Part Six
The Light of Day

The fall of Cordoba came short before dawn.

The number of men and elves from the west who had fallen during the battle was slight but Aragorn was more than distressed to learn that Eomer had been injured badly during the fighting. The king of Gondor could not imagine the Rohirrim king being bested by anyone in battle but supposed skill was not an absolute in determining who would survive and who did not. He himself had been injured during the course of the fighting and Aragorn was rather grateful he had come away from it with a wound that allowed him to stay in the battle.

Unfortunately, he had could not say the same for many of the Cordobans who had engaged them in the conflict. Walking through the fortress, or rather limping through it, Aragorn directed both men and elves to secure the city. As he saw the gathered bodies of the dead, lying on the streets in the aftermath of the battle, he flinched when he saw a good portion of them were children and knew that this was no clean victory. Most appeared no older than fifteen and had been recruited to fight in the defense of their city by Satarin who had wanted to show the enemy that Cordoba was not weak. Clad in their armor and carrying weapons in the dark made it difficult to discern their ages until the killing was done and now in the light of day, Aragorn could see many of his warriors were clearly disturbed by the opponents they were forced to kill.

Indeed, the city was decidedly lacking in the charge of excitement that came from a well-deserved victory. Nothing about this engagement had come about in accordance with the rules of warfare. The elves had violated the temporary truce that would allow women and children safe passage from the city and their attack had proved to all Haradrim that not even the word of the Gondorian king could be trusted. It soured the blood inside of Aragorn remembering that. He had known the situation between himself and Legolas were coming to a head. Their diametrically opposing views of how this war should be fought had set them on a collision course from the first but he had hoped that their friendship might avert that eventuality.

Now Legolas had given him no choice but to act. The flouting of his authority before his men was an insult that kings would not tolerate, even from their friends and Legolas had done more than flouted Aragorn’s authority. He had made Aragorn break his word and that was a slight that could not be forgiven, not from a king and more importantly, from a friend. If this was how Legolas intended to conduct the war, with unexpected attacks and broken promises, then Aragorn wanted no part of it. He would order Legolas to either relinquish command to Haldir or Gondor would withdraw.

In any case, this ugly situation in Cordoba would not be repeated.

In the light of day, the city seemed much smaller from the inside than it did when one was poised at the foot of its high walls. While a good portion of the fortress appeared dedicated to military pursuits, Cordoba was largely a trading center for the communities in the Barrens to conduct their commercial ventures. He could see shops surrounding empty squares; houses of mud brick flanking sandstone streets with an extensive system of pipes to drain the arm of Sanara that gave Cordoba its life. Aragorn had also put a stop to the damming of the river since it was now a moot point. He could imagine the aromatic spices that filled the air from the cuisine at the local eateries, the acrid stench of animals in their pens, the scent of exotic spices and musky leather that was traded in the bazaars.

Despite how untrustworthy Legolas had made him seem Aragorn was determined to convince the people of Cordoba that their way of life was not under threat. It was not Gondor’s plan to occupy the country even though it was an inevitability he may have to accept. However, when that became the only course left to him, Aragorn was determined that they would act with more humanity than their enemy.

Still, he had to confess that he was rather surprised that Legolas had pre-empted him by issuing the order that civilians would not be harmed whether or not they were men, women or children. Also, the Prince had not resorted to using flame to raze the city, which indicated that Legolas had at least tried to follow Aragorn’s wishes to a degree. Even now, he could see the elves conducting themselves properly as they worked alongside of Gondor and Rohan’s soldiers to secure Cordoba. While Aragorn was no less furious at Legolas for this attack, he was glad to know that there were some traces of honor left within the Lord of Eden Ardhon.

Aragorn’s attention soon rested on a group of his soldiers led by Beregond, studying a herd of droma in their pens. The beasts fascinated the soldiers and Beregond’s efforts to harness one were a losing battle as the creature in question eyed him with a mixture of challenge and warning. The king stifle a smile at Beregond’s cry of outrage when the thing promptly spat at him and his dignity suffered a severe blow when his companions burst into riotous laughter.

"What are you attempting to do Beregond?" Aragorn asked.

"Sire," Beregond greeted and wiped the spittle from his cheek before offering Aragorn a slight bow of acknowledgement, a gesture repeated by his companions who had suddenly become very composed in the presence of the king. "These creatures are apparently very suited for desert travel," the former guard of Denethor’s house explained. "Their keeper speaks a little Westron and he has told me that they are able to carry reasonable loads across the desert without needing food or water for a week if they have been sufficiently fed before. It would take the burden of some of our horses if we could use these creatures."

"That is a fine idea," Aragorn agreed, impressed with Beregond’s reasoning. It explained greatly why Faramir had so much faith in the Captain of Ithilien. "However, we will buy the animals from their master. I realise we are an occupying army but we will not behave like thugs by taking what we want," Aragorn swept his gaze over all present so that they would understand that this was not an idle request and he expected the Cordobans to be treated fairly. "Offer him the going rate and have him teach you how to handle these beasts. It will not do to have the Captain of Ithilien covered with spit."

Aragorn sniggered and his laughter, prompted Beregond’s companions to display their own amusement, much to the captain’s chagrin.

"Sire, you should be taking the weight off your leg," Beregond pointed out once everyone had amused themselves sufficiently at his expense.

"I will in due course, I wanted to ensure that the city is properly secured and everyone has their orders. With King Eomer in the care of surgeons with Lord Imrahil at his side and I have yet to see Lord Legolas, I thought it only prudent."

"Perhaps Haldir would know where he is," Beregond suggested.

"I am certain that wherever he is, I shall find him soon enough," Aragorn replied, deciding that Beregond’s idea of taking the weight of his leg was sound advice for the injury was beginning to catch up with him. Taking his leave of his men, Aragorn made his way towards the entrance of the city. Most of Cordoba’s residents were remaining indoors but some had started to emerge out of curiosity or realization that the massacres at Axinar and the other Haradrim communities were not going to be repeated.

Aragorn had not advanced far along his journey when suddenly he saw Haldir appear. Haldir’s expression was grave indeed and Aragorn felt his heart tighten in his chest at the possibility of some terrible news. The elf’s face brightened a little at seeing him, which threw Aragorn’s expectation of his news slightly off balance. Haldir strode to Aragorn purposefully as if the elf had searching for him since Haldir appeared very single minded in his approach. Was Legolas injured? Aragorn asked himself. He did not think the elf was killed because Haldir would be in a far worse emotional state if that were the case. Still, Aragorn did not like imagining Legolas dead no matter how angry he was at the elf.

"Elfstone," Haldir said with clear relief. "I am glad I have found you."

"What is it?" Aragorn demanded as he noted Haldir’s hand on his arm gently urging him to follow. "Is Legolas hurt?"

"You must come with me," Haldir said abruptly, his manner filled with anxiety.

"Haldir, you will answer me," Aragorn repeated himself but followed nonetheless, "is he hurt?"

"He has not been harmed," Haldir answered after a moment but felt the words sour in his mouth because he had not told the absolute truth to the Elfstone.

Aragorn knew when an elf was lying to him but did not question Haldir any further because it was apparent that Haldir wanted to show him rather than tell him what was the matter. Haldir’s manner was one of concern and yet there was a shadow over his eyes that Aragorn could not explain, that chilled him to the bone because it seemed as if something had shaken Haldir to the core. As elves went, Haldir was perhaps one of the most self-assured he had ever met, bordering on arrogance at times. There was very little Aragorn could imagine that could cause the elf’s jaw to drop open in astonishment since Haldir always appeared capable of taking everything in stride.

Until now.

Haldir led him through a series of narrow streets that emptied into a small square surrounded by homes. There were bodies littering the path to the square and Aragorn made a mental note to instruct the soldiers to retrieve them for burial when he and Haldir were done. The civilian casualties had been light owing to Aragorn’s and Legolas’ specific orders to ensure it and while there were unfortunate incidents, for most part they had succeeded in keeping the number of innocents killed in the battle to a minimum. However, upon entering the square, Aragorn stopped short and understood the reason for Haldir’s anxiety.

Kneeling on the ground in a pool of drying blood next to the dead body of Eden Ardhon’s captain, Nunaur, was Legolas Greenleaf.

His sword rested besid him and blood had soaked through his breeches and his boots. He was kneeling back on his legs, his eyes staring into something only he could see. His expression was one of such despair that it drove the anger from Aragorn without the king being the slightest bit aware of it. Gone was the enigmatic mask of aloofness that kept his emotions hidden. There was no trace of concealment or elven dignity, just that soul crushing despair that drew all light to it like ravenous Ungoliant. Aragorn could well understand why Haldir had sought him out.

Legolas had never been so exposed or vulnerable.

"Go," Aragorn said simply, his eyes fixed on the prince.

"What?" Haldir looked at him.

"NOW!" Aragorn shouted and made the elf jump, startled.

Haldir wanted to protest but instead chose to nod quickly and depart.

Aragorn approached Legolas slowly and wondered how long he had been here. Probably since Nunaur had died, Aragorn decided almost immediately after the question had crossed his mind. The elf did not react to his approach but Aragorn was certain Legolas knew he was there. One did not sneak up on an elf. It simply did not happen. He reached Legolas and lowered himself to the ground, beyond the reach of blood but close enough to be able to smell what heat and exposure was doing to the body. Nunaur needed taking away to be afforded a proper burial.

"Legolas," Aragorn reached for him.

"Leave me be," Legolas said quietly before Aragorn’s fingers could reach his shoulder.

"No," Aragorn said determinedly, "I will not leave you like this."

"I did not ask for your company," Legolas shifted his eyes briefly to Aragorn. "I want to be left alone."

"So you can let yourself be eaten away by more guilt?" Aragorn accused.

"I know my sins," Legolas replied, his voice soft and defeated. "You need not point them out to me."

"You know your sins," Aragorn agreed but he was not about to let Legolas’ ambivalence deter him. His friend was in pain and despite everything that had happened between them, Aragorn could not walk away when Legolas so clearly needed help. "But do you know how to live with them? We all make wrong choices Legolas, we go right when we should go left and there are consequences that come with each of those choices we cannot change. Nunaur’s death is not one of those consequences. I grieve his death for I know what he meant to you but we were midst of battle where the risk of death is always a possibility."

"He was not killed by a soldier," Legolas replied without looking at Aragorn, "he was killed by a woman."

"A woman?" Aragorn wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"He was killed by a woman. She was so terrified that she and her child were going to be murdered by elves that she impaled him upon her sword through the back, even though we did nothing to provoke it," he hissed through a clenched jaw and Aragorn saw just how close he was to breaking.

"I am sorry Legolas," Aragorn said gently, seeing the unimaginable pain in Legolas’ eyes and feeling all of his anger evaporate in the face of that terrible anguish.

"She did not kill him," Legolas replied listlessly, his brow furrowing above eyes misting over with emotion, "I did."

"Legolas…" He started to say when Legolas cut him off abruptly.

"She was terrified that we would harm her and her child so she struck out first," Legolas explained, the word escaping him like spittle of venom. "She killed Nunaur because she thought she would be murdered as the people of Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon were murdered. She killed because I drove her to kill."

Aragorn did not know what to say and realized that there was nothing he could say that would make this any easier to bear, because it was the truth. Legolas was correct. The woman was driven to defend her child because she believed the elves would kill them both.

"I have become a monster Aragorn," Legolas continued to speak, not waiting for the king of Gondor to respond. "I have become a monster, no better than Sauron or Saruman. I have allowed the darkness into my heart and it has grown a home inside of me, malignant with malice. You tried to tell me but I would not listen. I allowed the hate to sweep me away and now it has destroyed me as surely as I destroyed Nunaur’s life. I do not know who I am any more, I have destroyed myself."

"No you have not," Aragorn was finally forced into speaking at the hearing of that statement. "You are not destroyed, you have just lost your way. You are Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien but more then that, you are a member of the Fellowship and my friend. I know what drove you and I will not exonerate your sins because that is not within my power but I can tell you that I still see my friend before me. I told you once that you were driven by pain, that it was a wound that screamed out to everyone who saw you."

"It is no excuse," Legolas shook his head, refusing to believe it. "When that woman killed Nunaur, I was ready to kill her and her child. I took a sword to her Aragorn and I struck her child! That is an act not worthy of an elf!"

"Did you kill her?" Aragorn was almost afraid to ask.

"No," Legolas answered in almost a gasp of horror. "I could not do it. When I struck that child, I realised I was no better than the animals who murdered Anna in front of Melia. I had become my enemy Aragorn. I saw her weeping and I knew that I had turned myself into a monster because of my hate."

Aragorn did not show Legolas the relief flooding through him at the elf’s admission but he did feel it nonetheless. "A monster would have killed them Legolas," Aragorn pointed out, "a monster would not have cared less that he had struck a child or had taken a sword to a helpless woman. You are not what you claim to be. I allowed our friendship to keep me from saying what I ought to have said as your friend and my inability to do so has brought us to this place. It is dark and it is filled with blood but there is a way back and I am not leaving it without you, not this time. I should have said this to you long before this moment but I did not, nor did I give you my faith when you needed it, most much to my everlasting shame. However, I will not let you disappear into your own grief when what you need most of all is to know forgiveness."

"I cannot be forgiven!" Legolas shouted. "I have become an animal! I killed that child. I did not even think when he came up behind me! I only thought he was the enemy and I struck blindly. I am an elf, I have senses that is keener than most! I should have guessed it was a child! I was so mad with anger and rage at what they had done Melia because of me, that I could not see anything beyond my need to strike out at an enemy and a child died at my hand because of it!"

"It was an accident Legolas," Aragorn found himself saying and feeling some measure of surprise because he believed it. "It was a tragic accident and one you will have to live with."

"How can I live with it?" He shook his head, his tears a well run dry in his body. He had wept over Nunaur’s body when there was still warmth in his blood and there were no more tears left in Legolas to weep but the deep well of emptiness still remained and when he looked into it, he still saw the reflection of someone who was not quite the person he had been.

"You must because that is simply the way life is," Aragorn returned. "You stained your hands with blood and that is a stain that does not wash away no matter much you try. It has branded itself into your skin and has become a part of you for as long as you live. It is not a pleasant thought and in this I say men are at least more fortunate than elves for our sins die with our bodies while yours live with you. However, your penance for what was done comes from learning to live it and forgiving yourself for sins that you had no control to prevent."

"I do not think I can," Legolas met his eyes for the first time. "I do not wish too."

"So now what?" Aragorn accused, his voice becoming hard as he decided to adopt a different strategy. "You allow yourself to fade away with guilt because that is the easier road? You have people who care for you, a wife who is beset with enough grief without learning you went mad and allowed yourself to die. Tell me Legolas," Aragorn stared at him. "In this course of vengeance you embarked upon, how much of this was truly about Melia and how much of it was really about you?"

"What?" Legolas stared at him, his jaw clenching in anger at the accusation. "You dare ask me that?"

"Yes," Aragorn nodded. "I do because your lady would never have condoned the death of those people in the villages. She would never have condoned your attack upon Cordoba or anything you have done since entering Haradwraith. You say your vengeance is for her dishonor and for the dishonor of Eden Ardhon but I am starting to think that this is about you. That it has always been about you."

"They raped my wife and the women of my colony!" Legolas glared at him with growing rage simmering beneath his blue eyes. "They raped her and killed others! They nearly razed my home to the ground and my wife is so tormented with guilt that she think she was responsible for the death of Anna, not them, she!"

"And you are here," Aragorn insisted, determined to have the elf do the one thing he had not since he had arrived in Haradwraith, confront the guilt and anger which had led him to become the monster Legolas claimed himself to be. "You are here instead of being at her side. You left her straight after the event and set out to Haradwraith. I saw Melia more than you did after what happened to her. I do not think that you are avenging her, I think you are avenging yourself!"

Legolas lunged before the words even left Aragorn’s lips, toppling Gondor’s king to the ground and striking out a fist when Aragorn was down. His fist struck the king’s jaw as Legolas kneeled over him and Aragorn felt a flare of pain before reacting in kind. His leg struck out, the ball of his uninjured foot connecting with the side of Legolas’ head and threw the elven lord off him. Aragorn rolled around and saw the fire of rage building in Legolas as the elf scrambled to his feet to strike again. Aragorn caught his fist and slammed an elbow into Legolas’ sternum, causing him to double over. However, Legolas recovered quickly and barreled into Aragorn’s body headfirst.

Man and elf fell rolled across the ground with both Aragorn and Legolas giving as good as they got, with fists flying, legs throwing one another off, giving each a temporary reprieve before the combat began. Fist met jaw, blood seeped from cracked skin and bruises began to form beneath pummeling knuckles. They could taste dirt in their mouths, intermingling with blood as they fought each other. Two opponents evenly matched even though the elf was stronger and far more experienced. However, Aragorn possessed the innovation that came with a mind accustomed to quick thinking in order to achieve everything within a short life span.

It was unknown to either how long they engaged in this test of will only that after some time, exhaustion set into their limbs and their blows became less focussed or more half-hearted. Aragorn’s fist connected with Legolas’ jaw and the elf went sprawling. However, Legolas did not attack again choosing to throw a handful of dust at Aragorn in a last act of defiance before his strength gave out and he lay back in exhaustion, panting hard. Aragorn made no move either and seemed just as tired when they both met each others gaze and burst out laughing like two friends who had discovered the punchline to an enormously good joke. They sat before each other laughing, not chuckling but laughing in full belly laughter whose ability to cleanse were rather surprising.

"You are too hard on yourself elf," Aragorn met his gaze when they had composed themselves.

Legolas met his gaze and suddenly, the humor drained from his face as he spoke, lips trembling; "you cannot say that if you knew how I felt. You cannot know what it is like to see what I saw in her eyes, to see their faces and know that I was responsible for all of it." His words escaped his faster, a litany pouring from his lips without Legolas being the least bit aware of it.

Now they were getting to the heart of it, Aragorn thought silently.

"It should not have happened! We changed the world you and I Aragorn! We helped with the destruction of Sauron and Saruman and fought countless evils across the face of Middle Earth! We fought darkness on a scale that is almost unimaginable and we have lost too. We lost Boromir and we might as well have lost Frodo for what the ring did to him but it was worth it for the promise of what the future held. This is not the future I wanted, I did not dream of this! We are heroes Aragorn, heroes! These things do not happen to heroes! After everything that we went through to see the beginning of a peaceful Fourth Age, this should not have happened! Not to me! It is not fair! I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS!"

Aragorn watched Legolas unburdened himself in rage until the pent up fury inside of him to burst fee at last, spilling forth like a boil that had been finally treated. He heard the fissures appearing in Legolas’ wrath, the tiny cracks in his voice that indicated that the back of his outrage and anger was about to shatter. Aragorn listened without speaking because Legolas needed to say what was on his mind, he needed this release because it had been eating away at him since they had received the news in Lossarnach that the Easterlings were about to fall upon Eden Ardhon. This would not return Legolas to himself, even Aragorn was not so foolish as to think that, but it would certainly help the elf remember who he was.

"IT SHOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED!"

Legolas screamed finally before the tide of emotion burst forth like a dam and his word descended into tears, tears that were very different than the ones he had wept earlier when he realised that he had lost himself. These tears were different for their source was a far older pain, a pain that had been festering since Eden Ardhon, since he came home and found that his world had been devastated. The outrage at the unfairness of it had driven him to embark upon a path of bloodshed he did not believe himself capable until he had almost murdered that woman and her child.

He wept in deep, hoarse sobs that had reached from the very depths of his soul and shuddered his entire being. He still wanted vengeance, that much had not changed but he would not pursue it to the risk of his very identity. He unleashed it all, supposing Aragorn was right, he knew his sins but he did not know how to live with it. He supposed that was an advantage that came with being human, to be able to accept one’s guilt and go on. It was the product of a life span that was too short to be squandered on agonizing over what could not be changed. It was a lesson elves seldom learnt until it was too late. He wiped his tears and raised his eyes to Aragorn who had sat quietly and let him expunge himself.

