to be terribly concerned at this statement, which made Faramir wonder what the wizard knew that he did not. Deciding he would give the wizard the benefit of the doubt, Faramir reached for the goblet of wine that had been poured before him.
"What sort of motive?" Pallando asked, forcing himself to keep from smiling because he had a good sense what this was about and had neglected to tell Faramir for good reason.
"Your young friend appears to be a man who knows his mind," Roshal said with a smile, "sensible as well. Surely when one is going to a new land, one can only prosper with a wife. I have many daughters and it would be my privilege to offer anyone of them you wish for your own."
Faramir who was in mid swallow, promptly choked.
"What?" He managed to croak and noted the giggling that came behind a curtain at the edge of the tent. At least four sets of eyes were peering at him through the colored veils and suddenly Faramir had a clear idea why they had been stealing glances at him all evening.
"I am sorry," Pallando said with a perfectly straight face considering the circumstance. "My friend has already a wife in his own lands."
"Oh," Roshal mused with a disappointed sigh, his shoulders slacking at Pallando’s answer. "I had hoped for one of my daughters, the position of First Wife at least but I am certain the position of Second Wife is no less important."
"Second wife?" Faramir asked, somehow managing to cross the language barrier most effectively.
"Yes," Roshal looked at him, "a man must take more than one wife. How else is supposed to ensure a houseful of sons?"
He had nothing to say to Roshal in answer and looked somewhat frantically at Pallando for assistance in extracting him from this embarrassing and wholly unacceptable situation. Of all the things he had expected to encounter as a Ranger, this was as far down the proverbial list as one could imagine. Faramir had never thought of it that way. However, he knew that if he were to return home with a second wife, a house full of sons would be an impossibility since the part of his anatomy required to accomplish that task would not remain connected to his person for very long once Eowyn was done with him.
"It is not customary," Pallando intervened, taking pity on Faramir, "for people of his lands to take more than one wife."
"You mean your people are simply content with one wife?" Roshal exclaimed, staring at Faramir in nothing less than shock. "What if she falls ill and is unable to bear a child?"
"They believe in death being the only reason to take another wife," Pallando explained, "however, one cannot make a new life in a new country without accepting its customs, therefore I am certain that my young companion will be more than happy to accept one of your daughters."
Considering he understood clearly what Pallando had said and by the widening grin on Roshal’s face and a resumption of the girlish titters he could hear behind the curtain, Faramir kept him composure remarkably well.
"Pallando," he looked at the wizard, speaking in Westron which they had learnt by now Roshal did not understand, "might I have a moment?"
"Of course," Pallando replied calmly and then turned to Roshal and declared in Haradrim, "my friend would like to discuss which of your daughters he would like to select. Please excuse us."
Faramir was fairly turning red and it was a fortunate thing that they left the tent when they did because the Prince of Ithilien was not at all happy by the situation he found himself. They left the confines of the tent and stepped out into the warm night, putting some distance between themselves and Roshal so that they could speak without being overheard. Once they were far enough away, almost to the edge of the encampment, Faramir halted and faced Pallando.
"What are you doing to me?" He demanded. "I cannot marry anyone! I have a wife and soon a child as well!"
"I know that," Pallando said calmly as if he were dealing with a child throwing a tantrum.
"And you knew!" Faramir accused him. "You knew they were going to ask of me such a thing?"
"I suspected," the wizard shrugged, "however, I was not certain until I saw the ceremony of our meal in his presence. You must understand that daughters are used in the same way alliances are formed in the Western lands. However, it appear Roshal has many daughters and because of the war, is anxious that he will be unable to provide for them. I suspect that he is trying to marry them off to anyone he finds remotely suitable."
"I sympathize with his difficulties," Faramir returned, calming himself because he did feel for the man’s plight. "However, I am a Prince of Ithilien and a Ranger, I came into this land in order to gather intelligence, not a wife."
"And to do that, we require their assistance to slip into Mahazar covertly," Pallando countered. "It is a grave insult in this culture to refuse a man when he offers you his daughter."
"I cannot take a second wife!" Faramir cried out in exasperation. "Eowyn will kill me, and I do not mean that that figuratively, I mean it in the manner of ‘I shall wake up one night and find my innards about my throat’. My wife knows her weapons."
"Calm yourself Prince," Pallando said smoothly, amused greatly by Faramir’s reaction and was performing a minor feat of magic by hiding it from the Ranger of Ithilien. "Were you this skittish on your wedding night?"
Faramir straightened and looked him in the eye, "you are not funny and thanks to your gracious acceptance on my behalf, we have a problem."
"No we do not," Pallando sighed knowingly, "you will agree to marry one of his daughters but not before we arrive at Mahazar because you wish to purchase a house before welcoming your new bride into your bed. Once we are there, it will be a simple matter to slip away and you will have no fear of committing adultery."
"I had not planned on it anyway," Faramir glared at him, appeased by Pallando’s suggestion despite the whole thing being completely improper to begin with. "If he agrees to wait until we reach Mahazar, I will go along with this plan, otherwise, I am taking my droma and we will take our chances on our own in entering the city ourselves. I miss my wife terribly, more than I can say. It pains me to leave her when she is with child and the idea of taking another is abhorrent."
"She is a fortunate woman to be held in such regard," the wizard remarked in understanding as they walked back to Roshal’s tent. "However, your lady recognizes war and its needs far better than most, she will understand your need to play this charade."
"I shall never tell her," Faramir muttered, imagining the embarrassment and wondered at the things he was forced to do for king and country.
Pallando grinned and added as they neared the tent, "now all there is left for you to do is be very diplomatic when you choose one of them."
Faramir stared at him, "choose?"
************
Fortunately for Faramir, Roshal agreed to his desire to wait until they arrive at Mahazar for the wedding to take place much to the Prince’s relief. However, if he thought the embarrassment he had endured at this whole affair was ended with his acceptance of Roshal’s offer, then the Prince of Ithilien was great mistaken. As Pallando had predicted, Faramir was forced to choose one among Roshal’s daughters to be his second wife and the whole process was terribly awkward since to do this, they had to parade before him as animals at the marketplace. He had hardly paid any attention to them during their journey, more focused on observing Haradrim culture than the young women who cast their gazes his way. He knew that he had inspired their interest for he had been known to women as being somewhat fair, however, he had never thought their interests was more than that until the moment was upon him.
Since none, by his reckoning at least, could compare in the slightest to the golden haired goddess he had married and who was at this moment, swelling with his child, Faramir simply chose the face most familiar to him which was the girl who had served him during the meal. While the alliances that could be forged by marriageable daughters was not uncommon, until now Faramir had not really considered how humiliating it must be for a woman to be simply traded about like pawns on a chessboard between great houses bent on furthering their political standing. It was no different here and Faramir was certain that these young ladies were probably no less thrilled at being presented to him with little consent required on their part. The whole incident made Faramir swear that if he and Eowyn were to have a daughter, she would choose her own mate.
Aside from his impending matrimony with one of Roshal’s daughter, the rest of the journey progressed smoothly without much incident although as they crossed the mountains and neared the outskirts of the Sanara Belt, Faramir began to see greater evidence of the war that was approaching its fertile lands. Soldiers began to appear in greater abundance and while the caravan was careful to keep their distance, Faramir could see that the Rangers were correct about the Haradrim being forced to conscript. Soldiers led new recruits towards the Belt and it made Faramir’s stomach hollow to see how young some of them were. They were no more than boys and Faramir worried that when the time came they would be little more than fodder to the seasoned warriors of Gondor, Rohan and the elves.
The Sanara Belt when they finally came upon it was indeed as fertile as promised. After seeing tracks of desert, hilly, mountainous terrain that was arid and unyielding, the sight of lush green fields and tall trees was something to behold. Upon seeing it, Faramir could well understand why it was called the heart of Haradwraith for the centerpiece of Haradrim culture lay against the banks of the great river, which was called Sanara.
It was clear however, even from the outskirts that the inhabitants of the belt were mobilizing for war. Along the route that led from the Splinter, Faramir and Pallando saw villages fortifying their positions, building clever traps for the impending invaders, creating barriers to protect their homes and arming themselves with weaponry. He could tell that many who were rushing to make these preparations had never been forced into such positions before because their efforts to wield weapons appeared ungainly and fledgling. Boys as young as their twelfth year were being provided with swords to protect their homes and through this growing awareness of war, came the whispers of fear that the First Born were coming to slaughter them.
The Haradrim army was also a looming presence in these communities, instructing its people as to the best ways to protect their villages and ward off the invaders when they finally reached the Sanara Belt. Faramir found it interesting to note that to the Haradrim it was not merely a matter of if they reached the Belt but rather when. A pall of inevitability rested over the land that incited some sensation of guilt within Faramir when he saw the fear in their eyes at the destruction that would ensure when Aragorn led the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the elves to the Belt. However, there was also the determination to fight at all costs, to defend their homes and their families against eminent slaughter.
The folk of the Sanara Belt were mostly farmers since natural irrigation from the great river had turned the hard ground into a loamy, aerated soil ideal for planting. In the Barrens, the primary crop grown was maize but within the Belt, barley, wheat rice and other grains that could be stored easily were grown. Since the fall of Barad-dur and the cessation of tributes that supplemented the Haradrim food supply, the burden had fallen upon the farmers of the Sanara to feed their people. However, with the advent of the drought, what grain the Barrens had been able to produce itself was savagely reduced and increased that burden had grown to almost intolerable levels.
The price of what food there was had risen so greatly that only morsels remained for those without wealth and as they moved deeper into the Belt, Faramir saw that many had been driven to the streets in order to beg for scraps. Roshal had stated that this was the way it had been since the Fall of the Ring and until Faramir witnessed it for himself, had not guessed how terrible the circumstance the Haradrim and most likely the Easterlings had found themselves with the end of Sauron. With the onset of war, the situation had become more desperate. While it grieved Faramir to think in such a manner, there was a part of him that could not deny that it would be best for everyone, if Gondor were in a position to force the Haradrim into accepting their aid.
There should be no contests of pride when there were people starving.
They arrived in Mahazar two days after entering the belt and its standing as the capital of Haradwraith could not be mistaken for it was in every sense a great city. With the Sanara running through Mahazar bringing travelers from Far and Near Harad who concluded their journeys in the heart of the city, the waterway was a colorful flotilla of boats. Some were pulled so closely together that the trade they brought with them could be conducted without stepping onto the shore. Merchants and peddlers sold their wares from their vessels as wealthy customers in small crafts of their own, skimmed the edge of this floating marketplace and made their purchases. Faramir tried to imagine the Anduin being used for such a purpose and could not even begin to imagine it and yet for the Haradrim, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
The rest of Mahazar comprised of buildings that were built relatively low to the ground and the architectural design favored most was its domed shape. Roshal explained that occasionally sandstorms blew in from the Barrens and these were of such intensity that they could cause significant damage to the buildings. Faramir who had grown to manhood in the White City, accustomed to seeing the Tower of Ecthelion holding the standard of Minas Tirith high above the city, swaying in the breeze was quite taken by the lack of tall buildings. There was only one structure of size in the whole of Mahazar, that could be seen from every corner in the city and that was of course the palace of the king. The descendants of Ulfang the Black had built it as homage to the lord they served and as Faramir took in the sight of it, he could not help thinking how much like Barad-dur it resembled. Though not as tall or constructed from adamant, it was still very imposing and made Faramir uncomfortable by looking at it.
One thing that Faramir did learn from Roshal of great value was that the Haradrim king had a name.
He was called Dallanar Hasduri and had been a distant relation of Ulfrain when he had come to power. Of course, people had known of Dallanar before his ascension to the throne. Dallanar had begun his life at the edge of Haradrim territory, in what its people called the Sunlands. He had been the son of a minor noble and had never been considered as a serious successor to the throne. It was anticipated that Ulfrain and his wife would produce an heir and continue the line of kings. Dallanar distinguished himself as a great warrior when he arrived at Mahazar and for a time served under General Castigliari. However, when Ulfrain put forward the suggestion that the Haradrim accept the Reunified Kingdom’s offer of peace and grain, Dallanar had been one of the most vocal voices opposing this plan.
He was a charismatic leader, Roshal explained and when he spoke, it was easy to be swayed by his words. Thus when Ulfrain and Castigliari set out for Gondor, Dallanar’s words had already caused seething dissension within the ranks of the Haradrim leaders. Dallanar had reached the people, with his claims that in accepting the gift of grain from Gondor that would relieve their famine; they would be sacrificing their way of life to the race responsible for the destruction of their lord Sauron. Even whilst Ulfrain and Castigliari were at Gondor negotiating this peace, Dallanar was at home, inciting the Haradrim and meeting with Easterling leaders who shared the opinion that they ought to solve their troubles by the military conquest of the Reunified Kingdom.
When Castigliari returned home and informed the Haradrim people the alliance Ulfrain had forged with Morgoth’s shape shifters, Dallanar was quick to turn the situation to his advantage and accused the General of committing treason for the murder of his king. Ulfrain should have been brought home to face judgement by his people, not summarily killed by a Gondorian sympathizer. Castigliari and all his men were soon executed and the void left by Ulfrain and the lack of an heir to the throne shifted everyone’s attention to Dallanar, who was more than happy to accept the responsibility.
His rise to the kingship came with a hefty price since his first act was to announce the declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom. However, almost every suspected that this had been Dallanar’s plan since Ulfrain and Castigliari departed from Mahazar. Circumstances had allowed the general to play into his hands and when Dallanar took the throne, he had done so legitimately.
Ironically, the coup he had planned had become unnecessary.
Shortly after their arrival at Mahazar, Faramir and Pallando slipped away from the company of Roshal and his family. The Prince was mindful at leaving behind a benefice of gold and the two dromas in the hopes that it would compensate the caravan potentate for his hospitality as well as soothe his anger at losing a potential son in law. Mahazar was a large enough city for the two men to become lost and as they disappeared into the night, Faramir could not help feeling grateful that they were now travelling on their own again, without the need for complication.
Or betrothal.
"I hope you know how to buy dromas," Faramir remarked as they sat within the confines of a tavern, sharing a meal later that evening. "We will need them to return to the others."
Initially, Faramir had thought the tavern would be a small dingy place since its outside appearance certainly promoted the belief but inside, the floors were not stone but rather polished slabs of sandstone with short, stout chairs and cushions scattered about for seating. There was the stench of incense as men smoked their ornate pipes intermingling with the aroma of appetizing food and equally alluring spirits. Despite the poverty beyond the doors, the patrons were engaged in conversation, leering at pretty young women who served food behind their gossamer like veils and enjoying their meals.
"I have some experience," Pallando remarked taking a sip of his wine and raising a brow at its taste. Certainly not as strong as Gondorian ale, he mused to himself.
"I would like to go the palace at dawn," Faramir replied, as he cast his gaze across the room and rested upon the features of a man who was staring at him and Pallando. The man’s eyes seemed full of intent and Faramir lowered his voice further in the event anyone understood that he was speaking Westron. The man appeared familiar though how that could be was beyond the Prince’s ability to explain. "There will be enough light for me to make my observations but enough dark to vanish before I am seen."
"That is a good idea," Pallando agreed. "No doubt, the palace will be heavily guarded at times such as these."
It was true. Since entering the tavern where many had congregated to drink or to eat either with or without the company of others, Faramir and Pallando had overheard numerous conversations where it was revealed that the armies of the enemy were already nearing the Splinter, if not there already.
Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang and the lively chatter of the room fell silent as a trio of Haradrim warriors entered the room. The leader of them, paused at the doorway and swept his gaze across the room. Instinctively, Faramir’s hand slid under his elven cloak that had so far managed to conceal his terribly Westron sword from view. Pallando continued to drink, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred as the Haradrim captain rested his eyes upon Faramir.
Faramir cursed softly under his breath when he saw the captain maintaining his deep scrutiny. Had Roshal known what they were? Had the old man betrayed them? Faramir did not think so but neither could he allowed either of them to be caught. He remained frozen, waiting to see the outcome of the captain’s deep evaluation before he acted. Unfortunately, it appeared the man’s interest in him was not passing and he nodded at his two companions before striding towards their table.
"Remain calm," Pallando said knowingly, sensing that the reason for the man’s interest was not what they feared although it was no less perilous.
The Haradrim soldier paused before him and through the corner of his eyes, Faramir saw the other two approaching other men at their tables. Fear at being discovered quickly turned into confusion as the captain paused before him.
"You," the man stated gruffly. "How old are you?" He demanded.
"I am afraid my friend does not speak our language," Pallando quickly interjected. "He comes from the Sunlands."
"I do not require him to speak," the captain retorted glaring at him. "I am certain he understand well enough."
"What is it you wish of us?" Pallando inquired, hoping to avoid conflict if it was possible.
"Your friend is of age and appears healthy enough," the man looked over his shoulder before turning his eye back to Faramir once more, "he is needed for the service of the king."
"For the service of the king?" Pallando asked, stumbling in his thoughts a little at the strange answer.
"Yes," he nodded before glaring at Faramir, "considered yourself conscripted."
************
Legolas sat alone in his tent, unaware that day had turned into night and night had turned back into day.
He had returned to his tent after their disastrous meeting with Satarin and had issued orders for anyone who wished to see him to be sent away. To this degree his orders were carried out with question but Legolas noted that none of those who wished an audience were his friends. Upon entering the solitude of his tent, he had lowered himself to his chair and simply sat, his thoughts numb, his heart even more so. The memory of Aragorn’s eyes burned into his flesh like a branding iron, filled with accusation, holding only disbelief when he had pleaded his innocence. Aragorn’s eyes had burned as much as the boy’s dying gaze when Legolas had inadvertently taken his life.
From that moment, nothing had been simple and his heart had grown steadily heavier in his breast, until the weight of it was more than he could stand. He had left that house, his hands wet with the child’s blood after the frantic effort to revive him even though he had known the instant his blade had struck, that it was too late. The memory of what he had done dogged him and as he looked into the faces of those who had spilt blood with him at Axinar, he knew that they had cursed with demons of their own. Even Gimli, who had been at his side through many adventures stared at him with equally haunted eyes. He was not surprised to hear the dwarf had left even though he missed him greatly.
He had hoped that the shackles over his heart and soul would be freed when Aragorn would arrive. Their friendship had spanned sixty years, a lifetime, in human terms. Surely, Estel would understand. However, in truth, he secretly feared otherwise. Aragorn would never allow his emotions to do to him what Legolas’ own rage had forced the elf to do. He had never thought the disbelief of a human could hurt him as much as it had impaled his heart when Aragorn stared back at him following Satarin’s words. Even Eomer seemed to possess more compassion than Aragorn, whose eyes accused him even before Legolas had a chance to tell him the truth. Not that it had made much difference when he had because Aragorn did not believe.
In truth Aragorn did worse than not believe him, the king of Gondor had looked at him as if he were a murderer.
Unfortunately, considering what he had done, Legolas had nothing to say that could refute that belief and had ridden away before Aragorn could see how much he was hurt.
So now he lingered inside his tent, accustoming himself to the fact that he would be alone in what needed to be done, no matter how brutal he was forced to behave, as he had done after the boy had been killed. His friends had not the stomach for what must be; and he who had crossed the line, who had gone too far to turn back, would spare them the moral dilemma by doing what they could not. For Melia, he would do this and even for Aragorn.
"Legolas," Haldir’s voice sliced through his thoughts at some undisclosed hour because Legolas had lost all track of time since entering his tent, aware only of its passage and little else.
"I said I did not wish to be disturbed," Legolas said coldly, not turning to look at him when Haldir paused at the entrance to the tent.
"The hour has passed for Satarin to give us his answer," Haldir announced, not about to be deterred for any reason.