"You put up with a great deal from me," Legolas said softly. "Why?"

"Because you are my friend, stupid," Aragorn retorted with a faint smile. "What else was I meant to do?"

"You could have given up on me," Legolas pointed out.

"There have been times when you could have done the same to me," Aragorn reminded, "you did not."

"You did not behave as I have these past months," the elf said somberly.

"No, I did not," Aragorn was forced to agree with that. "A while ago I told you that you must forgive yourself and I cannot ask you do such a thing if I am not willing to forgive you first. I am not happy about what you have done Legolas, I will not lie to you about that but I will forgive you because I need you as more than just an ally in this war. I need you as my friend."

"Thank you," Legolas said to Aragorn, his eyes full of emotion because Aragorn’s friendship had been such a surprise for one as old as he. Three thousand years and he had not shared the connection he did with anyone that he shared with Aragorn. While Legolas did not like to think of the day, he knew that when Aragorn passed from this world it would break his heart almost as completely as losing Melia.

"I shall miss Nunaur terribly," Legolas gazed at the body of his faithful comrade, lying where he had fallen, oblivious to all that had transpired in the wake of his demise.

"I know," Aragorn said sympathetically, glancing at the body of the elf. "He was a great warrior and a good friend."

"It was Nunaur who taught me how to string my first bow," Legolas said fondly, remembering in his mind’s eye the child he had been, so uncertain when the bow had been placed in his hand. Nunaur had been so reassuring that he would learn how to use it when he saw it as an extension of himself. "My father was often too busy for such lessons so it was Nunaur who often took up the duty of my education. He taught me how to ride, to shoot a bow, to fight with blade and was one of my few friends when I was a child. I do not know how he can ever be replaced in my heart."

"Friends like him cannot be Legolas," Aragorn said softly, finding himself thinking of Boromir as he said those words. His friendship with the Son of Gondor had been brief but knowing Boromir had helped him to see Gondor as more than just the place where his kingship lay but rather a place he could love, a place that deserved a king worthy of it. "Their worth is measured by the sorrow we feel at their passing. You cannot replace such affection with another. It is wholly distinct onto its own."

Legolas absorbed Aragorn’s words and decided that once again, the human had a better understanding of death than any elf could. The doom of man could be a great teacher at times.

"I still want him dead you know," Legolas stated after a moment, "the Haradrim king."

"I rather suspected you would," Aragorn nodded, not at all surprised by that statement.

"I promised that I intended to burn his city around his ears," Legolas replied, "I intend to keep that promise although I will try not to harm anyone else. He deserves to die Aragorn. For what he did to me and mine, he deserves to die."

"Just as long as you understand that we are fighting a war, not a personal vendetta," Aragorn reminded.

"I cannot forget that," Legolas met his eyes and Aragorn saw that he did understand, he understood better than Aragorn could possibly have given him credit. "After what I have become, I dare not forget it."

Legolas suddenly turned toward the alley leading out of the square, "someone comes," he declared.

"It is probably Haldir," Aragorn answered dusting himself off.

"His steps are too loud," Legolas countered. "It is a man that approaches."

The man in question was the Prince of Dol Amroth, who stopped short at the sight of both of them. Aragorn saw the shock on Imrahil’s face as his jaw dropped open and could imagine the thoughts running through the Prince’s mind as he saw them bloodied, bruised, covered in dirt, sitting on the ground after exhausting themselves from their little brawl.

"Look at you both!" Imrahil snapped, appearing to have finally lost his temper with all his allies in this war at long last. Considering their behavior since the onset of this campaign, Aragorn supposed it was only a matter of time before even the Prince’s cool demeanor was shaken. Imrahil strode to Aragorn and hoisted him to his feet as if Aragorn were one of his sons misbehaving.

"Kindly remember that you are the king of Gondor and not some tavern brawler!" Imrahil scolded as he made Aragorn stand up. "You are meant to be our leader in this conflict and at this particular moment, you do not engender enough confidence to inspire our cook to make a decent meal, let alone invade a country! It does little to your dignity to be fighting like children in the dirt. I would have thought that two supposedly grown men would have better ways to deal with their quarrel…"

"You are in trouble Estel," Legolas sniggered at Aragorn’s dressing down particularly when Aragorn was wearing the look of an admonished child.

"Do not let me start with you," Imrahil turned on Legolas with as much vehemence producing a corresponding smirk from Aragorn. "If your father Thranduil were here, I am certain he would be inspired to cuff you about the ear as well. Unfortunately, one of you is my king and another one is my ally so I cannot bestow that lesson upon either of you particularly when you are so sorely in need! Whatever your differences, try to at least deal with it in the manner befitting your stations!"

"We are sorry Imrahil," Aragorn apologized, trying not to smile. "It shall not happen again."

"Yes," Legolas exchanged a similar smirk with Aragorn, "we are terribly sorry. We have resolved our quarrel. There shall be no repeat of this violence again."

Imrahil stared at both of them wondering if he had perhaps been mistaken about the scene he had entered. "Are you both amusing yourself at my expense?" He asked suspiciously.

Aragorn and Legolas burst out laughing once again, thoroughly confusing the Prince of Dol Amroth.

"Thank you for your counsel Imrahil," Aragorn grinned, patting him on the shoulder as he wiped a smear of blood from his lip. "We had resolved our differences somewhat but your perspective is always welcomed."

"I see," Imrahil frowned, feeling somewhat foolish about his outburst now that it appeared he had walked into it after their issues with each other had been dealt with. However, he was grateful that they had come to some form of understanding.

"How is Eomer?" Aragorn asked remembering that Imrahil had been keeping a vigil at the Rohirrim lord’s side for most of this conflict.

"What is wrong with Eomer?" Legolas asked with concern.

"He was impaled when he turned his back on a child that had been wearing the mail of a Haradrim soldier," Imrahil answered with more than a little bitterness in his voice. "Eomer had sought to spare the boy who promptly speared him through the chest as soon as he turned to leave."

"Is he going to live?" The elf asked with alarm, his stomach knotting in disgust as how Eomer’s act of mercy had been treated.

"The surgeons are still working on his wounds," Imrahil turned to Aragorn. "I sought you out because I thought you might be able to help."

"I will do what I can," Aragorn said without hesitation and started to follow Imrahil out of the square. They had not taken a few steps when he noticed Legolas was not following them. The elf had drifted to Nunaur’s body and was staring at his dead captain, his face etched in sadness.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called.

"Go," Legolas bade him, "I will join you in due course, I wish first to see to Nanuar’s body. I do not wish to leave him here like this."

Aragorn nodded in understanding and left Legolas alone to tend to his dead while Aragorn set out to ensure that Eomer remained among the living.

*************

"So how are you related to Melia?" Faramir asked as they remained within the confines of Kirin’s vessel, still moored to the river.

It had been little more than an hour since they were forced to flee to the refuge of the craft, one of many moored along the Sanara river which ran through the heart of the city. Although they could not hear the sounds of their pursuers, Faramir had no doubt that soon the search for them would spread across the city and find them even here. One simply did not kill three Haradrim soldiers and expect to be forgotten. No doubt the murders of three soldiers would ensure the determination of the proper authorities to apprehend them, particularly when those soldiers had been recruiting for the war effort. It would be the same if they were in Minas Tirith and Faramir did not expect the Haradrim to be any different in this respect. He supposed that there was some consolation to be had in the fact that the enemy was seeking three deserters, not spies. If they had known, it would have changed the complexion of the search considerably.

It was decided that they should leave Mahazar by way of river within the hour and sail further down river before making the journey across land to the Splinter to join with the armies of the west, travelling through the narrow passage through the Wall. Following their preparations to make the boat ready for its journey, the new companions sat down for a brief repast and Faramir took the opportunity to question the High Chieftain a little more, particularly in relation to his connection to Melia. Although Faramir did not know Melia as well as Eowyn, he knew that she did not liked to discuss her past. He could understand why of course, since what little Melia had deigned to reveal indicated clearly that the lady’s experiences in her homeland had been less than pleasant and those who knew her, chose not to pursue the matter.

"She is my cousin," Kirin answered seeing no harm in telling Faramir about his relationship with Melia. Since so much hinged on his familial obligations to Melia, it was a necessity for Faramir to understand the bonds between them. "Her father was my uncle."

"Melia does not speak a great deal about her homeland," Faramir explained, hoping that would instigate more revelation on Kirin’s part.

"It is hardly surprising," Kirin remarked perfectly aware of Faramir’s curiosity if the little smile on Pallando’s face was any indication of his intentions. The wizard was content to sit leaning against the wall as he savored his pipe and gazed at his companions through the tendrils of diminishing smoke rising from it. "Melia was never truly accepted by a large portion of my family I am sorry to say. She was the daughter of a woman who had abandoned her husband and it was the view of many of my kin that Melia would be no better."

"The sins of her mother are hardly her fault," Pallando stated since he knew better than anyone did the reason why Melia’s mother Ninuie, had never returned home with Hezare to the people of Bors.

"I do not disagree with you wizard," Kirin quickly interjected. "Save myself and her father, she had no one who truly cared about her welfare among my family, a situation that shames me even now. It was not even her fault that she was regarded so uncharitably, it was her father’s. He chose to raise her differently then it was customary for the women of my people to be raised. Hezare believed that a daughter of his should know how to defend herself and so she was taught to fight and to use the bow. Worse, yet she was taught to think, a most terrible affliction for a woman in those days."

"And yet you do not seem to mind," Faramir pointed out, wondering how Eowyn would endure under such conditions and then considered himself lucky that she was a woman of substance. He adored his golden haired shield maiden who was his equal and with whom he never needed to be anyone but himself.

"I spent a great deal of time with Hezare and Melia in my youth," Kirin answered, remembering the friendship he had struck with Melia who was a little older than him and had always awed him by her determination to stand up for herself. "My father was always more interested in my older brother whom he groomed from birth to take up his position as High Chieftain. A second son to man is little more than insurance should the first be unable to fulfil his responsibilities. I am afraid that my father rather forgot I existed since it was my brother who occupied most of his time."

Faramir warmed immediately to him.

"Fortunately, Hezare was a second son himself and he knew what it was like to be forgotten so when he was home, we spent a good deal of time together. He was our greatest warrior and he taught me that though he could not serve as High Chieftain, he had served defending our people nonetheless. I owe him a great deal and I mourned him almost as much as Melia when he fell in battle."

Faramir could well believe that Hezare had engendered so much respect among his kin having heard how revered his was by the Easterlings who considered the Bors enemy. During the treaty celebration, Ulfrain had spoken of Hezare and how he had died on his feet, ensuring that he did not go easily and he certainly had not met his death alone. He could tell that Kirin still missed Hezare by the effort the younger man made to conceal the involuntary grief that had appeared in his eyes.

"So you and Melia were close," Faramir spoke up, moving past the subject of Hezare’s passing for the benefit of his new ally.

"Yes," Kirin nodded, "we grew up together. It was I who warned her off the family’s plan to marry her off once her father had passed. It was their intention to make her a proper woman in the eyes of our people. Strangely enough, Melia had known from the moment Hezare had died that her life was about to change. She did not seem at all surprised when they broke the news of the marriage to her." Kirin remembered the sadness in her eyes, thinking how much he hated tradition and custom when he saw the decision she had no choice but to make, forced upon her. He remembered swearing to himself that he would never force another woman into the same position if he had the power to do so.

"In the end, it appeared Hezare was right after all," Kirin said somberly, "unfortunately, we learnt this lesson the hard way."

Faramir sense an ominous revelation in Kirin’s statement but did not interrupt because he wanted the High Chieftain to continue.

"Some years ago," Kirin explained, "the Easterlings and Haradrim came to us once more with an offer to join them. They spoke about the coming of a great war, a war that would change the shape of Middle Earth for all time. It was time for us to stand up and be counted, they had said because the enemies of their dark lord were about to be destroyed. Naturally, we refused."

Faramir and Pallando exchanged brief glances before Faramir said quietly, "the War of the Ring."

"Yes," Pallando nodded in agreement. "What happened when you refused?" He asked Kirin a moment later.

"They came at us with everything they had," Kirin said softly, the emotion seeping into his voice despite his efforts not to. "We had never seen so many of them. They swept into all our territories and we held them as best we could but we were unable to protect all our tribes. The Easterlings penetrated into some of the tribal communities, murdering what men there were who had not been called to fight. They raped women and when they were done with the violation, took them out of the Sunlands as spoils of war. There are many daughters of Bors who now reside in Easterling and Haradrim lands as slaves and we have no idea what became of them. The girls they took, the boys who could grow up to become warriors, they did away with the sword. We had never suffered defeat on this scale before."

Kirin paused a moment to compose himself. He did not tell the western prince that during those attacks, he had suddenly found himself master of his house. His father and his older brother Telemar, were slain in battle, his mother murdered in her home and his youngest sister, claimed as an Easterling prize. However, he had not lost all of his family and good portion remained while other suffered even more devastating losses. The attacks had shaken the people of Bors to their very souls because they had never been assaulted so close to home. However, one thing became apparent in the wake of this calamity, their women could no longer afford to be raised so complacent. They needed to know how to protect themselves in the absence of warriors.

"It changed our way of thinking considerably," Kirin explained, revealing none of the more personal details of the attack to Faramir. "Our women were helpless when the invaders came to their homes. They did not know how to escape or defend themselves and their children because we men had forbidden them to learn. After the Scourge, what we call the attacks, our laws were changed to make it permissible for women to pick the sword and learn its craft. Some of our older tribal leaders still have difficulty accepting it but the Scourge taught us we could no longer afford to be so short sighted with the safety of our women. So far, there are only a few women who can be called warriors but in time, that will change."

"A sensible course," Faramir agreed. "Our women do not fight as warriors but they can learn to if they wish and in realms such as Rohan, it is fortunate that they did for it could have ended badly for them otherwise."

"Melia is no longer considered the outcast she was," Kirin continued to explain. "After the Scourge, we were not so quick to judge her and her marriage to Lord Legolas, one of the Fellowship, is a source of great pride to our people."

"You know of the Fellowship?" Faramir exclaimed with some measure of surprise because he did not think that the legend of the Fellowship had penetrated this far into the world. The Sunlands was as distant from the western realm as could possibly be and to think that the legend had reached across Middle Earth in a favorable light was rather astonishing.

"Our people occasionally travel beyond our territories and we have heard the tale of the periannath who found Sauron’s evil ring and those who accompanied him on the quest to destroy it," Kirin replied. "However, it was not until the burning of Lord Legolas’ realm and the violation of his wife did we know that the Easterling he wedded was called Melia. Once we acquired confirmation that Lord Legolas’ wife was indeed Hezare’s daughter, we saw the opportunity to defeat our enemies once and for all. My people are tired of being besieged by the Easterlings and the Haradrim. We want to be free of their threat and if that freedom means risking our lives in a battle that will take us far from our lands, then so be it, we will do so for any chance at peace."

"Your house is honor bound to offer Legolas your allegiance," Pallando pointed out, "is it not?"

Kirin’s lips curled into a smile and he nodded, rather impressed with Pallando’s knowledge of his people’s customs, "you know our laws well wizard," he declared, "and you are right. As the head of my house, I am bound to align myself with the husband of my kinswoman."

"A compelling reason on both counts to join us," Faramir remarked. "How many men can you promise us and how quickly are they able to march?"

"Prior to my departure from the Sunlands, I issued my people those very orders," Kirin replied, recalling the instructions he had given to Andros and Radik. "They will be approaching from the east and I believe if we coordinate ourselves, we can enclose the Belt on two fronts. We will be approaching with an army three thousand strong."

Faramir drew in his breath for that was a formidable force indeed and certainly worth its weight in any alliance. "That is most impressive," Faramir commended "If we coordinate ourselves, we can attack them with a force of ten thousand."

"Ten thousand," Kirin said with a little smile, imagining the power of such an army fighting not only for the benefit of the west but also for the people of the Sunlands. "Those are extremely favorable odds."

"They may be," Faramir was not about to make that claim yet. "As we speak, my comrades are marching towards the Wall, if they have not arrived already. I anticipate they will be delayed but briefly at the fortress of Cordoba but once they had taken it, they will make for the Splinter with all haste. We have reports that the Easterlings and the Variags are amassing troops and will be marching for Haradwraith. We believe they intend to engage us before we leave the Splinter."

"They are three days north of here," Kirin declared, "and they number six thousand."

"Thee days?" Pallando turned Faramir, "they will not reach the Splinter in time."

"They do not intend to engage your people at the Splinter," Kirin answered, "Dallanar intends to bring the fight to the belt, to halt your forces within sight of it and he has more than enough men at his disposal to see it done."

*********

It was strange how quickly her memories of Haradwraith returned to her even though it had been more than twelve years since she made the journey to the west.

She had been little more than seventeen years old, a child really, yet by the reckoning of the Bors, she was old enough for marriage. The notion had terrified her, being given to some stranger, to be his creature with no will of her own. She had suspected such a fate would befall her the moment she had learnt her father had died in battle but she had not anticipated how quickly his family would move to make it a reality. The only person who had helped her was the one who warned her of her impending matrimony. Despite being just a boy, Kirin had ensured she had enough gold to trade for passage beyond the territories of the Bors.

She had disguised herself as a boy, cutting her long dark hair almost to the scalp and wearing the clothes of Telemar, Kirin’s older brother when she had acquired passage on a ship that would take her across the inland sea to the mountains of Turan. The Turan Mountains, the great range that sheltered the territory of the Bors from its neighbors, bordered Khand and the Sunlands. Maintaining her guise a young man on a journey to see the world, Melia had journeyed across the land of the Variags before arriving at the Sanara River. Once again, she gained passage on a fishing vessel and found herself at Mahazar, the capital of Haradwraith.

In Mahazar, it was a simple matter for her to become lost in the exotic city. She had joined a trading caravan travelling westward for it was far easier to move about in the company of travelling merchants then by herself through the wastes of the Barrens. Her gold had wasted away to nothing and she had worked tending droma for the remainder of the journey. Even though she knew how to protect herself in combat, Melia knew almost nothing about the world beyond the Sunlands and linguistic skills had been worse than lacking. Those early years in the west, which were brewing with so much darkness were difficult ones for her and as the years tumbled by, Melia forced herself to think less and less of those times.

Haradwraith had not changed from her recollections of it. The windswept plains of harsh, arid terrain, the jagged smear of rock against the sky when the dunes had paused momentarily, transported her back to her youth. The smell of the desert was familiar and did not alter even when one traveled as far as the Sunlands. It was a distinct smell of heat, sweat and salt. She saw Gimli suffering under the heat and wondered how he had managed to journey across Haradwraith on his own. Her affection for the dwarf had deepened even more when she realized he had undertaken the difficult trip alone because he was determined to bring her the news that her Prince needed her.

"You will need some lanos salve on your skin," Melia noted as she saw his pink skin suffering horrendously under the cutting heat. His face was blistered in places and she knew that this was an affliction that seemed to beset those of fair coloring only. The people of the south and the east were of predominantly darker coloring so they did not burn as easily as the Westron. Melia did not even want to imagine what this climate was doing to the elves that were so fair.

"Lanos?" He looked at her.

"Yes," Melia said with a little smile as she sat astride Lomelindi and continued on their languid pace. It was hot enough without pushing the horses to the limits of their endurance. Best to let the animals continue at their own pace. "The women make it from sheep’s wool. They boil it and remove the oil to make a salve they use to apply on infants. It keeps their tender skin from blistering. I think you will need some."

"Its nothing," Gimli shrugged. "I have suffered much worse. We dwarves are very resilient you know."