Legolas snorted cynically, "that is hardly a surprise to me, Haldir."
"He has tendered his refusal to the terms of surrender with a warning that they will defend their city to the last man, no matter how long it takes," the march warden of Lorien added.
Legolas rose slowly to his feet. His heart hardened at Satarin’s words and knew that they had reached an impasse with the Cordoban leader that must be broken unless they wished to be mired in the taking of one fortress city when the whole of the Sanara Belt awaited them. For all it had cost him, his friends and his soul, he was not about to be robbed of his revenge because of one poisonous human. Satarin had ensured that Aragorn would never look at him again with anything but loathing and for that, Legolas intended to make the man pay.
"He is stubborn," Legolas declared making his way out of the tent for the first time in a day. The sunlight made him flinch with its glare after being in the dark for so many hours. "He hopes to delay us long enough for reinforcements to arrive from their capital city. We must act before they become too entrenched and impossible to dislodge."
"The Elfstone is giving them another day to safely remove their women and children," Haldir explained. "However I do not see that this will be done."
Legolas did not stop walking as he moved through the elven camp and arrived at wagons where their artillery weapons, redesigned by Gimli, had been languishing since their arrival in Haradwraith. "Nunaur!" Legolas called out to the captain of his guard who was speaking to a number of warriors nearby and motioned the elf to him.
"How long will it take for these weapons to be assembled?" Legolas asked when the elf reached him.
"In a matter of hours," Nunaur replied, confused at the question since no order had been given for attack and not anticipated until the following day at least.
"Good," Legolas nodded, "Haldir, as soon as the sun sets, I want you take a detachment to the river and find the best place to dam it."
Haldir’s reaction though subtle revealed his surprise. "Dam it?"
"Yes," Legolas replied with just enough edge in his voice to warn Haldir not to question him. "I want to ensure that the water they have, is all they will have. Do it under the cover of dark, I do not wish for you to be seen by Gondor or the Rohirrim."
"Does this not contradict the Elfstone’s orders?" Haldir asked deciding that he probably ought to know better but Legolas’ orders warranted the query.
"Who commands you?" Legolas turned to him sharply. "Aragorn means well when he should not. Satarin will not allow those women and children to leave when they know our concern for them will prevent us from attacking with as much force as we can muster for fear of harming them."
"And you mean to prove him wrong?" Haldir asked, his voice dangerous close to accusation.
"I will do what is necessary and so will you," Legolas stared at him. "You will take as many as you need under cover of dark and dam the river as I have ordered. Nunaur," the lord of Eden Ardhon turned to his captain, "I want those devices in place after dark. We will not use fire but we will use rock and stone. I will adhere to Aragorn’s wishes on that much at least."
"What of Gondor and Rohan?" Nunaur questioned, aware that his lord was contravening all the desires of their allies but could not bring himself to disobey.
"Once they see the attack is in progress and how far we have advanced, they will follow our lead," Legolas declared. "Of that I have no doubt."
Haldir was extremely disturbed by Legolas’ orders but like Nunaur, he served his master well and while he represented Lord Celeborn’s efforts in this war, he would have to regard Legolas as such. However, he was certain that while Gondor and Rohan may join their attack once it was underway, the kings of men would not be happy that they were forced into it.
"Haldir?" Legolas stared at him and the stranger that met his gaze was so far from the elf that had spoken to him kindly about his perceived affections for the Lady Melia. Haldir prayed that Gimli returned soon before Legolas descended so far into the abyss that not even Melia would be able to retrieve him from it.
"I will carry your order," Haldir found himself saying and hated himself for it.
************
For Gimli, son of Gloin, the journey across Haradwraith to Gondor seemed endless.
It had been felt interminably long when he had traveled in the company of the elf but alone, it was an ordeal that had almost forced him to throw down where he was and move no more. For weeks, his world had become an oblivion of one dune after another, one watering hole that appeared no different from the last and through it all, there was no one to speak to about any of these inconveniences. His pony, though a good listener, was a terrible conversationalist although after a few weeks alone, Gimli was no longer so particular. He knew that the mission entrusted to him was important and that thought alone forced him to continue.
Constantly preying upon his thoughts was how he would tell Melia what Legolas was doing.
She already blamed herself for more than she ought to regarding the death of the child Anna, to know that many others had been killed because of Legolas’ determination to avenge her would not please the lady at all. Gimli wondered how it was possible for Legolas to love Melia as he did and not realize that Melia would not condone the murder of innocents even if they were of the race that responsible for her violation. That was the trouble with elves, Gimli snorted in frustration, it was all their aspiration to achieve serenity and perfection that left them completely unable to cope with the little defeats. Not everything could be succeeded; not everything could be hard won with grace and skill.
Sometimes, the world simply was unfair.
As long lived as they were, Gimli truly believed the elves did not know this or if they did, chose to ignore it. Each time an elf was wronged, he embarked upon a crusade to eradicate the evil that was its cause, not realizing that evil was everywhere and sometimes its pursuit had the ability to twist the pure into the very thing they sought to destroy. Legolas was such an elf. He felt things too deeply and believed in the innate good of all even though he was no fool and had seen much darkness in his time. However, good and evil were very contrasting things for Legolas, and there were no in-betweens or the understanding that sometimes one had to accept the way things were.
When he finally saw the green hills that indicated the return to the familiar territory, Gimli was so overjoyed that he thought he might die from the satisfaction of it. Green trees with leafy branches, the smell of wet grass after the rain and the cool moisture of fresh loam; these were the things that reminded him of his homeland. He thought of his wife, waiting for him at home and wished there were time to see her but his mission was urgent and he could not afford the time, not when Legolas was in such dire need. He took the Harad Road into Ithilien, and was gratified to see the forest where Eden Ardhon was built had begun to restore itself. He paused for a day at the colony and found that some of the elves had returned with Thranduil’s assistance to rebuild. Melia however, remained in Minas Tirith.
He broke again at Emyn Arnen to take rest at the fortress of the Eastern Eye which was also rebuild after the Confederacy attack and thought the place felt empty without Eowyn’s presence. After resting for a day, he was off again and was grateful that his journey was at last nearing an end, as Minas Tirith became his next port of call. It felt good to be home in lands that he knew and wished that the elf and Aragorn were here with him. This business of travelling alone did not suit him well, but he supposed he ought to be grateful that he had learnt to ride, which hastened the journey somewhat.
The White City as always was a jewel in the distance that grew to encompass him the nearer he approached. Gimli rode into the city without fanfare and was permitted into the Citadel of Gondor without question, since their king had given orders early in his reign that members of the Fellowship would always be welcomed in his presence. The guards knew Gimli from his numerous visits and were more than happy that he brought news from their king who appeared to be faring well in the country of the enemy. Gimli saw no reason to tell them anymore about the progress in Haradwraith because terrible tales seemed to cross the land faster than the wind. He had no doubt it would be the same with the news of the massacres.
Arwen had feared the worst she heard of Gimli’s return to Minas Tirith. By her reckoning, there was very little that could tear the dwarf from the side of his friends during a battle unless the reason was compelling. Until he presented himself to her, both Arwen and Eowyn had entertained fears that perhaps one of their loved ones had fallen in battle. When he revealed that the reason for his return to Minas Tirith had little to do with such tragic news, each lady was filled with gratitude as well as relief that their husbands were alive and well.
"So why have you returned?" Eowyn looked at Gimli as they sat together in the parlor of the royal wing.
"I have come to see Melia," Gimli offered reluctantly, uncertain if he ought to reveal the reason for his return home.
"Is it Legolas?" She demanded, hating to think that Melia was going to be burdened with news that they had been spared.
Arwen noted the dwarf’s reluctance to speak and decided to spare him the effort since it would be a difficult enough subject when he brought it up with Melia. "It is alright Gimli," she said gently, "Melia is in her room. I will have one of the servants show you which one."
Gimli released a sigh and though Eowyn appeared to have more questions regarding the matter, she remained silent with the intention of them answered by Arwen when the moment was more appropriate.
"Thank you," Gimli nodded and hoped that the rest of the day would be as painless.
Somehow, he doubted it.
**********
Since Legolas had left her alone, Melia, lady of Eden Ardhon had found herself in a curious state of being.
She knew that she had flesh and that beneath her breast, a heart beat periodically to keep her alive. She knew that occasionally her lungs needed air and that her body took up the duty of drawing it into herself on her behalf. There was no doubt in her mind that she walked in the physical world, not trapped in shadow like the Nazgul. When she spoke, her voice was heard and the world continued as it always had around her.
Melia knew all these things and yet with every fibre of her being, she could feel nothing.
Since Anna’s death and Legolas’ departure, Melia felt as if she was trapped in amber, unable to move, unable to think of anything except that terrible moment when she met the Easterling’s eyes and knew without doubt that Anna was going to die. It haunted her waking hours and tormented her sleep and the only one who could have made it better was far away, avenging her when what she needed most from him was his presence. Of course, she had said nothing to stop him because Legolas was enduring pain of his own and when he was determined, she knew that his will could move mountains. He needed to avenge her and she did not have the heart to make him stay when it meant so much to him.
Through the mire of numbness that consumed her whole, one thing was beginning to penetrate and its invasion into her safe refuge was becoming more and more insistent which each day that slipped past. Now along with the overwhelming numbness, was this nagging sensation that something was happening to her sweet prince, something that was reaching through the distance like tendrils of dark shadow. It was clawing its way towards her and Melia had found herself waiting for the moment when it was upon her.
When she heard Gimli’s voice at her door, she knew that moment had arrived.
"Gimli," Melia had regarded him as he entered the confines of her parlor. They exchanged warm embraces for he was family and there was no need for ceremony between them.
"You look well," Gimli said with genuine emotion as the memory of those terrible injuries inflicted upon her by the Easterlings surfaced briefly in his mind.
"I am in better stead then I was at our last encounter," she smiled aware that there was something on his mind that he was trying not to say. She bade him to sit and faced him waiting for him to sum up the courage.
"You did not ride all the way Minas Tirith without good reason," Melia stated, seeing no need for trivialities when she knew something was wrong. "Tell me Master Gimli, what has brought you to my door and do not fear what effect it will have upon me because I had suffered much worse of late."
Gimli was not so certain but was grateful that he could simply tell her since diplomacy was not his best trait and she needed to hear the truth in all its brutality if she was going to be of any help to her husband. "It’s the elf," Gimli replied. "He needs you."
Melia blinked slowly because in that one statement, everything was laid bare to her and needed no further explanation because the details could wait until they were underway. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough," Gimli answered softly wishing he had it in him to lie, but he did not. "He is almost a stranger."
Melia absorbed this news with silent contemplation and knew that Gimli had made the arduous trip across Haradwraith because she was possibly the only person who could reason with the Prince. At last the coldness she felt between them was explained. Their bond of love and flesh had kept them linked in a spiritual sense and of late, the beacon of his light had dimmed considerably. Now, she knew why. Rage was threatening to consume the gentle light of his soul and somehow Melia had to help him salvage it if she was to regain her own.
"We leave tomorrow at first light," Melia said meeting Gimli’s gaze.
"I will be ready," Gimli declared firmly. "We have a long way to travel."
Not as long as my prince’s, Melia thought silently.
This was fast becoming the most unexpected covert mission he had undertaken in all his years as Ranger, Faramir thought to himself as he stared at the Haradrim captain who was determined to have him enlist in the Haradrim ranks. The irony of it did not escape him but neither did the urgency of the situation since it did not appear that refusal was possible without giving himself away. Unfortunately, he could not allow himself to become a conscript in the enemy forces either. Pallando's expression was one of concern when Faramir looked to him because the wizard was debating whether or not using magic in a room full of people would expose them as surely as allowing the Haradrim soldiers to take him into custody.
Around the room, Faramir saw the other two soldiers scouring the faces present with just as much scrutiny, no doubt searching for any eligible candidate, whether or not they were willing. The Rangers had claimed that conscription was taking place in the capital cities but even Faramir had not believed soldiers would be scouring the tavern and the streets for recruits in this manner. He supposed that after the battle of the Eastern Eye, such measures were necessary though he could not condone it.
"This is a mistake," Pallando spoke, attempting to reason with the man before they were forced to adopt more extreme measures to extricate themselves for this unfortunate turn of events. "My friend is not of Harad, he is a visitor from Rhun."
"The First Born are approaching the Belt fast," the Captain declared tautly at Pallando, impatient by this lack of cooperation and growing even more suspicious because Faramir was holding his tongue. "If they are allowed to defeat us here, they will seek out those in Rhun as well. Your friend will fight one way or another. We need all the men we can find to stop them before they reach Mahazar."
Faramir tightened his grip around his blade when he came to the sinking realization that they were going to have to fight their way out of this. If they could escape the confines of the tavern, they may be able to lose themselves in the darkness outside. Pallando noticed the subtle movement and alternatively clutched his staff with equal readiness.
"Enough discussion," the captain reached for Pallando when suddenly, the man whose gaze he had met earlier had suddenly appeared behind the Haradrim warrior.
The soldier stiffened suddenly, frozen in the spot as the new arrival lowered his lips to his ear.
"He does not wish to go," the warrior hidden mostly beneath a cloak said quietly.
Pallando looked behind the soldier and saw a cruel looking dagger being pressed firmly against his lower back. Should it break skin, it would be a fatal wound.
"How dare you..." the captain began to bellow in outrage when he jerked straighter at the knife being pushed harder against his skin.
"Quietly," the stranger hissed. "Now we will all take a walk to the door and if you attempt to signal your companions, I will kill you where you stand."
The Haradrim soldier's face twisted in anger but could do little to protest. "I think we should leave," the man gazed at both Faramir and Pallando, speaking in perfect Adûnaic.
For a moment, Faramir thought he had been mistaken in what he had heard because the language spoken by the stranger had not been used since the second age. It had been abandoned in favor of Westron or Common Speech and the only reason he understood it at all was because many of the ancient texts found in the library of the White Tower where he had spent much of his youth, were written in Adûnaic.
"How can we trust you?" Faramir demanded, his words escaping him somewhat stiltedly because he had to remember how to answer the stranger in Adûnaic.
"You do not have a choice," the stranger returned and immediately turned his attention to the captain, whom he had prompted into moving.
Faramir and Pallando exchanged brief glances before reaching the mutual agreement that their rescuer was quite correct, they did not have a good deal of choice. The other two soldiers were still engaged in their search throughout the tavern for more recruits when they suddenly noticed that their leader was departing. Faramir was poised to attack, aware that their discreet exit was about to become extremely prolific when one of them called out to the captain.
"Answer him," the stranger ordered.
"No," the captain shouted and made an effort to break away that cost him dearly. The blade slashed open his flesh and he fell to the ground, proving himself to be even more troublesome in death then he had been in life as all eyes turned to the growing melee in the room.
The remaining two warriors rushed forward as their captain tumbled to the ground but Faramir was ready to meet them with his sword. The Haradrim soldier swung first, perhaps not expecting a skilled match and Faramir saw the anxiety in his eyes when a Westron blade was brandished. Their weapons impacted hard against each other and had the Haradrim been wielding anything other than a scimitar, it was possible that Faramir's broadsword would have taken it apart. However, Faramir did not rely solely on the blade to overcome the enemy and when their swords drew them close, struck out his fist and caused the enemy to stumble. The opening was all he needed to impale the Haradrim through the chest. The man let out a short cry as the blade did his work, and Faramir had barely enough time to extract his weapon from the body when the second Haradrim warrior closed in for the kill.
"DROP!" Faramir heard the stranger shouting at him in that ancient tongue and promptly dropped to his knees in time to feel something flying above his head as he descended.
His head snapped upward when he heard the wet gurgle of a scream as the dagger that had ended the Haradrim captain's life, embed itself into the throat of the last remaining soldier. He stood up abruptly; unable to waste any time when their actions had more or less assured that this place would be swarming with soldiers when the authorities were alerted to what had taken place here. He turned towards Pallando who had struck down a patron who was about to intercede on the behalf of the soldiers. The wizard was retreating in his steps while the stranger had vanished out the door already, waiting for Faramir to join him.
"Where did he go?" Faramir asked as soon as he reached Pallando.
"Out there," Pallando declared as the two men left the tavern behind them. Their mysterious savior was awaiting them in the street and though it was quiet for the moment, neither Faramir nor Pallando were under the illusion that the actions in the tavern would not alter that state of events soon enough. He was standing in the middle of the paved road when they emerged, his body poised for attack as he removed his sword from beneath his cloak. It was not that different from a scimitar but seemed lighter and possessed more curvature in the blade.
"We need to get indoors," he declared.
"We will go nowhere with you until we know who you are," Faramir stated.
"Fine," the man turned around and started to walk up the street, "you can remain and be killed. Introductions are the least of our concerns at this moment. There are many soldiers roaming the streets at this hour, seeking new recruits who will not come willingly. I have risked my safety to help you. If you still question me after that, we have nothing left to discuss."
"Faramir," Pallando said quickly before their new companion was too far away. "I believe we can trust him and he is right, we cannot linger here in the open."
Faramir cursed under his breath because he had to concede the point that Pallando was correct. "Wait!" He called out after the stranger, who paused. "We are coming."
The warrior paused and met Faramir's gaze with a slight nod, "I am glad. It would have complicated my situation if you have not."
Faramir fell into stride next to him as they put more distance between themselves and the tavern. As they hurried to the end of the street, they could hear someone shouting into the night. The excited voice echoed into the darkness and seemed to race up the numerous streets and winding corners. Faramir did not understand the content but he did not doubt that he and his companions were its cause.
"Someone has called for the soldiers," Pallando revealed to no one's surprise.
Indeed, even as he made the statement, Faramir could hear the pounding of footsteps, not their own, gaining ascendancy through the stillness of the night. Voices jabbered into being and running feet grew in number and intensity. Lights were coming alive in darkened houses and Faramir knew that if they did not leave the streets immediately, it would not be long before their pursuers found them. Considering that he and Pallando were alone in enemy territory, he had no wish to fall into the hands of the Haradrim.
Their mysterious companion took a series of turns through the darkened street, leading them on a route that seemed maze like in its complexity. They would turn up an alley, hurry down a short flight of steps, emerge by the river and then descend steps along the river's edge to the collection of river vessels he had seen earlier that day. It appeared that their refuge was to be a boat and that suited Faramir well enough since it meant that if necessary, they had means to make a relatively safe departure from Mahazar. The vessel was not very large, possessing enough space enough to carry four people comfortably though any more would affects its balance severely. Judging by the mast and the long oar half submerged at its rear, Faramir guessed it was a sailboat.
"In here," he ordered, stepping onto the craft's deck. The boat dipped a little at the weight but steadied itself in due course. The men of the west followed suit and accompanied their host into the lower cabin.
The confines of the cabin were small but it was sufficiently comfortable for them to wait out the next few hours until the search for them had lessened in intensity. However, Faramir did not delude himself into thinking that he would be able to move freely in Mahazar after the events of the past hour. In Minas Tirith, the killing of three soldiers would be cause enough for a manhunt and Faramir had no doubt that this was what he and Pallando were in for.
However, the situation had been unavoidable and he was capable of taking comfort in that, if nothing else. His only regret was that the mission to gather intelligence was no longer possible. Right now, their only course was to leave Mahazar with their skins intact.
Their host illuminated the inside of the vessel with a small oil lamp and took a seat on one of the cushions scattered across the floor. He gestured at Faramir and Pallando to do the same and considering that the Steward of Gondor had many questions for the stranger, Faramir obeyed readily enough.
"Was I wrong to intervene?" The man asked after producing a carafe of green glass from one of the chests inside the cabin. He uncorked the bottle and took a deep swig of its contents before handing it to Faramir who was never one to refuse a drink when in the midst of discussion.