"I do not doubt that," she replied, "but it would please me if you wore some nonetheless. Lorin would not forgive me I did not take care of you while in we were travelling together."

"You women fuss too much," Gimli grumbled but Melia could see the longing in his eyes at the mention of his wife Lorin, who awaited him in Aglarond.

"There should be a town not far away from here," Melia remarked, surprised how much came back to her now that she was travelling in Haradwraith again. "I think it is called Axinar. If I recall correctly, they’re farmers mostly. They grow corn."

"We should not pause in our journey," Gimli said quickly, having no desire to explain to Melia why they should not stop at the community of Axinar, not after what Legolas and the elves had done there, not after what he had done there when he fought at their side. He had been vague about the details regarding Legolas’ need for her, saying only enough to ensure Melia made the journey. In fact, the question of whether or not he ought to tell her precisely what Legolas had been doing in Haradwraith was one he had debated ever since he had left for Gondor.

"Gimli," Melia met his gaze. "We have to stop. The horses are not used to this terrain. They will need the rest. Axinar has water and we ourselves should take the opportunity for shelter while it is available. The next town is at least two days journey ahead."

"Melia," Gimli swallowed thickly, having no idea how to convince her otherwise since she knew the terrain and there was no reasonable explanation he could give her for avoiding Axinar unless it was the truth of what Legolas had done there. "It is not a good idea that we stop in Axinar. I do not think its folk will be very hospitable."

"What do you mean?" Melia stared at him and something inside her bristled with alarm. Something in his eyes made her heart clench inside her chest and her stomach hollow with anxiety. "Gimli, what are you not telling me?"

"I did not wish to burden you with this," the dwarf said dropping his gaze to the ground. "However, if you insist on going to Axinar, I have no choice but to tell you lass."

"What has happened?" Melia asked, her throat was dry and she knew his answer was terrible indeed because she could see it in his eyes and his reluctance to speak.

With a strained breath and wishing that he could face all of Sauron’s hordes instead of undertaking the task before him at this moment, Gimli spoke in a voice that did not at all like his when he revealed to Melia the truth about Axinar. He told her of Legolas’ desire to keep the men of Haradwraith from flocking to the banner of their king by murdering them in their villages. He told of the massacres at Axinar, Laxor, Brecat and Turazon. He spoke in a low voice, describing the terrible images as he remembered them and spoke of his shame at his own conduct in these campaigns.

Melia listened with interruption and Gimli had no inkling what thoughts were running through her mind as he revealed the full measure of Legolas’ actions in all its sordid detail. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable as she listened and as he continued to speak, her lack of reaction made him even more anxious that he had done something terrible by revealing to her the truth she had insisted upon hearing.

"Melia," Gimli said when all was concluded. "He is in pain and he does not know what he is doing. His need to avenge you blinds him to all else. You are the only one who can make him see that he does not need to spill blood for you."

"I should not have to make him see that," Melia declared with anguish. "He is an elf who has lived long enough to know what is justified and what is not! Is there not enough upon my conscience already to be burdened with this as well? I did not become his wife so that he could be driven to murder because of me! If that is what I have made him then perhaps it is best that I do not see him at all! Perhaps it is best that I went home."

"Home?" Gimli’s eyes widened. "To Eden Ardhon?"

"No," Melia shook her head slowly, "to my father’s people, to the Sunlands."

Part Seven
Diverging Paths

In the house of healing victory was a matter of perspective.

Here it was difficult to console oneself with thoughts of glory or victory when faced with the stark reality of broken and dying bodies. To the dead and even to the injured, ideology and principle seemed to possess little meaning when eyes so previously filled with righteousness had dulled to a mute silence when they were forced to confront the extent of carnage needed to uphold it. It was hard to think of territory and moral victories when one’s hands were stained of blood from another being, to know when the fatal blow was struck that all that person would ever be was now discarded into nothingness. It was ever harder to accept being responsible for it.

No matter how many battles he had fought, no matter how seasoned the troops under his command, it never ceased to surprise Aragorn how many times he would encounter this same expression in the aftermath of the fighting. It did not matter if they were men or elves, the same feeling of disillusion would fall upon them, like a man waking up from a dream and finding the reality nowhere as sweet. He saw them in the house of healing, shuffling about with their injuries, helping friend and comrades to healers whilst wearing this same mask of stunned surprise at discovering war being anything but glorious.

Unlike its counterpart in Minas Tirith which was an edifice made of stone and a building that held as much sacred reverence as the White Tower itself. The house of healing erected upon the plain before the fortress of Cordoba was little more than a large tent with rolls of bedding spread across the ground for the sick and tables for those who needed treating. The cold night have given way to a windy morning causing the tent flaps to sway about mercilessly on the current. Particles of sand and grit were scouring anything in its path and Aragorn knew that it would not be long before the flaps would have to be lowered. There was nothing more dangerous to open wounds than dirt and too much of it was being borne into the tent by the wind.

Imrahil had said little during their approach to the tent and Aragorn suspected the Prince’s thoughts were fixed upon Eomer’s condition. Aragorn could not blame him for he too was worried about the Rohirrim king. Eomer was one of the few people who knew him as Aragorn first, not as King Elessar. Both were known to each other before they had become kings of men and it was a friendship they valued greatly. They had come a long way together since their first meeting on the road to Rohan so many years ago and Aragorn would be grieved if Eomer were to pass this day.

Despite Imrahil’s summons, Aragorn was certain there was little he could do for Eomer that was beyond the expertise of the healers tending him. The surgeons were men who were accustomed to treating battlefield injuries and considering Gondor’s history during the last twenty years; their skills had been refined through sheer experience. However, Aragorn sensed that Imrahil had summoned him out of some need to feel that he was doing something to help, not being forced to wait helplessly while his friend and son-in-laws life was battling for his life. Imrahil and Eomer’s friendship had been forged during the war of the Ring and only recently that friendship was sealed in familial union when Eomer had married Lothiriel, Eomer’s cherished daughter.

Stepping into the wide tent, Aragorn saw the price of their victory sprawled across the ground being tended to by surgeons, healers and attendants. Even though Cordoba had been taken with a minimum of bloodshed, there was no preventing the spilling of blood in any field of battle. Seeing his men soiled with blood, bearing the mark of battle in some form of injury made Aragorn think how fortunate they were to be the victors in this conflict. As the thought crossed his mind, he made a note to inquire after the welfare of Cordoba’s injured once he had seen how Eomer was faring.

The stench of blood and sweat greeted them as they moved deeper into the tent. Acrid smells of weeping and soon to be infected wounds combined with the scent of various bodily secretions produced an overpowering nasal assault that made his stomach hollow in disgust. Fortunately, this unpleasant odour was offset by the distinct scent of herbs and potions being prepared to prevent that very outcome. Aragorn was grateful that Elrond was absent because the lord of Imlardis from whom Aragorn learned most of his healing skills would not be impressed at all by their surroundings. He saw elves occupying some of the bedding and wondered how they could tolerate the odour with their heightened senses.

Somehow, fresh air had to be forced into this dank confines, Aragorn thought as he allowed Imrahil to lead him to Eomer.

"I am certain he will prevail, Imrahil," Aragorn assured Imrahil as he noted the pace the lord of Dol Amroth was setting whilst they weaved through the maze of bodies beneath the tent, "Eomer is difficult to kill even for a Rohirrim."

"You did not see what that child did to him," Imrahil declared with no small hint of bitterness. He knew that he was being selfish because he worried about Eomer not only as a friend but also as his son in law. Eomer’s life with Lothiriel was just beginning. It was not right that they had been parted after spending only one night together as husband and wife. Lothiriel deserved a lifetime of happiness with her king and it cut Imrahil to the bone to think that she might be cheated of it because Eomer had shown mercy only to pay a hefty price for it. Serendipity had allowed Imrahil find his daughter a suitor Lothiriel truly loved.

Imrahil could not bear to see her heart broken if she were to lose Eomer.

Although he did not voice it, Aragorn was perfectly aware of what thoughts filled Imrahil’s mind because he knew how much both Eomer and his daughter’s happiness meant to the Prince of Dol Amroth. Any other father would have had the girl married and quickened by Lothiriel’s age, particularly when the young lady had a tendency to practise magic as a pastime. However, Imrahil had tolerated it because he loved his daughter. While Lothiriel might have thought him harsh at the time because she had little say in the matter, Imrahil’s choice of suitor indicated that the girl’s happiness had always been his primary concern. Still, it was fortunate that Eomer and Lothiriel had come together on their own and Aragorn would hate as much as Imrahil, to see them parted so soon after their marriage.

Imrahil was unable to elaborate as Aragorn caught sight of Eomer lying on one of the beds further ahead and hastened his pace to close the distance between them. Upon their arrival, they found that Eomer was oblivious to their presence as he was quite unconscious and still under the ministrations of the healer and his attendant. The king of Rohan had been stripped to the waist by the surgeon. During their march through Haradwraith, their fair skins had been browned slightly by the cutting heat of the sun but as Aragorn saw Eomer lying across the healer’s table, he was rather taken back because Eomer’s skin was almost white. His amour, mail and helmet were heaped in an unruly pile on the ground at the foot of the table, smeared in blood. Aragorn felt a slight chill catching sight at the bloody spear at the physician’s feet. Its size corresponding perfectly with the pierced fissure in Eomer's breastplate and no doubt his flesh as well.

The attendant was attempting to prop Eomer into a sitting position so that the surgeon could wrap bandages around the wound. Not an easy task to accomplish considering the king was almost completely unconscious and in his unconscious state was a dead weight. Aragorn immediately moved to offer his assistance, taking hold of Eomer’s arm to support the attendant’s efforts to keep him upright for the duration. As the surgeon leaned closer to conceal the wound in swaddling, Aragorn caught sight of the criss-cross stitches holding Eomer’s torn flesh together after it had been pierced by the point of a spear. Imrahil dismissed the attendant and took Eomer’s other arm as the surgeon swathed Eomer’s chest in bandages.

"How is he?" Aragorn asked once the finished had secured the bandages and they had help to lay Eomer down on the surgeon’s table again.

"Sire," the man bowed his head slightly before answering, "He is fortunate to be alive. Had the spear penetrated a mere fraction to the right, he would have died in his saddle. It missed his heart by a narrow margin. As it is, I have spent the several hours, attempting to sew and stem the bleeding of all the muscle and organs that were pierced when the spear was thrust into him."

Aragorn flinched involuntarily at the thought of how close Eomer had come to losing his life and offered Elbereth a silent thanks that he had survived long enough to reach the chief of his surgeon whose name Aragorn remembered was called Tynry. Tynry was one of a dozen healers that had accompanied them on this campaign to the east, having a reputation as being one of the finest healers in the House of Healing. Ioreth had recommended him for the post and as Aragorn was never more grateful of his skills than at this moment. While he himself was a healer of some repute, Aragorn had enough to do as king and commander of their armies and appreciated the presence of someone of equal skill who could tend to the sick when he could not.

"He will recover though?" Imrahil insistent, wanting a clearer answer as to Eomer’s condition following Tynry’s grim report.

"Yes," the man turned to Imrahil aware of Imrahil’s connection to his patient, "I believe he will recover fully in time. However, for the moment he is terribly weak and in this climate, wounds infect easily. Every effort must be made to ensure that he undergoes proper convalescence."

"That will be no easy feat," Aragorn remarked because Eomer was not the kind of ruler that allowed others to do for him. The Rohirrim lord was accustomed to riding into battle with his men, preferably leading the charge. Eomer had been a warrior all his life and old habits died hard. Like Aragorn, Eomer preferred to walk among his people in order to understand their needs. However, Aragorn suspected that this desire was born out of his insecurity that he would be an unfit king since he had never expected to gain ascendancy of the throne to begin with. Aragorn had no doubt that Eomer’s aspirations had never risen beyond serving Theodred, Theoden’s only son as Marshall of the Mark. Theodred’s death in the early days of the War of the Ring had thrust him unexpectedly into the role of heir, a position he had never been prepared to assume.

"He will rest if I have to chain him to his bed," Imrahil declared, "for my daughter’s sake he will rest."

Aragorn let out a short laugh until he realised that Imrahil was perfectly serious and was grateful that the Prince’s two sons were placed in charge of Gondor’s defences during the expedition to the east. It reassured Aragorn that his country was in good hands if the boys had even half of Imrahil’s resolve and intelligence.

"Make some tea of this," Aragorn instructed removing from his belt, the pouch in which he kept his store of athelas and handing it to Tynry. Athelas or kingsfoil grew in vast quantities throughout the western regions of Middle Earth but was often overlooked for its medicinal properties because it was considered a weed. "Have him drink it twice a day when he is able to take food and drink. This herb was capable of stemming the poison from a morgul blade, I believe it will help fight any infection you fear might beset him."

Tynry familiar with how the king had saved Prince Faramir following the siege of Minas Tirith took the advice without hesitation, as he was eager to improve his patient’s chances of survival by any means. The king had been schooled in the healing arts by Elrond of Rivendell who was said to be well versed in herb lore and had confidence that Aragorn’s remedy would do exactly what he promised.

"Immediately, Sire." He replied gratefully.

Suddenly a low groan filled the air, provoking the three men to immediately turn their attention to Eomer’ who appeared to be stirring from his unconscious state He shifted uncomfortably on the table as returning clarity also brought with it the awareness of pain. As he surfaced from his limbo state, he attempted to sit up before the sensation of hands upon his person attempting to prevent this forced his eyelid to flutter open wearily before staring somewhat dazedly at them Aragorn and Imrahil.

"Rest easy," Aragorn said smoothly, accustomed to dealing with difficult patients before. Gimli and Boromir sprang to mind immediately.

"What happened?" Eomer muttered weakly as more lucidity flooded back into him briefly. "Where am I?"

"You are in the house of healing," Aragorn answered automatically. "You appeared to have met a spear that disagreed with you," the king said with a faint smile.

"Oh," Eomer remarked, his brow furrowing as he searched his memory, "I forgot."

Unfortunately, his loss of memory did not last long because when he did remember, the images returned to him like a tidal wave and each recollection was steeped in pain. He remembered the boy child staring at him, barely an adolescent, wearing mail that was too big for him; his face filled with fear because he thought Eomer was going to take his life.

Eomer remembered thinking himself fortunate that he had a choice of whether or not he had to take this boy’s life, unlike Legolas who had been forced into it by accident. In the face of that, he had chosen to show compassion. Eomer had seen what taking a child’s life had done to the Lord of Eden Ardhon and he had no desire to endure that torment himself. Turning his back on the boy, Eomer had lowered his guard and learnt most painfully that there was little room for compassion on the field of battle when sharp blinding agony had ripped through his body.

"He almost killed you," Imrahil declared, filling in the vague spaces in his memory that pain and injury had blocked from his mind.

"I am still here," the king of the Mark responded, his consciousness fraying rapidly before their eyes. However, a singular thought surfaced just before he crossed that comforting threshold causing his eyes to flew open and stare at Aragorn, with surprising clarity.

"Did we take the fortress?" He asked.

"Cordoba has fallen, yes," Aragorn nodded.

"And my men?" He probed further, his voice escaping him in a barely a whisper. He was having difficulty remaining awake but he could not rest easy until he knew for certain the welfare of the Rohirrim.

"They fought well," the king of Gondor answered, grateful that he did not have to lie. "The Rohirrim under Carleon’s lead were instrumental to the swift fall of the fortress."

This seemed to give Eomer some comfort at his absence on the front line and he nodded weakly, before relaxing once more. His eyelid blinking to a gradual close as the tension eased from his face and the bliss of unconsciousness took him away.

"I should have been at their side. I knew there was a reason I did not like children," Eomer uttered finally before the need for slumber claimed him again.

Aragorn exchanged a glance with Imrahil and stifled a smile before Tynry interrupted.

"He must rest now Sire," the surgeon insisted.

"Yes of course," Aragorn withdrew and gestured Imrahil that it was safe to leave Eomer for the time. The younger man needed his rest and they had a great deal to do in their occupation of Cordoba. Fortunately, it would take weeks for them to march to Mahazar through the Splinter and hopefully the interlude would give Eomer the time needed to recover his wounds. Knowing the Rohirrim king as well as he did, Eomer would be extremely annoyed if he were forced to sit out their final battle with the enemy.

"Come Imrahil," Aragorn placed his arm upon the shoulder of the Prince of Dol Amroth, who appeared reluctant to leave Eomer’s side. "He is in good hands and we have much to do. If you remain, you will only worry yourself needlessly until he awakens."

"I suppose you are right," Imrahil had to concede the point. The surgeon was confident that Eomer would survive and he had duties to fulfil at his king’s side.

Once again, Aragorn saw Imrahil had swiftly placed the needs of the man beneath that of the prince. Imrahil had ruled in Dol Amroth longer than any other leader in Middle Earth, save the elves. He was not only a skilled diplomat but also an able commander in the field who hid beneath his aristocratic manner, the heart of a true patriot. His love for Gondor was almost as fierce as his love for his family and there were times when Aragorn believed there was little difference between the two that in Imrahil’s heart.

With Legolas starting to return to some semblance of himself and the news of Eomer’s recovery, Aragorn was starting to believe that things had finally taken a turn for the better.

*************

The gentle lapping of water against the side of the craft belied the urgency of their situation.

Even as Faramir unfastened the vessel’s moorings in order to cast off, they could hear the approach of soldiers growing in momentum with each passing second. Footsteps pounded against the paved streets, voices growing in tempo, spoken in the language of the Haradrim that Faramir was beginning to understand after weeks of travel in enemy territory. For the last hour, they had been steadily preparing their departure from Mahazar, hoping they could avoid the soldiers when the search finally reached the riverfront and the collection of vessels moored to the dock.

"We best hurry," Pallando declared suddenly, breaking the silence of their labours.

The wizard stood upon the stern of the ship, his gaze piercing the curtain of darkness in an effort to see the soldiers advancing towards the docks. He had yet to sight them but his keen senses were aware of how many were coming. He could hear their approach with each step they took. They were speaking amongst themselves now, issuing orders to spread out across the riverfront, to begin a search of all boats since deserters must be attempting to flee the city if they had yet to be caught. All routes out of Mahazar were being cordoned off and if Pallando and his companions did not sail out now, they would never leave the city alive.

"Kirin!" Faramir looked over his shoulder to see the Easterling lowering the sail down the mast. The fabric was soon caught against the light breeze sweeping through the air and billowed outward. Faramir was forced to find a handhold as the deck shuddered beneath him as the wind and sail forced the boat to move a little.

Kirin hurried to the rudder to angle the craft as he navigated it past the other vessels moored to the dock. The bow of the ship turned towards the middle of the river where it was clear and drifted forward at a languid pace. The craft’s progress was slow but steady. Unfortunately, the sounds that only Pallando could hear a moment ago was now becoming clear to all of them. Footsteps and voices were growing in intensity, giving issue of the danger that was coming swiftly at them. The instant their pursuers saw their vessel attempting to sail, they would be discovered.

"Faramir, I need you on the oars!" Kirin cried out, hoping that the combination of oar and sail would provide them with the speed they needed to escape.

Faramir hurried to the oars without question, taking up the task of pushing them away further away from the riverfront. The voices were becoming louder and it was with utter certainty that he knew they would not escape unseen. The sound of water splashing grew louder as Faramir rowed and both he and Pallando exchange anxious glances while their eyes remained fixed upon the shore. He did not need to look over his shoulder to know that Kirin’s attention was similarly placed.

"We must lose ourselves in the darkness," Kirin declared as the boat began to gain speed though not enough.

It seemed fortune was with them because the wind was gaining strength and they were soon moving quickly to the middle of the river. The shore became distant and for a moment, it appeared as if they had made good their escape when suddenly four Haradrim warriors appeared at the edge of the dock. Their breaths caught in their throat as they waited in anticipation for the inevitable to unfold as the enemy, so far unaware of their departure, approached the flotilla of moored vessels. The full moon cast its glow across the water, creating a myriad of light across the surface and betraying them to the enemy when its illumination shone upon them.