"No," Faramir shook his head after the strong liquid disappeared down his throat, leaving a healthy tang in his mouth. The prince handed the bottle to Pallando before continuing, "your help was appreciated. It would have been little more than a second before I reacted in kind."
"Good," he answered, genuinely pleased by that. "I had no wish to intervene but when I saw you in the tavern wearing that cloak, I guessed you had not come to Mahazar for enlistment."
"This cloak?" Faramir's brow arched in question, wondering what about it that was distinctive enough to give him away.
"It is elven made," the man stated. "It look rather worn but the style and cut left me no doubt as to the tailors. I have only seen one other cut in that fashion in my life."
"Who are you?" Faramir demanded. His patience was finally run dry and he wanted answers.
The man lowered the hood of his cloak and once again Faramir was struck by his appearance. He was undoubtedly an Easterling with his dark skin and brown eyes. He was no more than thirty, Faramir estimated. However, there was something about him that looked familiar that Faramir could not place, and it was fairly driving the Steward mad with distraction at being unable to discern why. Around his neck hung a simple chain of gold that held a curious looking pendant that seemed not merely decorative but held some significance by its intricate design. Until this moment, he noted how the man had kept it hidden within his clothes as if there were a secret behind it. However, when Faramir saw Pallando's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of it, the Prince of Ithilien suspected that secret was about to be exposed.
"Wizard, what is it?" Faramir asked.
"You are of the Bors," Pallando declared ignoring Faramir's question and addressing their companion directly.
"Bors?" Faramir asked, not recognizing the name.
"Yes," he nodded somewhat taken back by the recognition. "You have traveled in my country?"
"Not for many years," Pallando replied, "I do recognize the sigil however. I saw it when it was worn by Adumar."
"Adumar lived three hundred years ago," the younger man pointed out, his voice full of suspicion. "Are you flesh or spirit?"
"Flesh," Pallando answered, "but wizards have their way of preserving themselves. Faramir," Pallando turned to the Prince, aware that the young man was no doubt filled with many questions, "you wanted to be able to speak as representative of Gondor, now is the time. This is the High Chieftain of the Tribe of Bors who dwell in what we call the Sunlands. They are descended from the Easterling hero Bor, who with his sons Borthand, Borlac and Borlach, died in the service of Feanor's son in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears."
"Wait," Faramir stammered, attempting to cope with the information he was being assailed with. The Bors, he thought to himself. This explained why the stranger spoke in Adûnaic. When Bor and his sons had lived, that would have been the common tongue of men. If his descendants had been sequestered away in the Sunlands for all this time, they would have no idea that Adûnaic had been discarded in favor of Westron. However, the name was familiar to him for more than just its affiliation to the hero Bor. He had heard it more recently but where? Suddenly, it rose to the surface of his mind from the depths of memory and forced an exclamation of surprise from his lips. "Melia's people?"
"Yes," the High Chieftain nodded, "Melia is my kin. Her father was my uncle."
***************
Aragorn could not sleep.
He lay on his bed thinking about everything that had happened since he arrived in Haradwraith and wondered if things would have been different if he had just sent Legolas back to Eden Ardhon when news had reached them of the eminent attack upon Lossarnach. It was entirely possible that they could have achieved the same victory without the aid of Legolas and his elves. It was Legolas' participation in the battle for Lossarnach that had led the Confederacy to the conclusion that the elves had chosen sides when all Legolas had done was aid an old friend. If Aragorn had done that, none of this would have come to pass and he would not lie here in his bunk, staring at the ceiling of his tent, unable to sleep.
Eomer was right, Aragorn sighed to himself. I should have believed him.
It was not as if he were unjustified in thinking otherwise. Legolas' behavior in Haradwraith had been questionable to say the least. However the memory of how hurt Legolas had been when he realized Aragorn did not believe him was burned into the king's memory and had plagued him with guilt ever since. If Eomer who had been ready to trounce Legolas within an inch of his life for what he had done, could believe him then why could not Aragorn? Legolas had been his friend since he was a youth. The elf had been in his life in one way or another for the better part of sixty years, and they had shared more together than most brothers did in a lifetime. How many impetuousness mistakes had he made in his youth for which Legolas had forgiven him?
More than enough to give Legolas his support when the elf had needed it.
There was no point in tormenting himself about what he did or did not do tonight, Aragorn decided. Tomorrow, he would find the elf and make amends and perhaps if Legolas knew he did indeed have Aragorn's faith, he may be capable of seeing reason. With this thought settling into his mind, Aragorn felt some of the tension easing from him and sleep came quickly upon its heels, lulling him into a much-needed slumber. His consciousness was already beginning to fray when suddenly a tremendous explosion of sound reconstructed his alertness with extreme speed.
Aragorn almost fell off his bunk at the detonation of noise and in the mad scramble to get to his feet, he heard a groundswell of reaction to it from the rest of the camp as men were roused from their sleep in the same abrupt manner. He had risen to his feet and was preparing to run out of the tent to investigate, when he was halted in mid step by another burst of shattering sound. Once again, it had caught him by surprise and as he hurried out his tent grabbing Anduril on the way, Aragorn saw that he was not alone in that respect.
"Are we under attack?" He demanded.
No one answered because no one knew for certain.
The camp was in pandemonium and the stillness of night, which had been all pervading a short time ago was well and truly banished in favor of mass excitement. Soldiers some dressed fully in mail, others attempting to do so were rushing towards the source of the noise. Small torches had been lit everywhere, illuminating the darkened plain that was the site for their encampment. Aragorn joined his men as they ran past the collection of tents when a third burst of sound heard. This time, listened closely and knew immediately that what caused it was not an explosion like he had heard at Helm's Deep. No, this was the sound of rock smashing against rock.
And it had come from the direction of Cordoba.
Aragorn reached the edge of the camp and found his men had halted in their steps to stare at the city in the distance. Their expressions of shock were coupled with murmurs of confusion as Aragorn witnessed the scene, he could well understand the reason for their bewilderment. He himself took in the sight of what was unfolding before him with a growing sense of outrage and cold fury. Had he only a few minutes ago thought that there might be a way to breach the gulf between himself and Legolas? Aragorn cursed himself because he should have known the elf would resort to this. Why would he not when Aragorn's lack of faith in his innocence had given him leave to think that he nothing left to lose?
The plain between the encampment and the city was filled with elven warriors, some on foot but most on horseback. Arrows were flying through the air as the trebuchets, all fully assembled, continued their assault upon the city walls. The devices were flinging great boulders of rock, transported there by wagons, against the great doors of the fortress. The impact created a growing pile of debris and was causing considerable damage to the wood. A continuous assault upon it would buckle them in a matter of hours if not sooner and the Cordoban soldiers positioned on the fortress walls, trying desperately to halt their progress with a barrage of arrows, were more than painfully aware of this.
"What has he done?" He heard Eomer demand as the Rohirrim king ran to his side. Eomer had been caught just as unaware as the rest of the camp and was in the process of fastening the buttons of his shirt when he reached Aragorn.
"He has laid siege to Cordoba," Aragorn answered in a low voice filled with smoldering rage, "against my orders and against my assurances to Satarin that we would not attack."
"Against your orders?" Eomer exclaimed in shock, unable to believe that the elf had gone this far. It was bad enough that he had caused numerous massacres throughout Haradwraith and given their army the reputation of bloodthirsty killers. However, even Eomer did not think him capable of flouting Aragorn's authority by calling this attack when it was Aragorn's wish to allow the women and children of Cordoba safe passage from their city before the onset of the fighting.
"Against my orders," Aragorn repeated himself, watching the assault continue and surmising that Legolas' plan was to create an opening through the doors before sending the elven cavalry through. Archers were assembled, trading arrows with the defenders on the wall, with fatalities on each side mounting. The Cordobans were suffering the worst of it though, and did not appear capable of mounting a prolonged defense if the intensity of the attack continued.
"So what shall we do?" Eomer asked, terribly aware of the menace and fury bubbling beneath the surface of Aragorn's restraint manner. He kept his own disgust at Legolas' behavior to a minimum certain that the situation was incendiary enough without fanning the flames further. No doubt when this day was done, the king of Gondor and the Lord of Eden Ardhon would have much to say to each other.
Aragorn felt silent as his gaze remained fixed on the elves before him, their faces dimly lit by the torches carried by some. He could not see Legolas but had no doubt that the elf was among the archers, sending a phalanx of deadly projectiles towards the wall. The attack was underway and there was no stopping it. If Aragorn were to force the elves to withdraw now, they would not only look like fools before the enemy but would also allow the word to spread that the armies of the west were easily divided and incapable of mounting a coordinated offensive. If he joined the battle, his authority would be undermined before everyone, including the soldiers under his command.
However, they were in enemy territory, where it was necessary to have every advantage. The behavior of the elves of late was not lost upon his men so the injury to his authority would be slight especially if Aragorn ensured that a situation like would not occur again, and by Elbereth it was not going to. He had not thought Legolas would risk their friendship to achieve his own ends in this manner but Aragorn supposed he had shown the elf how just much value he had in their friendship when he refused to believe that Legolas was innocent of murdering that child in cold blood. Legolas most likely believed he had already lost Aragorn’s friendship and had little to lose by this action.
"We will join him," Aragorn said quietly after a lengthy pause. "This attack has started and forcing them to withdraw will not alter the fact that we have broken our word. The stain of this will not be washed away no matter what we do so it is best that we salvage what we can. As loathsome as what he has done, Legolas appears to be concentrating the assault on the entrance to the fortress, not the city within. That tells me that he is at least making an attempt to limit the casualties. With our assistance, our numbers can end the fighting quickly and further aid in that effort."
"My men at least will be happy for the battle," Eomer frowned, not liking the way they had been forced into it but unable to refute the sensibility of Aragorn's statement. He remembered Legolas' earlier threat of using fire and was grateful that the elf had shown some restraint in that regard. Still, he had undermined them both before their armies and that was not a slight easily forgiven. However, at present, pride was the least of their worries. "If he succeeds in creating an opening, we can ride in there and deal with the enemy quickly."