The soldiers surveyed the river for signs of activity and it was only a matter of time before they caught sight of the boat gliding across the water, the sounds of waves lapping gently against its sides. There was a brief interlude of time between discovery and recognition that seemed to stretch into an eternity before their presence finally registered upon the minds of the enemy soldiers. Once this threshold had been breached, there was no turning back. The secret departure they had hoped to achieve disappeared with a sharp cry that rang through the air like the ringing of a bell from the highest tower.

"HALT!"

The order was issued only once but once was all that was needed to draw the attention of every other soldier scouring the riverfront.

"Curse it!" Kirin swore loudly and turned to Faramir. "Faster! We must gain some headway before they come after us!"

Faramir did not have to be told twice as he doubled his efforts, working the oars with all the strength he could muster. The effort behind his labors corresponded with the increased speed of the boat that was gaining considerable assistance from the wind. He did not look up to see where the soldiers were because he could hear them. More and more footsteps were approaching the shore as the alarm was raised across the docks that the deserters had been found. He heard another demand for them to return to halt but none of the vessel’s complement was paying heed to that order.

"Look out!" Pallando suddenly shouted and pulled Faramir to the deck.

The Prince of Ithilien let out an indignant cry until he realized that Pallando had saved him from an arrow. The soldiers, in an effort to keep them from gaining any more distance, were assailing them with a barrage of projectiles. Had Pallando not pulled him away when he had, Faramir would be dead by now if the trajectory of the arrow lodged in the wood was any indication of where it would have struck him. Kirin was trying admirably to avoid being hit and still maintaining his grip on the rudder but he was wide open and Faramir knew the only reason he had yet to be struck down was because of sheer luck and nothing else.

Scrambling towards his belongings, Faramir took up his own bow and arrow, carefully concealed by his cloak for most of his journey into enemy territory. He armed the weapon quickly and took aim, painfully aware that he was hopelessly outnumbered but hoping that the presence of returning arrows might give the enemy reason for caution. Perhaps they would pause long enough to reconsider their strategy and allow the boat the margin of time it needed to escape. Kirin was keeping his head down low to avoid presenting too easy a target for the enemy but the action was making it difficult for him to steer the craft effectively. Their lives depended on how fast they could clear this stretch of river, before the flanking buildings on either side of the waterway posed too much of an obstacle for the enemy.

Faramir released one arrow towards the shore and heard a cry of pain an instant later when the arrowhead met its mark. He was nowhere as skilled as Legolas in the field of archery but Faramir had fired enough arrows in his time to be considered a master nonetheless. No sooner than one arrow had flown, he was re-arming his bow and sending another forth. This time, he heard a loud splash seconds after its release and hoped that the one action corresponded with the other. Another arrow flew past him and he felt it tear through the fabric over his shoulder, barely missing skin before slamming into the mast behind him.

"Pallando get down!" Faramir ordered, seeing the wizard staring intently at the shore, watching the soldiers running along the riverfront, determined to keep them in sight. Pallando did not trouble himself too greatly with the exchange of arrows but the soldiers commandeering the other boats on the water did give him reason for concern. They could not afford to be pursued down the Sanara River. Their return to their comrades depended on their ability to move stealthily through the Belt.

"This will not do," the wizard frowned as he crouched low beside Faramir. "They are attempting to follow us!"

"Can you do something?" Faramir turned to him and asked.

Pallando met his gaze understanding his meaning instantly. His eyes shifted towards the boats once more and saw that they pushing themselves from the dock and making their way to the middle of the river in pursuit. The soldiers on board were rowing vigorously in an effort to reach the fleeing craft before too much distance was placed between them. Pallando knew that their escape from the Belt depended on the ability to slip out of its borders unnoticed, a task that could not be accomplished if they were dogged by the enemy at every inch of the way. It was imperative that they returned to the armies of Gondor and Rohan, to report the information they had acquired thanks to their fortuitous meeting with Kirin.

"Yes," Pallando nodded somberly, "I can do something."

"We do not have much time," Faramir stared at the wizard, aware that Pallando had not wanted to use his powers in such an open display but they had little choice. With the Variags and the Easterlings marching three days away from the Belt, it was vitally important that they returned to their army and warn them of the reception that would be awaiting the western army when it finally reached at the Belt. However, since the news had come to him, Faramir found another consideration had to be taken in regards to the coming battle.

The Easterlings and the Variags were sending all the troops they could muster to halt the threat of the elves at the Sanara Belt, as was the Haradrim. After their incursion into the western lands, the Easterling had lost as much of their warriors as the Haradrim and the Variags had been hard pressed to enter the conflict. The folk of Khand remembered their defeat during the War of the Ring and the only reason they had sent troops at all on this occasion was out of fear the elves would sweep into their country in vengeance for Eden Ardhon. There were rumors according to Kirin that the people of Khand were on the verge of retreating into their own lands and developing an isolationist view in regards to their foreign policy.

If the two armies met at the Sanara Belt and Confederacy was defeated it would not only mean an end to the war but it would effectively disable the Easterling and Haradrim capacity to wage battle for the next twenty years. Time enough for the Reunified Kingdom and the allies to nurture a climate of peace. A defeat would also ensure that the Variags would withdraw from any further aggression to their own borders and Gondor would be in a favorable position to negotiate a lasting peace. The spirit of unification between all the races of men that Aragorn had so desired might actually be possible for the first time since the war had ended.

However, none of that would come to pass if they did not escape Mahazar.

"Pallando, we need to get back to the others," Faramir insisted as he saw Pallando debating what was to be done. Soldiers were perched on the bow of the ships pursuing them, continuing the assault with arrows. Kirin was doing a remarkable job of steering and avoiding injury but his luck could not hold indefinitely. "If we do not escape and tell Aragorn what is awaiting him when he arrives here, all could be lost! We have a chance to end this conflict, not merely for this war but for all time!"

Pallando was not so certain of that claim since men always found a reason to fight about something and he did not think that this war would alter things so dramatically. However, the peoples of Middle Earth, not merely the Reunified Kingdom and its allies but all the races of Arda deserved some measure of peace. Sauron and Morgoth’s evil designs had caused centuries of conflict and bloodshed. It time, well past it as a matter of fact, for all that to stop.

Pallando stood up suddenly, unafraid of the arrows and faced the enemy on the stern of the ship.

"Wizard, stay down!" Kirin shouted from behind him but Pallando was not listening.

Pallando could die and he could be hurt but his body was a shell and buried beneath flesh and bone was a Maiar spirit who knew death would only return him to his masters in Valinor. He closed his eyes and raised his staff slightly as he whispered the words that would allow them their escape. He did not need to see with his eyes what would happen because he could see it in his mind’s eyes and was directing the progression of his spell from that secret place.

Faramir offered Pallando no warning because he knew istar was more than capable of protecting himself. Instead his attention was turned upon the enemy at whom he was continuing to shoot arrows, to protect both Kirin and Pallando as the wizard prepared to exert his powers over the situation. His arrow flew through the gap between the boats, there was at least three in pursuit of them now, striking the archer at the bow of the nearest craft. He uttered a sharp groan of pain before falling headfirst into the water, his body making a loud splash before it was submerged beneath the waves as the boat surging past him.

Faramir dropped when he saw another arrow coming towards him and this one was halted by the billowing sail, the rush of air causing it to fall harmlessly against the ground when it struck the uneven surface.

"Pallando!" Faramir called out. "If you are going to do something, now is the time!"

The wizard did not answer but then he did not need to.

No sooner than he had spoken, Faramir felt a gust of strong wind against his cheek. It was cold and far too different in consistency and temperature to be customary for this climate. If he did not know better, he would say that a stray current from Caradhras had found its way here. The wind became a gale and suddenly the sail was at full spread, the rush of air propelling the boat forward with even greater speed than before. The craft began to widen the distance between themselves and their pursuers. The buildings were moving past them so quickly that Faramir could not tell where one had begun and another had ended.

Kirin was struggling to maintain control of the vessel with this sudden burst of accederation. The people of this land were more than accustomed to gale force winds but they were usually a product of a violent desert sandstorm and more often than not, such incidents were reason enough for any boat on the water to pull into shore. However, it was clear that this was not sandstorm. The air was cold, almost icy, like it had come from the top of a mountain rather than the depths of the desert. The scouring of sand against the skin was also non-existent. In this realm, wind was always accompanied by sand. It was a fact of life that was no longer even questioned, simply accepted as one would accept the sunrise.

It was more than just the wind that Pallando was conjuring; Faramir realized when he saw the enemy become tiny in the distance. A thick fog had suddenly rolled in from the shore, seeping through the buildings and the streets to flood the river behind them. Thick clouds of white began to obscure the features of the city behind them, thinning out clearly defined shapes into vague, obscure images that offered no recognition. The fog lingered in the rear of the ship, making no effort to overtake them as if it were held at bay by the gale that was forcing their vessel out of Mahazar as quickly as possible.

The strong wind continued until the buildings flanking the river on either side thinned into the outskirts of city. Buildings and streets became sporadic until finally, the company was staring at trees swaying in greeting as the gale swept past. It was only after they saw the lights of Mahazar dimming considerably by the strange fog that had settled over the city, did the strange phenomenon of wind ceased and the sail boat slowed to a more reasonable pace. Kirin appeared grateful when they were finally travelling under their own power, instead of forces he could not even begin to comprehend. For the first time since meeting these strangers, could Kirin truly believe that Pallando was a wizard of great power.

"That was timely," Kirin remarked, trying to conceal how unsettled he was but Faramir was able to see past the façade since he was suffering the same affliction himself.

"I would have preferred to escape using means other than magic," Pallando frowned. "I do not know how long it will take them to reason out that our escape and the strange weather was connected but the Haradrim are not fools, they know there are wizards in the West."

Faramir nodded in understanding, seeing where Pallando was headed with his concerns. "They will no longer be searching for deserters," he met Kirin’s gaze. "They will be searching for spies."

"I do not think you have to worry," Kirin answered, a good deal happier now that Mahazar was behind them. "Dallanar cannot afford to waste his troops on an extended search for us. In three days, the armies of Rhun and Khand will arrive in Mahazar. He will need to coordinate all their forces if he is to repel the attack by the west."

"Will he be able to?" Faramir asked since Kirin appeared to know the machinations of the Haradrim king better than most.

"I doubt it," Kirin answered truthfully. "The faith they showed in him when they followed his lead to the western lands has been greatly eroded by their defeats and the leaders of Rhun and Khand blame him for provoking the elven wrath at Eden Ardhon. They follow him now out of necessity because they fear the elves more than their lack of faith in Dallanar."

"The actions of the Eldar are a double edged sword in this conflict," Faramir commented. "On the one hand, Legolas had ensured the terror of the entire Confederacy and on the other, he is destabilizing their alliance. I never knew that there could be so much complication in provoking an elf’s wrath."

"I’m sure Morgoth felt the same thing after the taking of the Silmarils," Pallando muttered.

Faramir could not disagree with that statement before regarding Kirin once more, "how able are your forces of keeping their entry into Haradwraith a secret?"

"Quite able," Kirin said confidently, "if it is one thing we have learned to do in our history, is to thread lightly and strike hard."

"Good," Faramir nodded, "if we can make the enemy believe they are facing a battle on a single front, then when the time comes for the Bors to make their presence felt, we can give the Confederacy a little surprise."

************

There was a part of Melia that had somewhat suspected that the outcome of her lord’s presence in Axinar.

Since Minas Tirith, she had been assailed by this terrible feeling of dread she could not define. At first she had attributed it to what had happened to her at Eden Ardhon, the brutality of her rape, the guilt of being unable to save Anna and her deep longing for Legolas and Elbereth, she had missed him terribly since he left her at Eden Ardhon. However, she understood his need to go because he too, was wracked with guilt and for elves that emotion was not so easily expressed as it was in other races. She attributed it to the elven need to display an image of worldly experience and dignity. Strong emotions were something the elves had deemed themselves above experiencing but in quashing its expression, had relinquished the necessary tools to cope when the emotions became more than they could bear.

As it was now apparent in Legolas.

Since her marriage to Legolas and her life in Eden Ardhon, Melia had come to understand that she could never truly grasp what it was to be an elf because of the core differences that set them apart as two distinct races. There were differences she was forced to accept because she loved him and though it preyed upon their minds constantly, they almost never spoke of it.

To him, time was a constant, a companion on a journey that had no end. To Melia, it was the enemy, dogging her heels, whispering cruelties with each blemish she saw appearing on what was once young skin. Melia knew that her time with Legolas was finite. It was an evil she had been forced to accept thought he would never know how much she feared leaving this life when he loved her so much. Like all elves, he hid things beneath an unshakeable mask of elven calm and dignity but Melia knew how passionately he felt things. When she had been adamant there would be nothing between them, his passion had eroded her resistance. His faith in what they could have together was like a force of nature and eventually swept her along with its power.

And when Legolas basked in the emotions he so carefully hid from most, he was indeed a force of nature.

She suspected his anger at her abuse had been powerful indeed because he had convinced Thranduil and Celeborn to dispatch troops to fight alongside Gondor and Rohan. However, he was the noblest creature she had ever met and while she anticipated his rage might have him treat the enemy with some ruthlessness, Melia had never once suspected that he was capable of what she had seen in Axinar. When Gimli had come for her, Melia’s fears for her prince had been confined to his emotional state. She did not know whether or not it was simply her own wishful thinking or some component of elven bonding she knew nothing of, but there were times when Melia could almost sense him inside her heart despite the distance between them. Before Gimli had arrived, she had sensed coldness shadowing their spiritual link. She had feared he was allowing guilt to eat away at him but never considered that his fury could take on such a deadly aspect.

When Gimli had described what had taken place in Haradwraith, Melia was shocked with horror. In truth, she suspected that Legolas was capable of such ruthlessness because she had seen him in battle. When he fought, one forgot instantly that he was the fair prince of Eryn Lasgalen and remembered that he had spent the better part of his life killing the dark creatures infesting the woods of his realm and the evils that Sauron had wrought in the Third Age. Legolas had been many things in his life, prince, warrior, a member of the Fellowship and sometimes assassin. Believing him incapable of ruthlessness was a foolish mistake on her part.

When people thought of elves, they thought of the First Born as an ideal, that to look upon them was to stare at luminous beauty born of the starlight. Perhaps it was because very few men remembered the full history of the elves that it was easily to believe they were incapable of bloodlust. Since becoming the Lady of Eden Ardhon, she had taken it upon herself to learn something of her husband’s people with some help from Lord Faramir. She knew of Feanor and the Kinslaying, she knew of wars against Morgoth and the absolute determination of the Feanor’s people in the recovery of the Silmarils.

Melia did not think that the king of the Haradrim had known what he had done when he ordered the attack upon Eden Ardhon. He had thought it would hasten their journey across the sea when all he had succeeded in accomplishing was unleashing the fury of elves upon his people.

When Gimli had told Melia about Axinar, her first impulse had been to flee because the cause of all this carnage was her husband’s intense love for her. She had threatened to go home to the Sunlands not merely because of her horror but of late, Melia had been thinking about the lands of her father. Since her ordeal, Melia had felt strangely disconnected from her life. The only thing that had any true meaning for her was her love for the prince. Even before Gimli’s arrival, she had considered returning home for a time, perhaps hoping that the journey would help her find herself again as well as help her wait out this terrible war in some other place than an ivory tower in Minas Tirith. She had not anticipated the war with the Haradwraith ending quickly and hoped the trip would help her to recover for the time when she and the prince were reunited again.

However, fleeing in the face of what Gimli had told her did not sit too well with Melia because running was something she had done too often in her relationship with Legolas and she was too bound to him to resort to it now. However, Melia was not going to allow his love for her to turn him into a cold-blooded killer. She had enough guilt upon her conscious without having to suffer that burden upon her heart. So she began to think of how to help her prince and herself as well because they were both bound not only in their love for each other but in their guilt over what had transpired in Eden Ardhon.

Because neither could be whole while one was in anguish.

Despite Gimli’s protestations, they entered Axinar and Melia saw for herself what devastation had resulted from the elven onslaught across Haradwraith. While the village itself remained intact, the utter despair on the faces of the women and children left behind had nearly driven Melia to weep. She was tormented because they were suffering the violence that had been visited upon her by the Easterlings under the Haradrim king’s orders. Her sweet prince had killed their loved ones because she had been violated, because her grief had been so great that the only way he could bear it was to take their men’s lives in retribution.

They lingered briefly in Axinar, remaining long enough to water the horses and take some rest. Even then, they had remained near the watering hole away from the community itself. While elves did not as a rule use saddles, in battle it was a necessity to carry supplies and weaponry. Gimli’s own saddle was of elven design, a fact that Melia was certain Axinar’s residents recognized by the open hatred in their eyes when they looked upon the travelers. Many of the homes had been abandoned and Melia guessed by the difficulty she saw in the efforts of the survivors to harvest their crops, it was from fear of starvation. Yet their fears of famine were not as strong as their hatred for the enemy since the supplies left behind by the armies of the west were left untouched.

Melia wondered how long it would take before their pride gave out.

During their time in Axinar, Melia was not blind to Gimli’s own guilt. The dwarf had spent the entire time unable to meet anyone in the eye and though she didn’t ask, she surmised that he had taken part in what had been visited upon Axinar by the elves. Melia had found herself sliding her arm around his shoulders that evening, holding him close because he needed it and offering him words of comfort as best she could. In the face of this much-needed tenderness, Melia saw the well of sorrow beneath his crusty exterior that the dwarf lord seldom revealed to no one. She told him that it was permissible to show her his grief because they were both wounded creatures in their own right. He did not weep but he purged himself of his guilt and Melia found that in telling him that they were helpless to the whims of fate, began to realize that it was advice she ought to heed herself.

Helping him with his guilt had the surprising effect of allowing her the strength to deal with her own. Perhaps Anna had been doomed from the start and that her arrival at Eden Ardhon was merely a temporary reprieve from the fate that had befallen her entire family. Melia had spent so much time thinking how she had failed the child; she had not given much consideration as to how she could have prevented her death. Until now, the knowledge of her brutal violation and Anna’s death were memories she thought herself unable to relive. However, as she listened to Gimli speaking of his pain, she found her mind nudging cautiously to those events and while there were images that would never sit comfortably inside her mind, she found the world had not come to an end because she revisited them.

For the first time in many months, she could actually think about it without flinching.

In being able to see those events in her mind, other things became clear as well. She had been punishing herself with grief and it appeared Legolas was punishing himself and everyone else for it as well. Unfortunately his method of coping with what had happened was burning the soul of out him and she had to stop it before he lost all semblance of himself. Melia did not have the power to save Anna. She had come to the realization that she truly had but helping Legolas was always within her power.

Yes, what he did in Axinar and the other villages that she and Gimli came upon on their journey towards to Splinter was butchery. There was no concealing that. When this was all over, the stain blood upon his hands would have to be accounted for but she knew she loved him and that would not change. Nevertheless, she still had to help him and to help him; it was necessary to do the one thing she promised herself she would not.

"Gimli," Melia shook the dwarf awake.

They were mere days away from the Splinter and had pushed themselves to the point of exhaustion in order to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible. Melia knew the dwarf would not be happy to hear what she had to say but Melia had been thinking of little else since she had left Axinar, in determining what was to be done about her husband. In the distance, she could see the jagged range of the Wall crossing over the horizon waiting for their approach. It had been many years since she had last traveled through the Wall or paused at the fortress of Cordoba that guarded its entrance. There was part of her that wished to see the walled city again, to walk within its bazaars and take in the familiar smells that reminded her so much of home. However, Melia had no intention of seeing it for herself because she had came to one conclusion during her ruminations about the her husband.

She could not see him.

"What is it?" Gimli grunted to awareness, his first impulse was to reach for his axe as he sat up shakily, "are we under attack?"

"No, no" Melia said quickly, in an effort to allay his nerves. "It is nothing like that at all. I merely needed to speak to you."

"It could not wait until dawn?" He grumbled in exasperation.

"It is important," Melia replied, stifling a little smile at his annoyance. At moment like this, she could see why Legolas enjoyed his company so much because she loved the dwarf just as dearly. During her first few days in Eden Ardhon, Gimli’s friendship had helped her overcome her intimidation at being surrounded by so many elves who had regarded her as something of an usurper for capturing the lord’s heart when she was a mortal.

Gimli’s anxious manner abated slightly at that and the dwarf lowered his axe to the ground once more. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he regarded Melia with a little more clarity and wondered what it was she had on her mind that required such an abrupt awakening on his part. He hoped it was nothing that would deter them from their purpose now that the end of their journey was in sight. As it was, he was rather grateful that she had abandoned her idea of returning home though he was still uncertain why she had changed her mind.

"What is it lass?" He asked, preparing himself to listen and wondered what could be so important that it could not wait until morning.

"I cannot go with you to Legolas," she stated plainly and waited for his reaction which knowing Gimli, would not be delivered with any measure of calm.

"What?" He exploded in true dwarf fashion. "What do you mean?" The dwarf demanded, his heart sinking with disappointment because he believed that she had moved past the need to leave. The elf needed her!

"Gimli listen to me," Melia said firmly, her hand resting on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "I have good reason for this. You must trust me when I say to you that it is for the best at this time, that I do not see him."

"How can it be for the best?" Gimli exploded. "We have come all this way!"

"I know," Melia spoke quickly, certain the dwarf would burst if she did not provide him with a suitable explanation for her decision. "Gimli, if I were to see him we would resolve nothing."

"I do not understand…" he looked at her with clear confusion.

"It is the nature of our love for another that makes it so difficult Gimli," Melia started to say before breaking off into a heavy sigh. She wished she did not have to be so personal in her revelations about her love for Legolas. Her love for the prince was a subject she found difficult to discuss, even with a friend like Gimli.

"I know that he loves you," Gimli pointed out. "It will break his heart to know that you were so close and refused to see him."

"I am not refusing to see him Gimli," Melia insisted, wanting him to understand that she did not make this decision lightly. There was nothing she wanted more than to see her prince, to feel his arms about her and his lips against her own. "I love him more than my life. Everyday I wake up in the morning and I thank Eru with all my heart that Legolas chose me for his wife, that he found me worthy enough to bestow his love. He is three thousand years old and in all that time, he never loved anyone until he met me. Do you know how wonderful that feels? To wake next to him and know that he is willing to risk everything just for me?"

"I can imagine," Gimli said softly, realizing that this decision was indeed difficult for her to make even if he did not understand why she was doing it. It was apparent to all that Legolas and Melia needed each other to breathe and when they were together, the passion of their love was impossible to ignore.

"That is why I cannot see him," Melia met his gaze, her eyes glistening with emotion. "If I saw him face to face, what he has done will cease to have importance because I will be so happy to see him again. I do not want to let my resolve crumble in his presence, not for something as important as this. There is one thing I know for certain, one thing I can gamble with to make him see reason and I cannot do that if I am near him."

Gimli was not convinced.

"Melia, you must see him. He has changed so greatly that I fear you are the only one who is capable of reminding him of who he is. You saw what happened at Axinar and those other villages. He is filled with darkness that you are the only thing capable of pulling him back to the light."

"I doubt I will ever be able to forget Gimli," Melia said swallowing thickly because she knew all too well what he had done. It turned her stomach and left hollowness inside her she never dreamed could be worse than the guilt of Anna’s death. Though she had come to accept that Anna’s death was not her fault, the same could not be said for the people who had fallen under the sword in Legolas’ rampage of vengeance. He had murdered to avenge her and no matter how things were resolved in the future, there would still be blood on both their hands. "However, if we are to have any chance of restoring him to himself, then I must do this."

"I do not understand either of you!" Gimli burst out in frustration. "How can staying apart help him?"

"He needs to decide what is more important to him," Melia answered softly. "His revenge or our future together."

"Obviously it is you that is more important to him," he countered. "You are the entire reason why he has embarked upon this crusade to destroy the Easterlings and the Haradrim, his guilt that he was the cause of all that had happened to you and to Eden Ardhon!"

"I love him dearly Master Dwarf and even I am not certain of that," Melia confessed sadly. "For us it is a simple matter when we are hurt because we know that we do not have the luxury of nursing our grief for an eternity. We exist from moment to moment, enjoying every sensation, every feeling because our experiences are finite. As mortals, we live life and we allow our passions to rule us because we do not have time to deny them. For dwarves, you have little more than three centuries to do and feel everything that you wish before you pass and for men it is even less. We are mortals and we feel unashamedly and in doing so, we have some measure of control over our emotions. Elves do not."

Gimli open his mouth to protest but fell silent a second later because she was right.

"For elves it is different. They do not allow themselves to feel as much they should because their long memory has made them complacent. What was it like to cope with loss? They cannot remember as well as we do because for them, it could have been a thousand years ago! For Legolas, he has kept his emotions under tight control because he was Thranduil’s son and the son of a king cannot show weakness. Of all the elves in Mirkwood, it is he that had to be the shining example because he was the Crowned Prince. Control was expected and that restraint is the cause of all this bloodshed. Gimli, he loves me but he is riding a tidal wave of such black rage that he has scarcely paused to think about anything else! If this were about me, he would have known I would never condone what he has done! He has shown little fear that news of the slaughter would reach me at home. It is clear my presence alone will not make him see reason. It has to be something more than that."

Gimli wanted to tell Melia she was wrong but he could not. Was this truly about her or about Legolas’ own self-loathing at failing to protect her? The elf he knew would not have carelessly disregarded how his lady would have seen the murder of innocents, especially after the child’s death.

Bringing Melia to Haradwraith had been an act of desperation to try and make the elf see reason but there was no one who could do that except Legolas himself.

He alone had to make the choice to withdraw.

Melia’s presence may cause him to pause in his desire to avenge her but would it make him stop? And how would he regard the friends who had used his wife to rob him of his vengeance? Gimli wished he could deny her words but there was a part of him that knew she had spoken the truth. Perhaps, he had always known that but this seemed easier, to bring Melia to Legolas and hope that her arrival would be enough to halt his anger. Yet seeing her may well do the opposite and remind him why his rage against the enemy burned so hot.

"What then do we do?" Gimli asked after a long pause.

"I will go home to my people," Melia said softly, "I will leave you now and make my way towards the Sunlands."

"You said once that the penalties were harsh for rejecting a marriage arranged by your family and leaving the Sunlands without permission," Gimli reminded remembering the tales of her home vividly, particularly in the case of such a barbaric law.

"That was twelve years ago," Melia answered. In truth she did not know what waited her but nowhere else suited her at this moment, despite the possible dangers. "Not all my family were so like minded. My cousin was a boy when I fled but he would be a man by now and I think he will vouch for me if I return home."

"But why there?" Gimli questioned, disturbed that she was returning home under such circumstances and worse yet, that he was permitting this. "Surely there are other places you could go?"

Melia released a held breath because she had wanted to keep the reason for her need to go home a secret. Unfortunately, Gimli would not be satisfied with anything but the truth and considering what she needed him to do, Melia owed him that much.

"Ever since Eden Ardhon," Melia met his eyes, "I have felt a little disconnected with who I am. Until you arrived, the only thing that held any meaning for me was the prince and my fears for him. I felt numb inside and I still do. I am not healed yet Master Dwarf, though I understand what happened to Anna was not my fault, I need to go home. I need to see the place where my father is buried, to walk along the paths I knew as a child to remember who I am. All I have been for the past 12 years is the Ranger who eventually married a prince, I need to find myself again."

"And what will you have me tell the elf when I see him?" Gimli asked.

Melia answered him and when she did, Gimli stared at her in stunned silence.

"You do not mean this surely?" He asked his voice soft and filled with understandable shock.

"I mean it," Melia answered, giving him no room for doubt by the steel in her voice. "You will tell him what I have said and after that, it is not longer in my hands but in his."

"He loves you," Gimli declared. "You said you loved him deeply, how can you do this?"

"Because he will not understand anything else," she replied wondering if Gimli had any idea how difficult it had been for Melia to reach this decision. "If I am truly his reason for all this bloodshed, then my request should be enough."

"Yes, but…"

Melia cut him off before Gimli could say anything further. "It is the only way we will make him see reason, Gimli."

"And if he does not?" Gimli met her eyes.

"Then we will both suffer the consequences," she said sadly and prayed it would not come to that because it would kill both if she were wrong.

Part Eight
Affirmations of Love  

They lingered at Cordoba for less than a week before coming to the decision that it was necessary to continue their journey along the passage of the Splinter, through the great mountains known to the folk of Haradwraith as the Wall. Aragorn would have preferred to remain longer in order for Eomer to recover his strength before embarking on the arduous journey through the pass, however, a week was as long as they dared to linger whilst the whereabouts of the enemy reinforcements remained a mystery.  As far as they knew, the enemy was approaching the Wall with reinforcements from Khand and Rhun.  Aragorn could not imagine a better place for the enemy to catch them at a disadvantage other than within the confines of the Splinter. Though the expanse of the pass could hardly be called narrow, in a military situation it was exceedingly dangerous ground.

Unfortunately, there was no alternative for the western army to reach the Sanara Belt other than through the Splinter and to avoid being hemmed, they had to cross that distance before that inevitable confrontation. Eomer understood this and although he was still weak from his injuries, insisted that they do not hesitate on his account. If it required him making the journey through the Splinter in the indignity of a wagon, so be it.  The Rohirrim king was too stubborn and too much the soldier to allow them to be placed in a strategically weakened position for his sake. 

The day after Cordoba’s defeat  saw its the survivors to bury their dead, Aragorn stood by Legolas’ side as the elf laid to rest the body of Nunaur, Captain of Eden Ardhon and trusted friend of the its lord. His passing was a knife in the hearts of all who stood by and watched his body burned to ash. They could not take Nunaur’s body with them and the elves were not disposed to burying it in the realm of the enemy where it could be dug up and despoiled after they were gone.  Those who were not injured attended the brief ceremony that was devoid of speeches or eulogies. Grief alone transcended the need for words. 

Aragorn stood next to Legolas as the funeral rite continued in its silence and saw the terrible sorrow in his friends’ face hidden by the reconstructed mask of elven dignity.  All traces of Legolas’ deconstruction was no more and it was as if the exchange between them when the elf had unburdened himself in an unabashed display of emotion had never been.  Still it was obvious to all that something had changed with Legolas for the jagged edge of vengeance inside him appeared somewhat dull than since his arrival in Haradwraith.  While Aragorn could still see the burning desire for vengeance in his eyes, he was grateful that that heat had simmered to far more tolerable levels.

Aragorn was not so deluded into believing Legolas was truly free of his need to make every Haradrim and Easterling pay for what was done at Eden Ardhon. The mechanics of hate were not so easily discarded even in elves and while Legolas had confronted his guilt and his anger, he was far from being free of it.  Nunaur’s death seemed to deepen his need for vengeance against the Haradrim king, the architect of all this misery.   Aragorn had no doubt that Legolas intended to keep him promise to raze the enemy’s city about his ears and there was a part of him that feared Legolas making good on that vow.  Legolas had taken a step back from disaster when he had seen Nunaur die and realized the darkness he had cloaked himself since Eden Ardhon. 

Aragorn feared if he killed the Haradrim king, he would be taking a step towards it again.

Unfortunately, this was death he could not deny Legolas because nothing he could say would justify it.  While Aragorn could cry that what happened at Lebethron and Lossarnach was no different from what had happened to Eden Ardhon, he could not say the same of his wife.  Arwen was home in the White City with their son, safe and protected by Imrahil’s sons who sat in command of the home guard.  Melia on the other hand had been violated in the worst way a woman could be and that kind of insult could only be answered with blood. 

Following the funeral, Nunaur’s ashes were collected and placed in a receptacle so that it could be transported back to Eden Ardhon for the day the elves crossed over the sea.  The elves remained stoic about the grief although it was apparent that his loss was felt deeply.  In the wake of the proper customs being shown to all of the fallen warriors, being men or elf, the securing of Cordoba continued. There was very little to do in this regard since almost all of the enemy’s warriors had been killed during the fighting.  What prisoners there were, were left to languish in the city’s dungeon and among these survivors was Satarin’s son Caifas.

Fortunately, Legolas had been wrong about this being the last generation of Satarin’s family, although it appeared the survival of the line would be exclusively Caifas since his brother and father were dead. The new leader of Cordoba spent his imprisonment in silence, refusing to address the Westrons and there was for a time a debate as to whether or not he would be allowed live. However, with Cordoba’s capacity to fight any battle well and truly broken, what threat he might have been was a spent force.

In any case, they could not afford to linger too long because it was necessary to begin their journey through the wall. 

Like before, the elves led an advance scouting party because their ability to cover more ground than men was unquestionable. They needed less sleep and had greater stamina in the heat exhaustive climate. Although Aragorn was slightly apprehensive about allowing the elf to lead another scouting expedition after what had happened at Axinar, he knew he could not show the slightest hint of distrust or else what progress Legolas had made in his effort to kerb his vengeance would be diminished. In either case, Aragorn was confident that his experience in Cordoba had taught Legolas the price of brutality and it was a lesson that had cut to the bone by Nunuar’s death.

Their progress through the Splinter was made with surprising speed despite Eomer’s injuries. The passage was a little more than an eroded corridor of stone, no doubt having once been the course of a great waterway in times past. The shaping of the world had thinned the channel into a mere arm of the Sanara River and the wear of water could be seen in the smooth walls of the passage. They followed the banks of the tributary, reveling at the sight of water in this parched and arid landscape.  During the journey, Aragorn left Imrahil to lead their army through the passage and spent a good deal of his time with Eomer, who was surely driven to distraction by being forced to make the journey in a wagon.

“Maybe I could attempt to ride a horse,” Eomer had asked after five days in the wagon with Aragorn riding along side.

“Maybe you could rip open your wounds and bleed to death,” the king of Gondor said without hesitation.

Eomer frowned, “I am stronger than I look. I have suffered worse and still managed to ride a saddle.”

“You are not riding Eomer,” Aragorn replied, his eyes facing front with a hint of a smile on his lips. This was not the first conversation they had on the subject.

“You worry too much,” he grumbled. “I can manage.”

“I do not remember your uncle being so stubborn,” Aragorn stared at him critically.

“You did not know Theoden in his youth,” Eomer pointed out.

“Do not be so certain of that,” Aragorn muttered under his breath.

“What?” Eomer stared at him.

“Nothing,” Aragorn said quickly and stared at him, “I am not having this discussion with you again. You cannot ride. We need you healed before we face our enemies and for that to happen you need every second of rest. You were seriously injured. Your insides were ripped open and its sheer luck the surgeon was able to sew you back together again…”

“I concede defeat.,” Eomer interrupted further before he was provided with further details of his wounds. Easing back against the bedroll in the back of the wagon, the Rohirrim king garnered a sympathetic look from the soldier driving the wagon.

“I am glad,” Aragorn said with a  smug smile,  “I had no wish to take more extreme measures of having you obey your physician.”

“Such as?” Eomer stared at him.

“Binding your hands and feet,” Aragorn grinned.

“You would not dare…”

“How long have we known each other?” The king of Gondor stared at his Rohirrim counterpart with a brow raised.

“You will have no further argument from me,” Eomer muttered, “defeat twice in a day will leave a bitter taste in my mouth.”

“You are a wise man indeed,” the former Ranger replied and cast his gaze towards the high peaks of the Splinter on either side of them. It was pure fancy of course. There would be no way that Aragorn would be able to sight the elf even if he and his party were close enough to the edge of the cliff, which he was not.  No doubt, Legolas would be scouting the surrounding terrain, ensuring they were not waylaid unexpectedly by an enemy attack.  Aragorn tried not to feel concern, certain that Legolas was at last free of the savage streak responsible for the carnage at Axinar and the other Haradrim villages.

“I am certain he will keep his head,” Eomer remarked, discerning easily the reason for the reflective glimmer in Aragorn’s eyes.

“I know he will,” Aragorn replied turning away from the line of the cliff’s edge. “Cordoba has changed things for him considerably. He wants his revenge even more than ever but at least his hate is directed at the one who inspired it, not the innocents in his path.”

“That is good to hear,” Eomer said genuinely pleased that the elf was on the mend. It was too disconcerting to see the friend they knew alter so drastically in character to someone they barely recognized. While Eomer understood the rage behind the elf’s actions, like the rest of his race Eomer had been conditioned to see the elves as the paragon of virtue and dignity. This darker side to them was something he had no wish to see again in his lifetime.

“Of course, you will have a bit of explaining to do when his lady arrives,” Eomer reminded.

Aragorn had not forgotten that he had sent Gimli to summon Melia and truth be told, Aragorn had no idea how Legolas would react to seeing his wife.  It was entirely possible that Legolas would be so pleased to see Melia that the circumstances of her arrival may become a detail he was willing to overlook. However, Aragorn suspected Legolas would not be happy at the prospect of facing Melia and giving account of what he had done since his arrival in Haradwraith.

“I know,” Aragorn concede that point without contest. “Perhaps she can soothe the remaining fire inside him. He has coped to some extent with his feelings but it still burns hot inside him. The only difference is now, he has fixed it upon the Haradrim king where it ought to be.”

“Better the guilty than the innocent,” Eomer replied sourly, having no love for the man either.  When he thought of how close Edoras had came to falling and what Lothiriel had endured to save the women of that city, he could very well understand Legolas’ need to mount the leader’s head upon a pike. His wife had been greatly wounded by having to use her powers to kill and it was an ordeal he would preferred her not to experience.

“I wish we had word about Faramir and Pallando,” Aragorn added, turning his thoughts to another one of his absent friends whose fate was no less uncertain than Legolas’ own.

“I would not worry about Faramir,” Eomer said confidently, “if there is one person in all this who can keep his head, it is the lord of Ithilien. When they drew the lots for parental characteristics, it was Faramir who acquired all of Denethor’s cunning.”

“Do not say that to him unless you wish to pass painfully out of this world,” Aragorn warned with a little smile. “As far as Faramir is concerned, he takes after his mother.”

“In his dreams,” Eomer snorted, remembering Theoden’s opinion of Denethor and finding that much of the former Stewards’ characteristics had survived in his youngest son. 

“Do you remember much of your father?” Aragorn asked, since the talk had fallen to that particular subject for the moment.

Eomer fell silent for a moment and felt his mind turning involuntarily to the past, to the image of his father, Eomund of Eastfold, Marshall of the Mark.  The Rohirrim king became silent and his gaze fell away from Aragorn’s. “He had a great booming laugh and he always smelled of the saddle. His hands were hard, much the way mine are now. I remember his voice and how he would tell me I would ride with him one day.”

There was sadness in his eyes and Aragorn immediately felt badly for bringing up what was obviously a difficult memory for his friend,  “I am sorry, I did not wish to upset you.”

“You did not,” Eomer said softly, “I will always feel a little melancholy when thinking of him. It is the nature of grieving the loss of a loved one. What about you?” Eomer met Aragorn’s gaze after a moment; “do you remember your father?”

“No,” Aragorn said without hesitation and the sadness that seeped into his eyes was just a profound even if he had no images to look back upon as Eomer did. “I was but a babe when he passed. I have no memory of him. In truth, Elrond was more my father than Arathorn. My mother tried to fill in the gaps of my memory but they were to me just tales of the man. I have no sense of connection to him.”