"He will," Aragorn said sourly, "if that is his intention, nothing will stand in his way of it becoming a reality."
As Eomer glanced at Aragorn, he sensed the king of Gondor was not speaking about Cordoba's walls.
*************
It would have been so easy to direct his elves to show no mercy but Legolas was vaguely conscious after he had set the attack in motion that he had crossed a line in his friendship with Aragorn and this time, it was not so easy to ignore. It was one thing to widen the gulf between them as friends but quite another to do so to one’s allies. He could see the anxiety in the faces of his elven brothers and knew that they were aware that he was ordering to attack against the desires of their human comrades. However, like any disciplined army, they obeyed their commander without question and set out to accomplish the task he had set them.
Standing on the field of battle with the rest of the archers, Legolas cast his gaze towards the Gondorian and Rohirrim camp, anticipating that the humans would soon be joining their efforts against Cordoba. The instant the first rock hurled against the fortress walls met its mark; they would be awakened by the noise. Inwardly, Legolas braced himself for the inevitable confrontation with Aragorn, thinking up of all the things he would say to justify his position. Hours ago, when he had set these events upon their course, he had been flamed by anger and feelings of betrayal. Perhaps it was with Aragorn's sensibilities in mind that he had issued the order that they concentrated on breaking through the entrance of the fortress instead of burying the city beneath a pile of debris.
Meanwhile, the elven cavalry had taken up flanking positions, ensuring that they remained concealed by the darkness that stretched across the plain, broken up only by the occasionally torch that illuminated very little of its wide expanse. It becoming painfully clear that a skeleton force had been left behind in Cordoba while the bulk of its soldiers had been ordered to the Sanara Belt to protect the capital cities when the inevitable war machine of Gondor, Rohan and the elves reached it. The Cordobans were rallying an admirable defense but even this early in the battle; Legolas estimated that they would not be able to hold out for very long. He had assumed that the siege would last days and had sought to cut off their water supply, a vital resource in a climate such as this, by the obstruction of the river a process that would have taken at least two days to complete. However, this was now a redundant measure because they would take the city by daybreak.
If they truly desired it, they could march up to the fortress and attempt to scale its walls now, but that strategy would come soon enough and Legolas was in no particular hurry. The archers were reducing the enemy numbers sufficiently enough that when they chose to storm the fortress walls, there would not be enough soldiers to stop them. He would allow no elf to fall unnecessarily in this wretched land if it could be avoided. The enemy was being forced into a corner, and Legolas was poised for the moment because it was then that Cordoba would fall.
It was not long before the armies of Gondor and Rohan joined the battle, with the Rohirrim taking their place at the side of the elves, while Gondorian archers added to the barrage of the arrows flying through the air. He could hear orders being dispatched throughout the battle line as he withdrew from his place among his men, certain he would need to explain himself to Aragorn and Eomer when they finally sought him out. The trebuchet continued to bombard the entrance to the fortress with unrelenting precision and fissures, visible only to the keen eyes of elves, appeared across the arch of the doors. The sandstone was hard but crumbled easily under heavy assault.
Stepping away from the line, he saw Aragorn approaching him. The king of Gondor was alone and Legolas assumed that Imrahil and Eomer were elsewhere on the line, directing their forces for the assault that they had been forced to wage tonight. Aragorn's expression was unreadable as their eyes made contact and once again, Legolas had the sense that he had crossed the line. When he had issued his orders to Nunaur and Haldir earlier, he had done so with the fire of rage and disappointment in his veins. He had been so angry and hurt that Aragorn had not believed him that Legolas had felt he had nothing left to lose by following this course. Now as he saw Aragorn storming towards him, Legolas realised he was wrong.
"Aragorn," Legolas greeted.
Aragorn's gaze shifted momentarily to the thunderous sound of another boulder shattering against the great doors of Cordoba, intermingling with the sound of cracking wood.
"I do not think that the doors will hold for another hour," Aragorn stated coldly. "There are not enough of them to hold us back if we chose to scale the walls."
The king's business like tone shook Legolas' poise somewhat because he had expected Aragorn to express his outrage at how Legolas had undermined his authority. However, the elf was seldom caught off balance for very long and he recovered enough to express his reaction to Aragorn's statement.
"I think you are right," Legolas agreed but was more interested in attempting discern what thoughts were running through Aragorn's mind.
"I think we should move now," Aragorn replied, "they are stretched to breaking point already. We should storm the walls now. The doors will not hold long and when it is breached, they will have to deal with us as well as the horsemen. Once that takes place, the city is lost."
"We should move the rankers into position then," Legolas suggested because Aragorn's assessment of their situation was sound.
"Imrahil is carrying out the order even as we speak," Aragorn returned tautly as Legolas looked past him saw the soldiers of Gondor taking up positions of support near the archers, both elven and human alike. Aragorn wondered if Legolas had any idea how much restraint he was using to contain his emotions. It would be so easy to let it spill over and vent his fury upon the elf, but to do so would not only widen the rift between them but would also cause dissension between their two armies.
"Aragorn," Legolas finally relented, unable to endure the indifference Aragorn was displaying in regards to what he had done. It would be so much easier to have his best friend shout at him, or even strike him since Aragorn was more than justified in doing so. For the first time in his life, Legolas knew what it was to be on the receiving end of an aloof mask revealing nothing and could understand why it used to inspire Aragorn's annoyance when he could not discern what the elf was about.
"Say nothing," Aragorn said sharply, guessing what Legolas intended to say and truly did not wish to hear, not now. "This is not the time for discussion. We cannot turn back now that you set us upon this road but since our course is set, willingly or no, I would rather focus my thoughts on winning the day. Anything else either of us may have to say to each other can wait until after Cordoba had fallen."
There was finality to his words that shook Legolas to the core. He had known Aragorn for nearly a human lifetime but the rage behind the king of Gondor's eyes as he made that taut statement was something Legolas had not seen before and it unsettled him.
However, it was not as unsettling as knowing that his desire for vengeance may have cost him his best friend.
***********
Aragorn was proved right.
When one of the doors showed signs of collapse under the relentless assault of the trebuchet little more than an hour after their discussion, the response was swift. Cordoban warriors retreated from the wall, racing to brace the doors and giving both Gondorian and elven rankers' opportunity to advance. Supported by a barrage of arrows from their archers, the soldiers of the west crossed the distance quickly; carrying ladders and ropes to scale the walls after long last. They moved towards the fortress like the tide rolling into the shore. The defenders of Cordoba, realizing the opening they had given the enemy rushed to the walls in order to defend it against the tide, but it was too late.
Ladders were soon propped up against the fortress as Gondorian and elven warriors scaled the walls to be greeted by Haradrim soldiers. The Cordoban defense was weak, owing to the division in their forces as they scrambled to keep the invaders out of the city while attempting to maintain the barricade that was buckling under the assault by the trebuchet. In the meantime, the Rohirrim and elven cavalry, under the lead of Eomer, waited in the darkness for their moment to act. The barricades against the doors were holding but briefly.
The efforts to reinforce the waning strength of the doors were being thwarted by the smashing of rock against wood.
Despite the roar of battle being so great that it drowned out the shattering noise of rocks impacting against wood and the stone archway, Aragorn though he could hear when the wood buckled under the barrage. As he led his men in the scaling of the fortress walls, he saw one of the enormous doors finally succumbing to the relentless battering of rock. Large fractures tore through the wood and finally buckled inward. Splinters and stray shards sprayed in all directions as its descent tore the rusted hinges from its moorings in the wall and aided with the collapse of the archway. The sound seemed to rise above the pitched noise of battle, as if it were signaling to all the turning point in the course of the fighting.
Debris buried the soldiers unable to get clear in time and those who remained standing after the dust had settled were clearly aware of what a devastating blow this was to their defense. They retreated deeper inside the structure, probably in preparation of the next wave, which would come soon now that they were wide open to the enemy. It was a valid assumption because no sooner than the way had been opened inside the fortress, Aragorn heard the Rohirrim cry to charge. The voice faded into nothingness, and was followed the low rumble of pounding hoof beats against the ground, growing momentum as they closed in on the newly made fissure in Cordoba's formidable fortress.
Aragorn climbed up the ladder, now that the cavalry was unleashed upon Cordoba, hoping that with their arrival, the battle would be ended swiftly. In truth, he saw little pleasure in their eminent victory. There was little glory to be derived from the defeat of an enemy who never had a change. Unfortunately, the necessities of sound strategic planning required that Cordoba was to be taken. There was no way to know with absolute certainty that the fortress did not house a sizeable enemy force capable of hindering their progress into the Splinter without testing themselves against it. Legolas' actions, while still objectionable in every way, had answered this for them once and for all.
He reached the top of the ladder and saw a Haradrim warrior coming at him with a scimitar the moment he stepped upon the wall. Aragorn met his blade with Anduril, feeling the impact of steel against steel all the way to his teeth. His parry was return with a sharp riposte and the weight of the elven sword against the lesser-made weapon forced his opponent back before Aragorn concluded their duel with a sharp thrust through his abdomen. The Haradrim let out a scream as Aragorn retracted his blade, having little time to notice what had become of him because from the corner of his eye, the former Ranger could sense a presence.
He swung around to see another soldier coming at him and deflected the blow that would have sliced open his belly if he had acted a fraction slower. His new opponent would not be deterred however, and lunged once more, putting more determination in his efforts to end the life of the Westron invader. Aragorn stepped skillfully out of his reach and planted a boot in his back as he slipped by. Shoving him hard, the enemy tumbled to the ground unceremoniously, his weapon falling from his grip. As his hand scrambled for the weapon, Aragorn moved in for the kill when the Haradrim turned around and parried the blow that would have cleaved his heart in two.
For the first time, Aragorn had opportunity to meet his attacker's gaze as he defended himself against a skilful riposte. He soon understood why, because the light of the torches along the length of the wall illuminated the features of the enemy he was fighting, and Aragorn had to look twice before he realised that he knew whom he was facing
"Satarin?" Aragorn exclaimed.
"Is this your way keeping your word, king of Gondor?" He demanded as he smashed his blade against Aragorn's with more determination. He spat the words like weapons and Aragorn could not fault his accuracy because Satarin did salt the wounds of his injured pride.
"This did not come about at my choosing," Aragorn replied as he blocked the blow easily and shoved Satarin backwards. "You had ample opportunity to surrender. Would another day make a difference to your decision? I think not!"
"I will not yield my city to you and your pack of elven butchers!" Satarin's rage made his strikes wilder and Aragorn saw an opening that could end their bout quickly. With a sharp thrust, the blade slid into his shoulder and Aragorn thought that it might convince the older man to yield. Satarin groaned in pain as he dropped to his knees, his face a rictus of pain as Aragorn pulled Anduril from his flesh.
"How this battle came about is no longer important," Aragorn declared, attempting one last time to convince the man of his peaceful intentions, "what is important that we wish no harm to your people. What happened at Axinar was a mistake, surely you must know by now that it was not our intention to have our allies conduct themselves in such a manner. What bloodshed was spilled cannot be undone but we will prevent it from recurring again. However, it is very difficult to argue the case when you are so stubborn!"
Satarin's eyes narrowed, "your words have no weight with me," he hissed. "You word is like your attempts at peace, a lie."
With that Satarin produced a curved dagger from within his folds and thrust it deep into Aragorn's thigh. The king of Gondor felt the blade spear through his leg and uttered a sharp cry of pain before reacting instinctively. Anduril sliced through flesh, blood and bone in one well-delivered swing and Satarin's head
spun in the air before it joined his toppled torso, soaking the sandstone in a crimson pool.
Aragorn staggered to the edge of the wall, feeling the warmth coursing out of his leg. He wrapped his hand around the bloody hilt when he felt an arm sliding around him in support.
"Sire, you are hurt!" Beregond, Captain of Ithilien exclaimed as he stared at the dagger protruding cruelly from his king's leg.
"I am fine," Aragorn grunted, "help me somewhere out of the way so I can remove this accursed thing."
"As you will, my lord," the younger man nodded although a quiet place in this melee was a questionable proposition at best. The only place that seemed suitable enough was a corner of the wall but the sight of the king's injury had ensured that Beregond was not alone in his assistance of the king. The people's love for Aragorn the king bordered on near adoration, especially among the soldiers of Gondor who still considered the return of the king as their country's finest hour. Thanks to Aragorn' arrival, a wave of hope had swept through the kingdom which had allowed them to gain victory against their enemies. For the soldiers of Gondor, who had endured the worst of Sauron's assaults upon the kingdom, there was not one among them who would not willingly die for the king.
Once Aragorn was in what was a marginally safe place, Aragorn the king vanished so that the healer could take charge. Even though he preferred dispensing the treatment to someone else, he supposed that he was lucky to be able to treat himself under such circumstances. Three soldiers were gathered around the king, creating a protective barrier around him so that his wounds could be dealt with. In truth it would be Aragorn who would tend to himself but he did need Beregond for the hardest task of all.
"Remove the knife," Aragorn instructed as he unfastened the belt around which Anduril's scabbard was attached.
"Are you certain?" The former soldier of Gondor and Faramir's chosen captain of the guard looked at Aragorn with concern.
"This is not the time to be squeamish," Aragorn said meeting his gaze momentarily, before returning to the business of removing the scabbard from the leather. As he saw Beregond steel himself to carry out the task, Aragorn placed the leather in between his teeth and bit down. Beregond drew a deep breath and placed his hand upon the bloody handle. His eyes clamped shut when he pulled the blade from Aragorn's flesh and caused his king to spasm in pain, his teeth sinking deep into the leather.
Aragorn was breathing hard when the blade was tossed aside. The pain was considerable but no more than he had received in the past and there had been so many bruises, wounds, cuts and scrapes that they all seemed to lose its definition after a time. Beregond, whom he had seen fight like a man possessed actually appeared quite faint, forcing a little smile from the king.
"Are you alright?" Aragorn asked.
"Yes," Beregond nodded, still appearing a shade grey.
"Good," Aragorn said with a slight grunt as he leaned forward and examined the injury. Fortunately, the blade had not pierced the artery, which was what Aragorn had feared. It appeared that he had suffered little more than a flesh wound though the pain was considerable, Aragorn knew that he could cope with it and return to battle after a short rest. He swept his gaze across the wall and saw that the Cordobans had abandoned it as more and more elven and Gondorian soldiers flooded the area.
"Elfstone," Haldir suddenly appeared out of nowhere as elves only could, "you are hurt."
"Not badly," Aragorn grunted with a strained breath as he continued to bind his wound with a belt and some of the athelas he kept stored in a pouch on his person whenever he went to battle. His habits as a healer died hard. "I will survive. Where is your master?"
He saw Haldir flinch at the reference to Legolas being his master and supposed that all was not well in the elven camp. "I do not know," Haldir replied, "I believe he is leading the charge into the rest of the city."
"You find him and tell him that I want no one harmed needlessly," Aragorn said firmly, "there has been altogether too much bloodshed this day."
The memory of Satarin's words still plagued him and he had no wish to have the former leader of Cordoba proved correct that the elves were indeed butchers. Legolas had asked for his faith and Aragorn had failed him, no doubt precipitating his decision to embark upon this attack, despite Aragorn's word to the Cordobans. While he would not assume that Legolas would embark upon the same course as he had in Axinar and the other Haradrim villages, he could not take the chance of it either.
**************
The cavalry crossed the plain once the opening was created with Eomer leading the charge.
Despite the circumstances of this engagement, Eomer could not deny that it was good to ride into battle, where the enemy was clearly defined and the politics of the events that had led them to this moment in time was forgotten for now.
Ahead of them, Cordoba waited to be taken and though Eomer was never one to enjoy the needless bloodshed of any race, he could not help feeling a little biased when he thought of how these Haradrim king had manipulated the attacks on Edoras. Of course, his dislike was nothing in comparison to the intensity possessed by Legolas Greenleaf and even if Edoras had fallen under attack, Eomer could never justify the murder of innocents.
The cavalry neared the entrance of the fortress in good time and as they closed in on the opening, Eomer raised his hand and issued the signal to close ranks into sets of three. When it was agreed that the elven riders would join their ranks in battle, Eomer's first order of business was to teach the First Born, the appropriate signals used by the Rohirrim éoreds when they rode into battle. It was a lesson worth the trouble for he saw elves and humans alike, closing ranks as they formed three to a line. The opening would allow for no more and Eomer had no wish to cause a bottleneck by forcing too many riders through at once.
The King of the Mark was one of the first through the entranceway and saw the rider next to him tumble when an arrow struck him in the chest. Eomer immediately dropped low, aware that there was a group of archers defending the opening from the approaching cavalry. He felt the wisp of displaced air as another arrow flew past his ear, striking the sandstone wall before dropping impotently to the floor when the point failed to penetrate the hard surface. Eomer stared at the edge where the archers were carrying out their barrage of arrows and rode past a spear that was imbedded in the ground. The King of the Mark reached for the weapon and yanked it from the ground. There was still blood on it when Eomer took careful aim and threw.
The weapon sliced through the air and extracted a blood-curdling cry from one of the archers whose body it impaled with sickening finality. Eomer saw the enemy tumble forward, the spear still protruding from his body when he landed on the sandy ground. The King of the Mark forced his horse to move deeper past the destroyed entrance, riding towards the soldiers on foot who had fallen into square and were holding their long spears before them in phalanx. He counted little more than twenty of them assembled in this manner and while he admired their strategy because forming square was the only means of defending against a cavalry attack, there was not enough of them to maintain the defense for very long
"Phalanx!" He shouted, giving the warning to those behind him. "Bowmen!"
Eomer reached for his bow and immediately began the assault upon the assemblage with arrows instead of the sword that had been replaced within its scabbard. His horse circled the group of soldiers, valiantly defending the fortress and themselves as Rohirrim and elven arrows met their mark with deadly accuracy.
Sheer numbers were overwhelming them, with arrows traded back and forth by the invaders on horseback and the Cordoban archers coming to the aid of their comrades on the ground. From various points along the wall, arrows and spears met flesh with shocking finality. With the square being dealt with by a portion
of his riders, Eomer continued along the walls of the fortress, making short work of the soldiers that had abandoned the wall when the Gondorian rankers had become too much for them.
The Rohirrim maintained their pursuit, aware that Aragorn had wanted to keep them from entering the city and bringing the battle to the women and children who were taking refuge here. He saw a soldier coming at him with a spear and swung his blade to drive him off when the sword knocked the helmet from his face. For a moment, Eomer froze as he looked down and saw on the ground, staring at him with blood and dirt smeared across his face was a boy of no more than thirteen if that. His eyes met the Rohirrim king with utter terror and the scimitar in his hand dropped to the floor with a loud noise when his courage failed him.
For a moment, Eomer thought the boy might weep in fright but instead; he swallowed, closed his eyes and waited for the enemy to strike the killing blow.
Eomer felt sickened to the stomach and lowered his weapon as his eyes swept across the scene of the battle and particularly at the phalanx that they were cutting down. The Haradrim were physically a smaller people than the men of the Westernesse and he had not made the connection before. However, as he now placed them under deeper scrutiny, he realised that the phalanx were mostly comprised of soldiers with lanky, undeveloped frames, hidden beneath oversized armour. The situation in Cordoba must have been more desperate than anyone of them had believed. Suddenly it made sense that Satarin had spoken with such vehemence and refusal to entertain any idea of surrender, especially when his forces were so depleted that a bluff was all he could manage in the place of seasoned troops.
"Get out of here," Eomer hissed under his breath.
The boy stared at him in confusion not comprehending his words or the language in which it was spoken.