Eomer said nothing but it explained considerably the disconnection Aragorn felt with his heritage, why being king was so hard for him to accept.  If Arathorn had lived, most likely he would have prepared his son for what lay ahead but his death had ensured that Aragorn would be linked to his lineage by the barest threads.

“It is your fate and mine that we were shaped by men other than our fathers,” Aragorn smiled, “I do not know if it was for the better or worse that I was raised by Elrond and you by Theoden but sometimes I wish….”

“That you had known him as a man?” Eomer asked.

“Yes,” Aragorn nodded. “It is why I am determined to end this war one way or another. I do not wish Eldarion's memory of me to be limited to what Arwen tells him."

**************

It was far swifter for the scouting party led by Legolas to cross the Splinter than it was for Aragorn to lead the western army through the narrow passageway of the Wall.  The terrain across the mountain peaks were near unforgiving but the loft height provided a panoramic view of the surrounding area that allowed the elves to discern how safe their comrades were from an unexpected attack.  After a number of days travelling across the arid mountain scape, Legolas had come to the firm conclusion that there would be no army moving to engage them at the mouth of the Splinter when they finally emerged from the other side.

This disturbed him considerably because he had been in agreement with Aragorn's assessment that the enemy's best bid to launch an attack would be before their emergence from the Splinter. The narrow confines of the corridor would keep them hemmed in and placed in a strategically unfavourable position to defend their position.  The absence of the army and the appearance that no attack was forthcoming left Legolas somewhat concerned as to what the Haradrim king was about. Surely, he did not intend to conduct the defence of his country within the fertile lands of the Belt?  From what Legolas knew of the Haradrwraith, the lands of the Sanara belt held the crops that fed most of the famine stricken people of the Barrens. Even though Legolas held no love for the Haradrim particularly in light of his recent actions, he had no wish to see the population reduced to starvation.

In truth, the time spent away from the company of his friends and the bulk of his army was very good for Legolas. It allowed him to clear his thoughts of all the emotional turmoil it had been forced to face in recent days.  The pain of Nunaur's death still burdened his heart but Legolas knew that he would come to grips with it once the Haradrim king was dead. Once the cause of his pain was removed from this existence, Legolas was confident that he would be able to resume his life once more.  He tried to recall the last peaceful moment of his life before everything had gone so terribly wrong and found himself remembering the blissful morning he had shared with Melia in their bed before Miriel's knock on the door had brought the war so prolifically into their lives.

Aragorn was right, he had not spent the time he should have at Melia's side and the guilt ate at him a little but he was certain that she knew what he was doing was for the good of all. The Haradrim and the Easterlings had to be defeated and she had said nothing to stop him from going. Melia of all people would understand his need to go even if she may not entirely condone his actions in Haradwraith. She knew that he had a war to fight and it was necessary to avenge his people after what was done to them and to her. Still, despite his belief in his cause, Legolas did miss her terribly and Aragorn's words had cut to the bone that he had perhaps acted hastily instead of putting her needs before that of his desire to avenge her.

He would make it up to her when he returned to Minas Tirith, he would make her understand that what he had done was necessary. Melia loved him, she would see the truth of his words.

"Legolas," Haldir's voice interrupted his thoughts and tore him away from his thoughts of Melia to the present.  It was almost evening and the sun was setting in the horizon. He and Haldir had broken off to patrol on their own and were due to return to the rest of the scouting party once they had surveyed the area.

He and Haldir had travelled eastward, to the very edge of the mountaintop, until there was nowhere to the other side of the mountain. The elves had found a secondary path over the Wall, which would have been impossible for a sizeable army to traverse, though passable for a scouting party of some experience.  A traveller wishing to avoid being waylaid by bandits or other dangers may chose to come this way and as Legolas examined the track, discovered it was used but occasionally.

"Look there," Haldir pointed out past the edge of the mountain. At the bottom of the uneven path that led from the top of the mountain to the foothills beneath, Legolas saw three riders making their way to the rocky and difficult trail. 

From where they were making their observation, Legolas could tell immediately that they were three men astride the strange animals the western army had first seen in Cordoba. It was difficult to make out their faces for their faces were partially covered to shield their skin from the sand blown wind no doubt.  However, in the manner they carried themselves and by their clothing, there could be no mistaking them for anything but men. Still, there was something familiar about them that Legolas  could not place.

"This bears investigation," he said to Haldir as he nudged Arod towards the winding path down the mountain track.

"They could merely be travellers," Haldir countered even though he was directing his mount to follow Legolas down the mountainside.

"Travellers would choose the normal way to travel the pass," Legolas said keeping his eyes fixed on the new arrivals in the distance, "to remain close to the water. These people are travelling through this path in order to remain anonymous. I would hear their reason.”

Haldir could not disagree with him on that point.  As his horse ambled forward, Haldir accompanied the former Prince of Mirkwood towards the three men approaching the track.  His elven senses did not warn of trouble and supposed it was part of the reason Legolas had thought nothing of crossing the distance to investigate further. In truth, Haldir was a good deal happier with the prince’s disposition since Cordoba although he was saddened that this watershed realisation for Legolas had to come at the cost of Nunaur’s life. 

As march wardens to Lothlorien and Mirkwood respectively, Haldir and Nunaur had encountered each other on numerous occasions during the past and had developed a healthy respect for one another. It had not surprised Haldir to learn that Nunaur had abandoned his post in order to become Captain of Eden Ardhon, since the elf was always in possession of a pioneering spirit.  While they had not shared the great friendship that Nunaur obviously did with Legolas, Haldir mourned his death nonetheless.

The journey down the mountain was hazardous indeed and under the skill of a less accomplished rider, possibly fatal. The trail, such as it was, meandered through the barest hint of a path down the steep incline. Their progress was slower than either would have liked but it cast doubt over the assertion that the travellers were seeking to cross the path anonymously for they made little effort to depart at the sight of the two elves. Instead, they continued at a leisurely pace, their dromas seemingly more suited to the terrain than the horses ridden by the elves. It was not long however, before Haldir was able to ascertain through keen elven eyesight why this was so.

“I think that is Pallando,” Legolas replied, squinting in an effort to gain more precision in his observation.   The prospect of Pallando’s return filled Legolas with relief as it would Aragorn when the king learnt of it.  It would mean that Faramir was also returning safely which laid to rest the anxiety they both felt at his mission into enemy territory.   “It will please Estel to have Faramir among us again,” he added.

“They are not alone,” Haldir observed. “I wonder who their companion is.”

“We will find out soon enough,” Legolas replied, patient enough to wait until their meeting to have that question answered. 

The two parties met shortly after Legolas and Haldir cleared the mountain. Seeing their arrival, the trio had broken off their advance to await them. While Faramir did not possess the elven sight to recognise them, Pallando no doubt had some ability to discern who was approaching them.  The reunion when it was made was a sedate affair with warm greeting and expressions of relief at the same return of their comrades to the fold once more.

“You have become brown like a native,” Legolas declared staring at Faramir who had emerged from beneath the safety of his cloak.  The sun was beginning to set and the group decided that it would not be wise to attempt the trek up the mountain in the darkness. It was dangerous enough during the day and the time would allow them to rest and catch up.

“Not all of us have your invulnerable elven skin,” Faramir retorted, even though he noticed the flawless luminescence of elven skin had tanned slightly under the hot sun.

“And your guest?” Legolas turned to the third member of Faramir’s company who had yet to be introduced in the wake of their reunion. “Is he a native?”

Faramir met Legolas gaze, noticing the hard edge to his voice and the brittle iciness of his blue eyes upon the stranger.  His time away had done nothing to lessen Legolas’ disdain of the Haradrim it appeared and Faramir hoped that Kirin’s revelation did not provide too much of a shock to the elf’s sense of dignity and self-righteousness indignation.

“I am sorry,” he apologised quickly and noted Pallando’s amused gaze as the wizard intended for him to make the introductions. Coward, Faramir thought silently. “I have been remiss in my manners, I should have introduced you immediately. Legolas, this is Kirin. He has joined our cause in an alliance and provided us with some valuable information.”

“This Haradrim is turning against his people for us?” Legolas said with obvious scepticism, his gaze attempting to penetrate Kirin’s own to discern his intentions.

“I am not Haradrim,” Kirin retorted, taking great exception to being labelled as such. He studied the elf, the first of the race that Kirin had ever seen and could tell the deep hatred that was behind his eyes. If it were not for the fact that this loathing had been caused by what was done to Melia, Kirin would have been more vocal about his offence. However, as such, he remained civil because the Lord of Eden Ardhon was his kinsman and Kirin had not deluded himself that this initial meeting would be anything but easy. “Neither am I of the Variags or the Easterlings, though my people have been known as such because folk have no other name for the people of the Sunlands.”

“The Sunlands,” Haldir’s brow flew up in recognition. “Legolas, Melia’s people…”

“You are of the Tribe Bors?” Legolas asked before Haldir could finish the question.  It made sense. The Bors had been enemies of the Easterlings and the Haradrim for many years according to Melia. Their way of life offended their neighbours whose allegiance had been to Morgoth and Sauron. They felt it an affront that the Bors could deny their master’s right to rule over them.

“Yes,” Kirin nodded; glad to see that Melia had told her husband something of her people, even if she did feel an outcast among them. “I have come here with Lord Faramir and Pallando to offer the allegiance of the Bors to the armies of the west for the defeat of our mutual enemy, the Haradrim and the Easterlings.”

“The Bors are marching,” Faramir exlained, “they will arrive on the eastern front of the Sanara belt with an army four thousand strong.”

“Four thousand?” Haldir exclaimed, making a mental calculation in his head at how much of an asset this would prove when their own armies finally met the enemy.

“If we help you defeat the Haradrim and the Easterlings, perhaps we can finally know peace,” Kirin explained.

Legolas studied the man and there was something about him that seemed familiar and it did not take him long to discern what that was. How many times had he lain next to Melia, tracing the lines of her face, his fingers gliding over the velvet softness of her lips as he gazed into her eyes. He had come to know her body and her face intimately since their marriage and when he saw this man, he could see faint traces of Melia and knew why this man had crossed the desert to help them.

“Who are you?” Legolas asked suddenly, forgetting the business of alliances and war for the moment.

“I am the High Chieftain of the Bors,” Kirin answered. “I have come a long way to forge this alliance. Do you still doubt me Lord of Eden Ardhon or do you see all men with dark skin as the enemy?”

“You are Telemar?” Legolas asked. He knew something of Melia’s family.  He knew her father was younger brother to the High Chieftain and that she had two cousins, the heir of the title, Telemar and his younger brother whom she had loved greatly because he was her friend. He had helped her escape the Sunlands when arrangement of marriage was forced upon her.

The mention of his brother’s name surprised Kirin because he did not know how much Melia had told Legolas about her family. “No,” he shook his head. “Telemar was my older brother. He was killed many years ago.”

“You are Kirin,” Legolas stated with a genuine smile.

“She told you,” Kirin found himself joining Legolas in one of his own.

“She remembers you fondly,” the elf replied.

“As I do her,” Kirin answered. “I know what was done to her Lord Legolas and it is part of the reason why I am here. She is still a member of my house and as you are husband, by definition you are my kinsman.  I am bound to offer you my personal allegiance.”

Legolas did not know what to say. The arrival of the Bors had been an unexpected boon to say the least. An army four thousand strong was nothing to dismiss. However, it was a sobering thing to be confronted by the fact that even in this distant land, honour existed and he wished he could tell Melia that even though she had been unable to live among the Bors, the family she had left behind had not forgotten her. 

“Your allegiance is much appreciated,” Legolas said with sincere gratitude. “I wish Melia were here because I know she would wish to see you and offer you’re her thanks herself.”

“If this wars ends, who know?” Kirin remarked, “I have often wanted to see the Western lands.”

“If this war ends,” Legolas added, “you would be most welcomed to do so.”

“In the meantime,” Pallando interrupted, “I think we had better tell Legolas what the enemy has planned to defeat us.”

“We should conduct this discussion in the presence of the king,” Faramir declared, not wishing to make any plans without some input from Aragorn.

“I concur,” Legolas agreed with Faramir, “let us leave talk of war for the moment. There has been altogether too much of that for my taste of late.  At first light, we will meet with the our forces and we can talk of what is to be done.”

It was a fair enough request for those with the knowledge of what was coming did not mind the respite from the situation. It would prey upon their thoughts soon enough and an interlude until dawn was greatly appreciated.  Matters would become grim enough when they rejoined the western army and moved towards what could be the final battle in a history of long and bloody warfare between the races of men and elves.

*************

Aragorn was first to greet Gimli when the dwarf finally reached the army moving through Splinter at a brisk pace. When the King of Gondor had heard that the dwarf was within their ranks once more, he was filled with a deep sense of relief because with Melia’s arrival, Legolas would finally be on the road to recovery. However, when he learnt that the dwarf had entered the encampment alone, Aragorn was struck with anxiety at what could have happened to the lady.  Could it be possible that she actually refused to make the journey? Impossible, Aragorn thought as he made his way to the tent where Gimli was presently occupying to rest and clean up after his long journey.  She loved Legolas too much to stay away when he was in such dire need.

Unless she had learnt what he had done in Axinar.

It had always been a possibility that her reaction to the news could garner this result but Aragorn had banked on her love for the elf to override even this situation. Had Aragorn been wrong and if so, what on earth would they tell Legolas when the time came to reveal to him what they had done behind his back? In any case, his speculation came to an abrupt end when he entered the half open flap of Gimli’s tent.  He knew he probably should have waited but other than hearing about the news of his return without Melia, Aragorn was genuinely eager to see his old friend from the Fellowship.

“Where is she?” Aragorn demanded when he entered and saw Gimli bent over a basin of water, splashing some of it on his face.

“I am happy to see you too,” the dwarf remarked as he straightened up and met Aragorn’s gaze.

“You know that I am,” Aragorn frowned, annoyed that Melia’s absence was the first thing out of his mouth instead of a greeting.  “I simply did not expect to see you alone.”

“I did not expect to be either,” Gimli frowned, wiping his face with a clean rag as he came towards Aragorn in the middle of the small tent. “She left me less than three days journey from here and went home.”

“Home?” Aragorn crooked a brow in confusion. “To Eden Ardhon?”

“No,” Gimli shook his head slowly, anticipating that Aragorn was not going to like the rest of his news.  “To the Sunlands.”

Of all the responses he expected to hear from Gimli, it was possible that was the answer he least wanted to hear.

“Oh Elbereth,” he swore under his breath and was grateful for the tent pole in the middle of the space for he needed to learn against it upon hearing that news.

“She saw what happened at Axinar and decided that she could not see him,” Gimli replied. “She gave me a message for him and said that it would make him decide once and for all what was more important to him.”

“What message could possibly do that?” Aragorn demanded, understandably angry. Not only had he gambled on Melia being able to salve the rage inside of Legolas, it now appeared that because she had been told of what happened in Haradwraith, she had left the elf entirely.  How could Aragorn look Legolas in the eye and explain his part in it? 

Gimli told him.

Aragorn was speechless for a moment and had to confess that the lady had a way all of her own in which she conducted herself. “She risks much in this course,” he managed to say after a lengthy pause absorbing Gimli’s words.

”I believe so but it is one way to cut to the heart of the matter,” Gimli remarked. “The question is, how will Legolas see it?”

“If he loves her as much as he says and if the crux of his anger has been what was done to her, it should be a relatively easy answer,”  Aragorn met his gaze. “However, as I have come to learn in recent weeks, not all of Legolas’ rage has to do with his wife. Some of it has to do very much with how he perceives is his due as a hero of the Fellowship.”

“Due?” Gimli snorted. “We are alive to tell the tale, that is due enough.”

“What we deserve and what we get are two different things,” Aragorn replied. “You and I both know that. We are fortunate to not have been beset by what he has so we cannot say for certain that we would not behave in the same fashion. However, Melia may find that his vengeance is more important to him than his love for her.”

“She said the same thing,” Gimli pointed out, thinking how it should have been an  obvious to her until Aragorn had voiced the same concern.

”She is no fool,” Aragorn said not at all surprise,  “I hope she knows what is doing by this action.”

“I hope so too,” the dwarf confessed with real worry in his eyes. “I would hate to see them pulled apart by this after everything that has happened.”

“As would I,” the king agreed with a deep sigh.

“So, that only leaves one other question,” Gimli spoke up and drew Aragorn’s gaze to him. “Which one of us will tell him?”

***********

The dilemma that faced Aragorn and Gimli regarding Melia was shunted aside for the moment when Legolas returned to their encampment with Faramir, Pallando and Kirin once again, although it was by no means forgotten. Fortunately, the joyful reunion of Faramir’s return to the fold distracted both the king of Gondor and the Lord of Aglarond from the unpleasant duty they would soon face when they revealed what had transpired during Melia’s journey to Haradwraith. For the time being, their personal business could wait even though ironically enough, Kirin was related to Melia by blood and the alliance that the Bors offered the Ruling Council had come about because of Legolas marriage to the lady. 

Aragorn wondered what Kirin would think if he knew that even as they spoke, Melia was on her way to home.

Such business however, was not discussed at the meeting that took place later that evening after all parties were rested. Aragorn was inordinately happy to see Faramir back from his journey into enemy territory unharmed and was rather curious that Faramir seemed reluctant to delve too deeply into his personal exploits but was freely offering his observations about life in the Sanara Belt. Faramir’s account of Mahazar and its people made Aragorn wished that they were going there under different circumstances.  During his travels, he had never penetrated so far into this territory and now regretted the opportunity to see the Haradrim cities that had their own splendour even under Sauron's oppressive hand.

Legolas, too, was happy to see Gimli returned to them although Aragorn suspected that Legolas was not entirely convinced when Gimli explained his reason for returning home was due to some vague crisis in Aglarond that required his immediate attention. Fortunately, the elf held too great a love for the dwarf to openly challenge that lie and for the time being at least was content to accept Gimli on his word. It was just as well because he would know soon enough the truth behind it all.  At the moment, they had more important tasks to occupy their thoughts.

Now that they possessed reasonably accurate intelligence as to what awaited them once they pierced the eye of the Splinter, it was time to decide their next course of action.  Aragorn had no intention of campaigning for years in Haradrim territories and wanted a swift and decisive end to this conflict. Their supply lines remained undisrupted and their progress had been brisk and it would only be a matter of days before they had breached the Wall entirely. Now that that they had received a boon in the form of Kirin’s unexpected arrival an alliance with the Bors who were willing to fight alongside them, there was no better time than now to end this war once and for all.

Aragorn knew his reason for wishing a swift end to the war were selfish. As king, he should not expect to be delivered from the same sacrifices he asked of his people in the waging of this conflict, but the truth was Aragorn was utterly sick of this war.  Of late, his thoughts were too often returning to Minas Tirith, Arwen and their son. It already felt as if he had spent and eternity away from them. He wanted a definitive peace with the peoples of the southern and eastern lands because the war that had spread across the west had marked him and his friends irrevocably on such a personal level.  Eomer and Imrahil felt suitably tarnished for their part in this war and the means by which they had fought it, not to mention what had happened to Lothiriel in Edoras. The elves had been delivered a sobering lesson that despite that long existence, they were capable of brutality as any other race. 

He himself had not been left unscathed, remembering the terrible spell that had overcome him when the Easterling's shape shifting allies had turned him against Arwen. Aragorn still felt his blood turn cold and his stomach heaving with disgust when he remembered waking up from that terrible cloud of evil and having to face what he had had done to Eowyn during their battle. The lady had held her own in their bout but she could not match him for skill and had paid the price for it.  Inwardly, he knew that if given the opportunity, there was every possibility he could have killed Eowyn that day.

And then there was Legolas and Melia.