"GO!" Eomer kicked out his foot and sent the boy sprawling.
The boy fell backward as Eomer pulled the reins of his horse to leave the scene. He would not be the killer of a child who had no business fighting in the first place.
It was a noble sentiment but one that proved in error when suddenly, he felt a burst of exquisite pain and saw the point of spear tearing its way through his flesh and penetrating the mail across his chest. He opened his mouth to cry out but could not speak because it was soon filled with blood. Looking over his shoulder through the haze of his pain, Eomer saw the boy he had spared looking at him with relish after spearing him through the back.
"EOMER!" He heard a voice shout at him and saw another rider approaching, swinging his blade in a precise strike that killed the boy where he stood.
Eomer could barely focus when he saw Imrahil's face appear bore him, the older man staring at him in shock and dismay.
"I think I am hurt," Eomer muttered softly but his words escaped him in a gurgle.
"Rohirrim!" Imrahil shouted to no one in particular, "the king has been injured!"
Imrahil closed the distance between them, sidling his horse next to Eomer's as the king struggled to stay on his feet. The spear remained cruelly embedded through Eomer's body and Imrahil did not know whether or not he ought to remove it because it could very well be the only thing keeping the king from bleeding like a stuck boar. Erkenbrand, lord of the Westfold reached them first and curbed his horror at seeing his king in such as state by grabbing the reins of Eomer's horse while Imrahil kept him from tumbling out of the saddle.
"We must get him to the surgeon," Imrahil declared as he maneuvered himself into the saddle with Eomer, not an easy process considering the king of the Riddermark had a large spear impaled through his body. Eomer, by this point, was losing consciousness swiftly and sagged forward, almost falling off when Imrahil caught him. "I will take him there but you must tell Carleon that he now leads the Rohirrim."
"I will," Erkenbrand nodded and handed the reins to Imrahil who had difficulty reaching it. "Commend him safely."
"I will," Imrahil nodded as he dug his heels into the flanks of Eomer's horse, "I have no intention of allowing my daughter to become a widow."
************
The fighting had moved to the city.
Legolas had crossed the battlefield with the king of Gondor at his side. After Helm's Deep, the Battle of Pelennor and the Black Gate, they had become too accustomed to being at each other's side in battle to permit their present differences to interfere with this tradition. Unfortunately, once they had reached the fortress, it was an entirely different matter as Legolas lost sight of Aragorn in the sea of bodies making their way up the wall by means of ladders and ropes. Legolas himself had entered Cordoba in more or less the same fashion. He had scaled the walls of the fortress and fought his way through the guardians defending it with a contingent of elves that included Nunaur.
The battle was swift and it was not long before the Cordobans were overwhelmed and driven off the wall. The retreating forces also had to contend with the flooding of Rohirrim and First Born cavalry through its gates and Legolas was confident that by the time dawn broke, the city would be theirs. However, it soon appeared that the Cordobans would not surrender easily despite their dwindling numbers. Driven off the wall and becoming savagely culled by the cavalry, they took the only course left to them, the course Aragorn had prayed they would not.
They took the battle into the heart of the city where the women and children were hiding.
There had been little recourse but to follow them and soon the back streets, the squares, the shops and homes became the focus of the fiercest fighting. There was nothing clean about killing in full view of women and children and as he and many of his comrades were soon discovering, not all of the opponents clad in mail and armed with scimitars were soldiers. Satarin, in an effort to show the enemy that the fortress was adequately garrisoned, had dressed every available man in mail and when there were no more, had resorted to using boys. After what had happened in Axinar, the thought of killing children repulsed him to no end and doing so would only prove that Satarin was right when he accused Legolas of being a murderer.
And he was not.
With Nunuar at his side, Legolas pursued a number of Haradrim soldiers into front walk of one of the city's man mud brick homes. They rounded the corner and saw that the enemy prepared to make a fight of it. The Haradrim were easily overtaken by the two elves and the skirmish lasted briefly before all of them lay dead at the feet of Eden Ardhon's lord and its captain.
"We should get back to the others," Nunaur suggested as he prodded the soldiers on the ground to ensure that they were no longer a threat.
"I have not seen Aragorn or Eomer and that concerns me," Legolas confessed.
Despite all that had transpired between them of late, the humans were still his friends and mortal life was so fragile that Legolas could not help but concern himself at how they fared in the battle.
"I am certain they are well," Nunaur commented and left the bodies to follow him when suddenly the door to the house they were walking past burst open behind the captain of Eden Ardhon. The elf had heard sounds but disregarded them anticipating that they probably belonged to a frightened family trying to sit out the battle. Nunaur turned around just in time to be run through with a sword. He let out a soft cry as he dropped to his knees, forcing Legolas to stare in open mouth horror as his loyal friend and subject died before his skull could slap against the ground when he fell.
"NUNAUR!" Legolas fairly screamed in anguish.
Legolas ran forward and swung his blade with far more skill than the person who had ended the life of Nunaur, son of Elwe, who had been his father's servant since Thranduil's earliest days in Eryn Lasgalen. It was Nunaur who had taught Legolas how to shoot a bow and had schooled him in the woodland art of stealth and tracking. Centuries of knowledge, skill and experience were now bleeding into the dirt, soaking in the earth to be forgotten. Nunaur had wanted to see the world and now all he would ever see was the grey of Mandos. With an outraged cry, Legolas' swipe against the enemy blade tore the weapon from the murderer's hands, sending it clattering aside noisily. Slamming the person against a nearby wall, Legolas raised his sword to strike when suddenly, a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Do not hurt my mother please!" A plaintive voice cried in anguish.
Legolas blinked and saw the little girl staring at him from the doorway, her brown eyes wide with terror. There were tears on her face and she was but six. She was small, waif like and so very frightened of him. If he had not understood Haradrim, he would have acted without thinking twice, he would have killed. Nunaur's death had enflamed him with rage and when he had attacked his captain's murderer, Legolas was so furious he could barely register anything about his opponent other than Nunaur’s blood on his hands. But it was not his hands.
It was her hands.
Legolas realised that it was a woman whom he had pinned to the wall by her throat. She could have been Melia, certainly she was the same age and possessed the same physical characteristics. However, she was also the murderer of his friend and he wanted vengeance. He pressed the blade to her throat and saw her gasp in fear, saw the elegant elven sword break skin until a rivulet of blood stained its tip. The girl child had began to weep harder and beg even more frantically but Legolas did not care. What was it about this world that allowed one person to do anything they liked to another without fear of retribution? Like the animals who had violated Melia, who had harmed his people at Eden Ardhon, like this woman who taken from him a friend whose value was beyond words. It would be so easy to end the threat of her now…
"Please!" The child ran to him and pulled at his arm. Legolas reacted instinctively, slamming his fist into the side of her face and sent her sprawling.
"Don’t hurt her!" The woman screamed as the child lay on the floor, stunned by the blow.
"Silence!" Legolas screamed when he realised that he had struck a child. He had lashed out and struck a little girl who had only been trying to protect her mother. His face twisted into anguish as he saw her lying there on the ground, shaking off the blow that was leaving a red welt across her skin. He stared at her hard, feeling the air disappear out of his lungs, unable to breathe, unable to stomach or conceive that he had actually done it, that he had actually become no better than the villains who had murdered little Anna in front of Melia.
When had this happened? When had he become no better than an Easterling?
The question snapped something inside of him and suddenly, he found himself staring at the woman in his grasp. The fear in her eyes was so great that it screamed out to his elven senses like the wail of Nazgul in the shadow world. She stared at him with quivering lips and tears stained cheeks. He could feel her trembling hard.. Her whole body was shaking so badly that he could feel its tremors beneath his palm. She closed her eyes, anticipating death, expecting it to come because she was staring into the face of the enemy and at the butcher of Axinar.
Staring at him.
Legolas looked at the child and saw the little one continuing to weep in anguish, too terrified to approach him again but clearly distraught that he was going to kill her mother. Her tears cut through his heart and reminded him of the weeping of the other child, the one who stood over his dead father after Legolas had taken his life. Legolas had not simply struck him, he had killed him! He heard her pleading for her mother's life but her words became vague and meaningless. For an elf, words were not always the best way to communicate and his people were blessed with an insight that saw things somewhat clearer than most with occasional lapses.
He continued to stare at the woman but not really seeing her but rather himself reflected in her eyes and what he saw terrified him. His grip slackened and he began to tremble almost as hard as she. The woman broke free and scrambled to her child. She embraced her daughter in her arms, holding the little girl close so that they would be together at least when the elf took their lives. Legolas saw this in their eyes, saw their terrible despair at knowing that they were going to die at his hands. He could sense the blackness comprised of despair, hatred and destruction, a veritable litany of chaos, cajoling him to embrace it willingly. It was numbing his senses, disconnecting his heart from his mind until he knew the incontrovertible truth of it all.
He had lost himself.
He has lost himself the moment he had learnt of Melia's violation and he had done everything to ensure that he remained lost. Like the rising stench of dank water from the bottom of an old well, Legolas began to understand the place he had been occupying the last few months. He had allowed the darkness to build a home inside of him. He had permitted it use of his grief and guilt and allowed it to turn him into a monster, a monster that had butchered a small child over the still warm body of his father. A monster who was looked upon by a woman and her child as some terrible fiend because he had murdered innocents and was going to murder them in the same manner. The blood of all those dead in Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon were on his hand and no matter if he lived until the end of time, that stain would never leave him.
When his blade had been poised at her throat, ready to take her life, he had understood something else. Even though she had killed Nunaur, she was not responsible for his death.
He was.
The sword dropped from his hands and Legolas sunk to his knees, feeling the slick viscosity of Nunaur's rapidly cooling blood soaking into his breeches and into his boots. He barely noticed it because all he could feel was this terrible emptiness, this well of despair that was threatening to swallow him whole. Legolas looked at his reflection in the pool of Nunaur's blood and came to the disturbing conclusion that he had no idea who it was that was staring back at him.
He did not know who he was any more and that made him weep.