Both of whom had been wounded so badly whose rage at what had happened to them had swept them away in a tidal of emotion and there was no end in sight, not might there ever be even if the war ended tomorrow. As it was, Aragorn was not looking forward to telling Legolas that by their action of sending for Melia, they had brought her into the heart of his darkness in Haradwraith and forced her to take measures the elf would not take kindly to when he realised what they had done. Melia was playing an uncertain game, gambling that Legolas loved her more than he wanted his vengeance. When Aragorn told Legolas about Melia, that question would be answered irrevocably though not to the conclusion that any of the parties may find acceptable or satisfactory.

It was not just the elf and the lady who had been so injured. There were wounds upon all whom Aragorn called his friends, not merely ones that could be seen with the eye. It would take them all a long time to recover from this war because they had all been marked by as if branded by hot iron. Aragorn knew that he was unrealistic about things returning to the way they were before this had all began but he could not help thinking more and more of that last gathering, when they had all dined and shared stories, the night before the delegation from the Easterling Confederacy had arrived in Minas Tirith and changed everygthng with their hate.

He thought about how happy they had been that night, completely unaware that the world was about to deal them a rather unsettling hand. They had looked upon the coming day of hope, a day to herald a new era of peace not seen since Sauron was vanquished. The irony of where he was now left a bitter taste in his mouth and it was during these moments that Aragorn could almost share Legolas' desire for vengeance because it was a terrible thing to have such faith trampled into the dirt.  There were moments when Aragorn wanted the head of the Haradrim leader as much as Legolas for reasons such as personal as Melia's violation and the destruction at Eden Ardhon.

The meeting took place after Faramir, Pallando and their new guest, Kirin, had been given time to rest and freshen themselves after the long journey to the Wall.  The ruling Council of Middle earth, Pallando and their new Easterling ally converged in Aragorn's large tent and sat at the table to discuss their war plans and the part the Bors would play in the conquest of the Sanara Belt. The mood was one of anticipation because the familiar dynamic of the war council had been displaced somewhat at the presence of their new ally who unlike them who were all friends, was a stranger.

Kirin seemed uncomfortable by the concept of chairs and sat down gingerly as if he did not trust them as much as he did the padded cushions and mats that were customary for his people. Observing him, Aragorn could see some traces of Melia upon his face. He wondered how some one so young could have risen to the position Kirin now held among his people and then remembered that it was not uncommon since Eomer was a relatively young man and yet he was the undisputed and beloved ruler of Rohan.

"Those of you who have not met our esteemed guest, this is Kirin, High Chieftain of the Tribe Bors and its territories," Aragorn announced up as he open the meeting after everyone had taken their places and were looking to him to begin their talks.  There was a fire warming the confines of the tent and its flames bathed the room in an ambient glow as all the attendants faced each other.  

Eomer and Imrahil offered the Easterling a nod of acknowledgement while Faramir gave Kirin a look of encouragement.  Aragorn was often amazed by Faramir’s skill as a diplomat and supposed that it was a family trait he probably acquired from Finduilas’ side of the family, since Imrahil no different and was similarly thoughtful in nature. It was Boromir who took after Denethor.

“Thanks to a fortuitous meeting between our comrades and Lord Kirin in the Haradrim capital of Mahazar, we have learnt that our enemy has a name. It was Dallanar, king of the Haradrim who convinced the Easterlings to war against us and Dallanar who orchestrated most of the attacks upon our lands in recent months. While the fervour he engendered in his people to attack is much abated, it appears that Dallanar is marshalling his forces and that of his allies for one final stand against us.”

“Do they plan to attack us upon our emergence through the Splinter?” Eomer inquired.

“No,” Kirin answered before Aragorn could. “They do not. They have not the resources to fight a battle for so many troops in the Barrens, it must be done as close to the Belt as possible in order to take advantage of the crops and water supply there.”

“They mean to take it into the towns and cities?” Imrahil said with some measure of shock.  They were all aware of how vulnerable they were to an attack in the Splinter and were certain that the enemy would know of it as well. To think that Dallanar intended to simply disregard this opportunity when they were so exposed was somewhat surprising.

“As far as I know,” Kirin nodded. “However, my people are moving fast. I estimate they will arrive at the eastern flank of Mahazar by the time your army reaches the belt.”

"We should throw everything we can at them," Imrahil suggested, "draw their attention away from the advancing army of the Bors so that by the time they are aware of it, it will be too late."

"That is a reasonable plan," Aragorn replied. "However, we should not allow them to choose our battlefield for us."

"We need uneven terrain," Legolas added. "The mumakils will come straight through us if we face them on a flat plain."

"I am afraid that Legolas is correct," Kirin added his voice to the discussion, "there are many war oliphants in their possession and should they draw you into the open, they will charge. I believe King Elessar is correct, we should engage them in less advantageous place."

"There are some hills just before the Sanara belt," Faramir remarked, giving Kirin's suggestion some thought. "Pallando and I encountered them whilst we were journeying eastward with a caravan of merchants.  The terrain is very uneven, I believed it could have been a mountain that has been worn away by time.  There are numerous passages in and out of it cut by the Sanara's flow. It could be useful to us to draw the enemy into this place. It is a perfect place for a trap.”

"Conduct our battle there and then circle them in steel once they have lost their advantage with the mumakils," Eomer concluded, finding much merit in Faramir's plan.

"I believe the place you speak of is called Anumet," Kirin replied, recognising it by Faramir's description. "That would be a good place to engage the enemy."

"But how shall we draw them into meeting us there?" Gimli asked, bringing up this rather pertinent question.

There was silence across the table for a few seconds as they debated the question before Legolas spoke up, his eyes bright with excitement at having reached a solution of sorts. "Kirin, how long would you think Dallanar believes us away from the Belt?"

Kirin met the elf's gaze, his brow furrowing, "I believe he thinks you are at least several weeks away."

"That is what I thought," Legolas nodded and turned back to Aragorn. "Aragorn what if we allowed word to reach the enemy that we will be entering the Belt through Anumet?  If it is advantages for us to attack them there, it may also be said that their armies can engage us in similar potency if they believed they had the element of surprise."

"Go on," Aragorn stared at the elf, wondering where he was going with this line of thought even though Aragorn's own mind was starting to fill with possibilities.

"If Dallanar is sensible, he will attempt to engage us in a trap at Anumet by lying in wait for us when  we arrive there. However, if we could hasten our pace considerably, arrive there days before he and his army believes us capable…"

"We would be the ones setting the trap," Aragorn concluded neatly and saw the ripple of consideration moving across the faces of those assembled, particularly because the plan had merit.  If the enemy could be manoeuvred into fighting on their terms, than the victory that they needed to give Kirin's army the opportunity to take Mahazar was more than possible.

"How will we get this information to Dallanar?" Gimli asked, voicing a pertinent concern.

"I can do that," Pallando stated. "However, this time I should prefer to go alone. No offence to Lord Faramir but it is easier for me to do what I must without having to concern myself with the welfare of another or threading lightly."

"And here I thought you were enjoying my company," Faramir joked mildly.

"Then you shall have your wish," Aragorn interrupted the banter between the two,  "I will have need of Lord Faramir here if we are to engage the enemy in combat."

"I would suggest that the cavalry ride first," Eomer offered sensibly. "Our riders will be able to reach Anumet far swifter than the rankers and we can take up position and survey the terrain in the instance there are any forces there that could be a threat to us.”

"I can show him the way," Pallando offered. "It is on the road to Mahazar and will not take me too far off my course."

"Very well," Aragorn agreed, somewhat gratified by how swiftly the details were coming along now that they had a definite plan of attack.

"Haldir can lead the elven cavalry under your command Eomer," Legolas declared, making eye contact with the Rohirrim king. Eomer was somewhat taken back by the offer as he would have assumed that Legolas would want to be the first into Anumet  for such a decisive engagement with the enemy.

"I would be honoured," Eomer said graciously, his surprise still apparent. "I would have thought you would wish to lead them yourself."

"Haldir is capable and I should be with the rest of our forces," Legolas answered, aware that Eomer had cause for scepticism, particularly since his behaviour at Haradwraith was nothing Legolas was overly proud of.  In recent weeks, since Nunaur's death, Legolas had thought deeply of his rage and knew that he had strained friendships on all sides with his behaviour. This concession he was making was not only for the best but also to show the others that he was changed by what had happened at Cordoba. "There will be plenty of sport for all once we engage Dallanar and his army."

A silence fell over the table for a brief moment, revealing to Kirin that there was some tension among the allies that he was not privy to  The High Chieftain of the Bors made no comment upon this however because it was not his place. 

Wishing to propel them past the silence, Aragorn spoke up, directing his words at their new ally. "Lord Kirin, once we have made the necessary preparations, you should return to your army and tell them what is intended. If fortune favours us, when you take Mahazar, the armies of the west will be there to join you."

*************

When the meeting was ended and the others had departed from the room, only Gimli had lingered behind with Aragorn. Legolas was about to take his leave to inform Haldir of their discussions this evening when he sensed that there was something on Estel's mind that the king of Gondor was reluctant to say.  He had noticed it during most of the meeting with the War Council by the furtive glances by both Aragorn and Gimli aimed in his direction. Something unsettled him in the pit of his stomach though he could not say what exactly might be the cause and certainly, the reason that Aragorn and Gimli had yet to say preyed heavily upon their minds as well. He could see it in their eyes.

Thus he was hardly surprised when he heard Aragorn bidding him to stay and hoped his two best friends would finally reveal to him what was troubling them so. If it was his behaviour, he knew he had a great deal to make amends for. After all, he had put Gimli and Aragorn through a great deal of torment by his actions and could stand to endure some berating if this was indeed what they wished to see him about.

"You look nervous Estel," Legolas said as his eyes shifted between Aragorn and Gimli who had come to the decision that they would tell him about Melia together, since it was both their decision, even if the idea was originally originated from Haldir.

"I have something to tell you," Aragorn swallowed thickly, not looking forward to this at all.

"We have something to tell you," Gimli added quickly in a show of solidarity with the Gondorian king.

Suddenly Legolas felt something cold snake up his spine and it felt as if the room had suddenly become darker for there were more shadows visible to his eyes, shadows that seemed to loom over his friends.

"What is it?" He asked quietly, wondering if Gimli had brought some terrible news from the west. Was Melia hurt?

"You must understand that you worried us greatly with your behaviour," Aragorn spoke because he was better to articulate what they had done than Gimli even though he was realistic that there would be no softening the delivery of this news.  "We feared that you would consume yourself in blind vengeance."

"And?" Legolas demanded, having heard this before. They were on the precipice of something dark, he knew it.

"We thought that perhaps if we sent for Melia she would be able to help you through your difficulties," Gimli replied. "That is why I returned to the west, to retrieve Melia."

Legolas took this rather calmly despite the surge of white hot rage bubbling inside of him. That his friends had gone behind his back and involved the woman that he loved in this ugliness in Haradwraith had not even begin to exert his full power over his psyche. What did concern him was the fact that if Gimli had returned to Minas Tirith for Melia, then why was she not here?

"What have you done?" He asked slowly but the question was unmistakably an accusation.

"She has gone Legolas," Aragorn said after a long pause.

"Gone?" Legolas' heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment. "Gone where?"

"To the Sunlands," Gimli replied. "When she saw what happened in Axinar, she decided she would go home to her people."

"She has left me?" Legolas asked, unable to even imagine this could be true.

"No," Aragorn shook his head, "she still loves you and she does not wish things to end between you both but after seeing what you were driven to do in Axinar because of your love for her, she was determined to halt your self destructive course once and for all."

"And she did this by leaving me," Legolas said sharply, revisited by the memory of Melia's flight after the death of her mother.  She had left him in the Grey Mountains without so much as a word and fled to Angmar.  It was months before he saw her again, months where he was almost broken with grief at her absence from his life.

"She did not leave you," Gimli said quickly, wishing this point to be clarified above all else. Gimli too remembered those days when Melia had left Legolas and how the elf had suffered his anguish stoically. "She says that if you love her, you will leave the conflict now and find her in the Sunlands."

"So to prove my love to her, yet again, I must leave the army that I have been given command of by my father and by your kinsmen Lord Celeborn and simply ride after her in the Sunlands?" Legolas asked, growing angrier by the moment.

"Legolas, she was trying to help…" Aragorn insisted, seeing the fury in the elf's eyes and knew that it was blinding Legolas to his love for the lady.

"I have had quite enough of everyone attempting to help me," Legolas barked, glaring at both Aragorn and Gimli with eyes like daggers as he spat out those words. "I would thank you to keep your nose out of my affairs, lest there is some other part of my life you should like to dismantle."

"Legolas, you cannot simply leave it like this,” Gimli declared, seeing that Legolas was preparing to leave the room. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Then she can wait until I am finished in Mahazar,” Legolas said icily. “I have proven that I love her more than necessary and if she chooses to run as she always does when things become more than she can bear, I will not stop her but I am the commander of the elven army and I cannot simply abandon my people because my wife needs another reaffirmation of my love for her.”

“Legolas you know that is not true, she merely wishes to save you from yourself,” Aragorn pleaded. “You cannot let her go.”

“I did not let her go,” Legolas stared at him. “She went of her own accord with no small measure of help from you two, do not think I have forgotten that.”

And with that, he stormed out of the tent, leaving them both behind in stunned silence.

“He is a fool,” Gimli managed to say after what seemed like hours instead of minutes later. “He would let her go? I thought he loved her! I thought elves loved only once.”

“He does love her,” Aragorn sighed loudly, “but he wants to kill Dallanar more.”

Part Nine:
Anumet  

In all truth, Legolas was not as mercurial as he had appeared before his companions when he strode out of the tent following the news that Melia had returned to the Sunlands. He was indeed furious at her, furious that she would attempt to coerce him into leaving the war by such a demand.  However, he also had to remember that she would have been confronted by the full measure of what he had done in Axinar and that dulled his rage somewhat.  Even Legolas could not deny that he had caused considerable bloodshed in Axinar to say nothing of that child he had killed. How would Melia had reacted knowing that it was for her that he had embarked upon such a trail of carnage? While he did not forgive her for her departure to the Sunlands, he wondered how else would she be in the face of knowing that she was capable of driving him to such extremes?

Legolas knew it was not the matter of the journey to the Sunlands that was so important to Melia but rather the choice to discard his need for vengeance, to let the hatred go and accept that life went on despite its ugliness. As Aragorn had said to him once, life was unfair and hard, with no concessions made to those who lived it. All one could do was take each day and live it to the fullest. Melia wanted him to let go of his hate and even though Legolas knew that this was sound advice, he also railed against how she was willing to force this choice upon him. It should be his choice whether or not he gave up his vengeance, not an act to appease a wife horrified by what he had done in her honor.

However, the more he thought about it, the more he began to see that this was not some vast conspiracy by his friends and his wife to rob him of his due. They were trying to help, each in their own way.  Aragorn had endured much since arriving in Haradwraith and was faced with his actions in those unfortunate Haradrim villages. Even Legolas could not deny that the stain of blood on his hands would ever be washed away and he had spilled much of it. He remembered that child, that nameless boy who would forever live in his thoughts as a testament of what blind hatred could do and flinched at the sad, wonder of pain on his face before death took him. Legolas had known since then he had crossed a line and it was a line he had continued over repeatedly, driving a wedge between himself and Aragorn who tried desperately to hold the army together in the wake of his behaviour.

Gimli had ridden all the way to Minas Tirith, alone to bring Melia back in order to help him. Despite his anger at what was done behind his back, Legolas could not help but be moved by the affection shown by the dwarf in his efforts to help him. Even if it was ultimately the worst thing he could have done, Legolas knew that Gimli had done it for the very best of reasons.  The grief he saw in Gimli’s eyes at Melia’s ultimatum had been real and not because that she had left but because he had been in some part responsible for it. After a night in his tent, ruminating on everything, Legolas’ rage had calmed somewhat although he still was undecided at what to do.

It was true that he could not leave his army when he was the commander of the elves but then he knew that were he gone, the elves would have little difficulty following Haldir under Aragorn’s leadership.  His leaving was inappropriate but not impossible. Melia’s journey to the Sunlands would take many weeks and in that time, he could be at Mahazar already, making good his promise to Dallanar that Legolas would burn his city down around his ears. While he no longer wished to kill innocents in the destruction of Mahazar, he still wanted to kill Dallanar. That need burned inside of him with greater intensity that all the power of the Valar and Eru himself. The thought of letting the man live after what he had done was so unacceptable that Legolas could barely stomach it and knew that the reason for his outrage at Melia’s actions stemmed largely from this.

He had accused of her leaving him and perhaps to some extent, he was right. She did have a tendency to flee when it became difficult of her to cope. However, they had been married for almost a year and in that time he had come to know that she loved him, she loved without hesitation or doubt. He knew what she had braced herself for by becoming his wife and pretended not to notice when she took specific note of lines appearing on her face, of the beginnings of decay that would see her an old woman in time while he remained young as always.  By marrying him, she had forgone the possibility of ever growing old with the love of her life, of knowing that in the afterlife they would meet again.  She had accepted the inevitable pain and the tragedy of their future because she loved him and the woman willing to sacrifice as much as they both had for this great love of theirs, would not have left him to punish him.

She was trying to save him.

She wanted to him to let go of his hate because he was not one who was accustomed to feeling such loathing without it changing him irrevocably. Humans did not have an eternity to live with their mistakes, elves did and Melia was mindful of this, Legolas was certain.  She did not wish him to become twisted with vengeance but no matter how much Legolas wanted to go to her or to send word to her that he would soon be on his way, he could not. He could not bring himself to lie to her that he intended to leave Dallanar to the others, not after what the man had done to him. His vengeance was like a powerful drug, clenching his innards while it was not satisfied, making him wild with an intense rage over which he had only recently began to exert some control.

Eru help him, he could not let Dallanar get away with what he had done.

He spent the night ruminating about everything that had happened to him and knew that this last hurdle he could not cross, no matter how much it may cost him. When Dallanar was dead he would ride to the Sunlands and bring her home, he would explain to her why he had done what he had and she would understand because she loved him.  When he explained it to her face to face, she would see that it was necessary. Melia loved him too much too stay angry for very long and this advantage he would use to convince her that her place was at his side and that from Dallanar’s death, they would survive the chaos the man had plunged their lives.  Eden Ardhon would be rebuilt and all of this ugliness would be forgotten. As soon as the fighting was done, nothing could keep him away from going to her.

But not until then.

************

“Estelle,” Legolas found Aragorn outside his tent at first light.  The Gondorian king never slept late and was often the first in his entire army on his feet at dawn. Legolas guessed it was a habit formed during his years as a woodsmen and Ranger.  As was his habit in the morning, Aragorn was enjoying the small fire outside his tent, sitting on a small stool while he watched the sunrise with a cup of warm cider.

“Legolas,” Aragorn rose to his feet at the sight of the elf, uncertain what to expect after their exchange the night before.  That he called him Estel instead of Aragorn bode well for this encounter.

“Where is Gimli?” Legolas asked quietly, aware of Aragorn’s trepidation and not blaming him for such after the night before.

“He is still sleeping I think,” Aragorn answered. “The journey was long and dwarves are not meant for such great distance.”

“He continues to surprise me with his resilience,” Legolas remarked and then fell silent for an instant as he gathered his thoughts to speak.

“Estel I am sorry for my conduct last evening,” the elf said after an awkward pause. “I should not have taken out my anger for Melia’s decision upon you.  You did what you thought was best for me and I cannot berate you for that, not when I certainly earned an intervention due to my recent behaviour.”

Aragorn did not show Legolas his intense relief but felt it nonetheless. “We did not mean to interfere, either of us but we were afraid for you.  We were afraid that you would become lost in your hatred and I could think of nothing else at the time to make you see that.”

Legolas nodded in understanding. “I know,” he reached for Aragorn’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You would not be the friend you are if you did not. I just wished it did not end up as it did.”

“Legolas,” Aragorn met his gaze. “You surely do not intend to let her go?”

“No I do not,” Legolas said firmly. “But I cannot leave Estel, I simply cannot. If I were to go now, I would hate her for forcing into making such a choice and I do not wish to hate her. She is right, in my heart, I know she is right. I need to walk away but I cannot, it twists me up inside simply thinking about it. For everything Dallanar has done, he must pay.”

“That choice is yours,” Aragorn replied, deciding that he was done telling the elf what to do. Legolas’ final journey towards his restoration would be a road he had to take alone. “I simply do not wish to see you both end in tragedy.”

“We were always bound for tragedy Estel,” Legolas said with a faded smile, “it is an inevitability I have become accustomed to.  When we are done at Anumet and Mahazar, I will go to the Sunlands and I will explain to her that my remaining to fight was for the best.”

“I understand,” Aragorn replied although he did not necessarily think that Legolas was making the correct decision.

*************

Once the decision was made to force a confrontation with the Easterling Confederacy was made, things began to move at a heady pace. The morning after the war council had met and the plans formulated, the army paused for a day to make preparations. The Rohirrim and elven cavalry were given their orders to proceed to Anumet first, to ensure the safety of the western army when they arrived to spring their trap upon the enemy. As anticipated, Eomer insisted on leading the cavalry to Amunet despite the fact that he was still recovering from the injuries sustained at Cordoba. However, short of gagging and binding him in rope, Aragorn knew that there would be no convincing the horse lord to allow someone else to lead in his stead.  Nevertheless, Aragorn whispered discreetly in Haldir’s ear to keep an eye on Rohirrim king nonetheless. Knowing Eomer’s stubbornness to accede to his limitation of his strength, it was a necessary precaution.

Legolas maintained his decision that Haldir should ride with Eomer to Anumet even though he fought inwardly to resist the urge to take charge of the elven contingent himself.  He could not deny that he wanted to be the first to meet Dallanar in battle but once again, reminded himself that the war needed to be won before he could exact his vengeance on the Haradrim king who had so disrupted his life of late. Besides, it had been his plan to draw the enemy to Anumet and he should be with Aragorn when that trap was finally sprung.  Besides, with Gimli back among them, it felt inappropriate that the trinity that consisted of himself, the dwarf and Aragorn should be broken when they were about to face battle. His conditioning as one of the Nine Walkers was held in too much reverence for Legolas to even think about leaving them when it was time to fight what could possibly be the most decisive conflict in what was being called by the western army as the Desert Campaigns.

The army lingered a little more than a day as their numbers were broken up with the departure of the cavalry.  A few horse drawn wagons and dromas remained but the bulk of the riders had left to begin their journey to Anumet. 

Now that Kirin had established the alliance he had travelled from the Sunlands to forge with the western kingdoms, the High Chieftain departed with Pallando and the cavalry in order to join his own army. He had news of the attack to bring to them, not to mention their considerable part in the taking of Mahazar once the army of the west had ensured there would be no one to stop them.  Kirin also advised that it was best that the western army slept by day and travelled by night. For the pace needed to reach Anumet swiftly, every advantage was a necessity.  Aragorn was especially grateful when Kirin showed them how to make lanos, a substance the natives used to keep infant’s skins from burning under the harsh sunlight. It seemed to apply just as well to those with fair skin.

It was sound advice considering they would have to double their pace to reach Anumet before Pallando arrived in Mahazar and began planting the seeds of disinformation that would send the Easterling Confederacy hurrying towards the Anumet hills to spring their trap.  The army resumed movement the next evening, marching a good deal of the time at double pace which was no easy thing to do considering that their packs were heavy and despite the coolness of the night, the twilight did not save them from the scouring winds and the constant assault by sand. The pace was back breaking and Aragorn hoped that he was driving his men too hard to reach an impossible goal. However, each night after taking a scant number of hours to rest, they were on their feet again, ready to march.

Very soon, they had left the Wall behind them and the desert began to thin from seemingly unending dunes of sand to harder, coarser terrain of sedentary rocks, with sparse vegetation covering the landscape, comprising of flora that did not possess many leaves and thick stems for water storage.  They discovered new creatures as well, not as absurd as the dromas but odd nonetheless, some even dangerous.  A few of the men who had waded into the water without caution had learnt the hard way of the great lizards that dwelt there. The creatures possessed an elongated head with a snout that protruded outward like an extended finger, its long mouth filled with razor sharp serrated teeth, with tough leather hides that were impervious to small knives and required long daggers or broadswords to penetrate. Their ability to appear on the surface of the water as an unsuspecting log  had caused a number of men their lives in a spectacle of blood and screaming.

Despite the losses, the advance into the enemy territory continued at a relentless pace. Following Kirin’s advice to travel by night had the added boon of ensuring that their presence went largely unnoticed. Naturally there were patrols to ensure that they were not discovered by any of the natives since the frequency of small villages on this side of the Wall grew in number the nearer they approached the Belt.  Those unfortunate enough to make the discovery were taken prisoner for the western army could not risk their plans being thwarted by their revelation of their present whereabouts to those who might have reason to care.

Meanwhile Aragorn noticed Legolas’ thoughts drifting far more frequently away from battle as his gaze rested towards the east. The king of Gondor knew that the elf was missing his lady dearly and wished to go to her but his need to kill Dallanar held him in place. Aragorn could not deny that Legolas had sufficient justification in his revenge against the king of the Haradrim but Aragorn could not help but wish that Legolas would just go to the Sunlands as Melia asked.  When Legolas had killed the child in Axinar, it had been an accident. The grief he showed at the death he had caused was profound and Aragorn believed that if he had it to do over again, Legolas would have acted differently. However, killing Dallanar would not be an accident and considering that an elf fully enraged would unfair advantage over a human, his actions could be considered tantamount to murder.

Still Aragorn understood Legolas’ reasons for remaining other than the fact that he wanted vengeance. Aragorn could not more leave his men if Arwen had summoned him home than Legolas could. It was his will that had brought the elven army to Haradwraith. True, that will was propelled by anger and hatred but his leadership was undeniable. Becoming king or the commander of an army meant sacrifices and Melia had forced an unfair demand upon Legolas in her effort to save him.  At first Aragorn had not thought deeply about this, wishing only to see his friend and his lady reconciled but upon reflection, understood the elf’s feelings on this matter. He only hoped that Legolas choosing his responsibilities over his wife would not cost him too dearly.

Meanwhile the cavalry under the leadership of Eomer and Haldir arrived in Anumet in good time. The hills were nowhere as intimidating as the wall but Eomer could understand what Faramir meant when he called the terrain untenable. Horses would have little difficulty making their way through the meandering trails of the steep hills but  oliphants were another thing entirely.  The weight of these beasts upon hillsides possessing soil that crumbled easily under weight was nothing short of perilous and any commander attempting to bring oliphants into Anumet should be killed as a lesson to others, in Eomer’s opinions. Fortunately, this great disadvantage solidified Faramir and Legolas’ plan of luring the enemy into a trap by making Anumet the battlefield for their coming confrontation.

Upon their approach to Anumet, they were assailed by a great sandstorm which should have been reason enough for them to take shelter. However, Anumet was surrounded by a number of small villages and Eomer decided that the opportunity to slip into these hills without notice during this time was too good to miss.  The journey through the sandstorm was no easy feat however and they remained connected to each other in some instances because of rope, so that none would be lost in the desert. Pallando was able to lead them through the lashing winds to the hills which offered some measure of shelter which they sorely needed after their ordeal through the blizzard of sand.

There were some small caves in the hills which proved to be of good use while they sat out the sand storm and many of them were suffering minor ailments from the combination of heat and abrasion from the tiny grains of sand that had assailed them during the storm.  The storm lasted over two days where the cavalry were forced to utilise as much shelter as these caves could provide. However, a good number of them were still forced to remain in the open since the caves could not house them all. Pallando however was determined to begin his journey to Mahazar and nothing Eomer could say was able to prevent the Istar from leaving the safety of the caves to begin his journey. Haldir however, was not as concerned because he had more experience with wizards than the Rohirrim lord.

Once the weather had settled once more, the Rohirrim emerged from their hiding place and found the landscape scoured with sand but relatively unchanged.  Scouts sent on patrol were soon able to return with assurances that their gamble of entering Anumet during the sandstorm had proven fortuitous since the surrounding villages showed no indication of being aware of their presence. Setting up sentry positions across the hills, the cavalry lay in wait like a spider in the shadows of its web waiting for the arrival of their comrades or the enemy, whichever came first.

Eomer found Haldir’s abrasive manner much like his own in that they both said what was on each other’s mind without needing to soften their words with diplomacy. While Legolas, at least the Legolas Eomer had known before this war, was more guarded in his statements, Haldir had little difficulty expressing himself no matter what the subject. There were more than a few occasions when the ire of the Rohirrim were raised by Haldir’s blunt comments. However, in return, Eomer was no expert in subtlety or diplomacy and had made similar faux pas in dealing with the elves.  Both men developed a good rapport over time and soon began to form a friendship Eomer was confident would stand the test of time.

As the time drew closer for the approach of the western army, Eomer sent out more patrols and his Rohirrim scouts soon discovered that the enemy was converging at the small border town of Wynath that sat on the edge of Sanara Belt. The Easterlings, Haradrim and the Variags were massing in great numbers and Eomer was finally given proof that Pallando’s bid to plant information was correct because it appeared that the enemy were preparing for an offensive.   The wizard himself returned not long after this discovery was made revealing that there was little reason to travel to Mahazar when the enemy was already on the move. 

Pallando’s news not only proved the success of his mission but also revealed the desperate plight of the Haradrim who had been forced to empty out all its garrisons and enlist all its reserve troops to join the battle alongside the Easterlings and the Variags. Mahazar was now empty of all troops save a hundred or so who would keep the peace during this time.  A state of a martial law had been imposed on the city and very few were allowed to leave its confines or venture out after the dark. In truth, these restrictions only serve to aid the cause of the Bors who were approaching from the Belt’s eastern flank.

Not long after Pallando’s return from the Belt, the western army arrived at Anumet under the cover of darkness.  Their arrival in the hills beyond the Sanara Belt coincided with the departure of the Easterling Confederacy from Wynath. Dallanar, having received the planted information that the western armies was making their way to the Belt by way of Anumet, convinced his allies that the hills would be a perfect place for an ambush.  Believing the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar to have just emerged from the wall, the enemy made its way to Anumet with no idea that of the trap that awaited them in turn.

***********

“Tomorrow, this will end for us one way or another,” Aragorn stated as he and the other leaders of the Ruling council sat around the campfire.

Bright glitters of hot embers drifted away into the night air, carried away on the dry, raspy wind. The fire cackled robustly in the centre of their circle, its casting shadows across all their faces as the mood settled into one of contemplation.  The Easterling Confederacy was a day away and they would approach the hills by the noon tomorrow. Scouts were already waiting for their eminent arrival to deal with any scouting parties that Dallanar may send to ensure the hills were safe for their continued advance.

“I for one will be pleased,” Faramir replied, “we have been in this land almost seven months. Eowyn’s time cannot be far away. I shall miss not being present for the birth of my son.”

“A son?” Imrahil met his nephew’s gaze with a smile.

“Eowyn says so,” Faramir said confidently, “and I have learnt never to distrust her word.”

“Eldarion will almost be more than year old by now,” Aragorn mused, the image of the child chortling at the antics of the puppy Aragorn was forced to buy him filling his mind with such need that Aragorn could feel his chest ache from longing. It was almost as powerful as the need to see Arwen.   “He was starting to make sounds when I left. I am certain he will be able to say words now.”

“I would like to spend more than one night with my wife,” Eomer remarked producing a little smile on Imrahil’s face. “She should not be alone so soon after becoming queen of Edoras.”

“My daughter is capable,” Imrahil said softly, trying to allay Eomer’s until now, unspoken concerns. “She will manage.”

“I do not doubt that,” Eomer replied, “but I wish I was there with her nonetheless.”

“We all have loved ones awaiting us,” Aragorn sighed, “perhaps if we win the day tomorrow, we will not have to leave them again for a good while.  This war has taken its toll upon all of us and I think that I will be glad for a chance to end it finally. I think on some level even the enemy will be happy to see this end, though not in the way that they anticipate.”

“I do not think this land can take much more war,” Gimli added. “They were starving when they came to Minas Tirith. It is worse now.”

“It is indeed,” Faramir confirmed with a grim nod. “When Pallando and I travelled to the belt, we saw the hardship that is running rife through this country. They need food and they need to be able to focus on the business of growing crops instead of raising armies. What they need is a leader who is more concerned about his people’s welfare than any lasting enmity between themselves and the western lands.”

“That will not be easy to find,” Legolas interjected. “They have been bred with a natural hostility towards the western lands thanks to Sauron. Centuries of conditioning will be difficult to break.”

“We must find men like Castigliari,” Aragorn commented.

“Which will be difficult considering how Dallanar rewarded the general’s actions upon his return from Minas Tirith,” Legolas countered, feeling a measure of sorrow for the noble warrior who had chosen to do what was right above his loyalty to his corrupt king.

“We must try nevertheless,” Imrahil insisted. “We must place in power someone who understand the needs of his people and who will ensure that they do not war against us again.”

“The only way to do that is to leave a garrison behind,” Aragorn stated.

All eyes turned to Aragorn, “you mean to make Haradwraith a province?” Faramir asked.

“For the moment, there is no alternative,” Aragorn replied. “I have spoken to Kirin about this prior to his departure. He agrees that Haradwraith must be controlled and that we must maintain a presence within this country.”

“You mean to keep some of our people here?” Faramir looked at Aragorn.

“I do not think it will be as unwelcomed as some might think,” Imrahil remarked. “I have spoken to some of our soldiers and a good number of them are intrigued about what lies in this part of the world. I think given the opportunity, they would not find it so odious to be stationed here for a time.”

“You may have some volunteers from the Rohirrim as well,” Eomer added his own voice to the discussion.

“I think we are being premature,” Legolas reminded them, “we should at least try to defeat the enemy first before we attempt to carve up their territory.”

“Very true,” Aragorn agreed with a little laugh that was shared by the others. “We should get some rest,” he said rising to his feets and saw that his comrades were similarly disposed to disbanding for the night, “we have a long day ahead.”

And an even longer night, he added silently.

****************

 
Dawn came with far greater swiftness than anyone anticipated and as the camp broke up with the division of their forces, more patrols scoured the hills in stealthy vigil.  As of yet, there was no sign of the enemy but there was no doubt that Dallanar and the Easterling Confederacy would make their appearance soon enough. Aware that anticipation could be a dangerous distraction, Aragorn and his comrades kept the attention of their army focussed upon their duties and the coming battle.

Anumet was a collection of hills surrounded by ravines and gullies carved out by the water flow of the Sanara River in better days. Most likely Dallanar would be expecting the western army to enter Anumet by the way of these passageways and would sensibly take up position in the hills above when he launched his ambush attack. Unfortunately, the Haradrim king would have to lead his own army through those very same passages in order to reach the lofty heights required for his attack and it was during this moment of vulnerability that the western army would spring its trap. 

Archers had taken up position above the ravine, their bows armed for the impending assault. These were mostly comprised of the elves, in particular those from Eryn Lasgalen whose reputations as bowmen had no peer anywhere else in Middle Earth. Legolas and Faramir would lead the archers in the initial barrage while Aragorn and Gimli would lead the rankers in the gullies and ravines after the archers had done their worst. Imrahil would direct the cavalry while Eomer and Haldir embarked upon their own mission to subdue the oliphants that would be awaiting them when they emerged from Anumet.

By mid afternoon, the approaching army was seen in the distance and the western army took up their places, waiting in their appointed hiding places for the inevitable arrival of scouting parties. It was not easy thing to hide an army six thousand strong but they managed to remain concealed thanks to Pallando’s magic who ensured the enemy saw nothing they could report back to Dallanar as being suspicious.  By the time the sun had set in the horizon, they could hear the approach of the army marching from the east.  Tremors were felt in the ground giving away their advance as footsteps marched purposefully into Anumet.

Dusk seemed to keep pace with the sequencing of their ambush and the enemy moved into position, unaware of the invisible web in which they had become entangled.  Shadows loomed as the sun sunk into the horizon and the air became charged with anticipation. The Confederacy sensed none of this.  The mixture of stealth, cunning and magic ensured they remained oblivious to the danger awaiting them. Meanwhile, a portion of the western army, led by Gimli, approached the enemy from the rear, ensuring that when the trap was sprung there would be no escape.  Every connecting passageway was filled with soldiers, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Archers lined the walls of the ravine unseen, watching the advance in the midst of the looming shadows and as the day began to dwindle into night, the sands in the hourglass of their attack continued to drain.

***********

 
The significance of this battle was not lost upon Legolas Greenleaf.

As he stood beyond the sight of the enemy, at the top of the ravine wall through which they were presently passing, Legolas knew that this was probably the most important engagement of the war. If they defeated the enemy here, all the battles after this would be merely obligatory until they reached Mahazar as conquerors. He lifted his gaze and saw the other elven archers running a line across the wall, their bows armed and ready to shoot.  There was no excitement among them, no thrill of victory but rather a grateful anticipation that this bloody conflict was at last drawing to an end. He supposed this too was his guilt to bear.

After all, the manner in which he had led them in this war had sullied any notions of honour or glory for them. As enraged as they had been at what had happened at Eden Ardhon, even the youngest of them knew they had crossed the line in Axinar and had turned from the injured victims in this conflict to the brutal aggressors.  Legolas knew that when the last elf crossed over the sea to Valinor, they would do so with the stain of Haradwraith upon their conscience.

He shook such thoughts out of his head because they would avail him nothing at this point.  Staring across the chasm that separated the walls of the ravine, he saw with his keen elven eyes that Faramir was also poised and ready for attack. The human archers were assembled in much the same way as the elves, though Faramir was counting on his signal to attack because the elves were able to see hear better than they could and would be able to tell when was the best time to launch their assault. It would be the archers that who would draw first blood and prompt the rest of the western army into attack. They would begin the initial assault to send the enemy into disarray.

The enemy was directly beneath them in all their numbers and there never be a better time than now to begin their assault.

Cupping his hand over his mouth, Legolas gave the signal in the imitation of a bird’s gentle cooing. The sound was clear enough to reach Faramir on the other side of the ravine and vague enough to blend into the natural sounds of the evening. Indeed, the enemy below did not notice anything amiss in the soft trilling noise that sounded decidedly bird like and continued on their way.  However, its effect  upon those who did recognise what it signalled, was profound indeed. Faramir’s archers moved closer to the edge, using stealthy steps as their primed bows were aimed into the ravine. Legolas approached the edge with his own bow, given to him by Galadriel during the quest, joined immediately by the rest of his men as they cast their gaze into the ravine and aimed their arrows at the enemy.

“Si!”  Legolas shouted.

The word swept through the ranks archers and gave the enemy below little more than a second to react before the barrage of arrows were unleashed upon them.  From the other side of the ravine, a similar release was made and suddenly the air within the ravine became a deadly killing zone of arrows as each projectile met its mark with ruthless efficiency.  The Easterlings had little time to take cover and as the first wave assaulted them, they could only watch helplessly as around them, their comrades dropped to the ground. The archers had chosen the place for their attack well for this section had the ravine was mercilessly devoid of shelter and there was no where to hide from the deadly assault.

The enemy’s first instinct was to scatter and as they dispersed throughout the ravine, Legolas and his archers had little difficult killing many of them. The lord of Eden Ardhon emptied his thoughts of all things as he trained his eye upon one target after another and unleashed his arrows.  He paid little attention to their dying after he had shot his arrows, concerned only with rearming and finding another target. The ravine soon became filled with screams of the dying and it was not long before the shock of the attack had worn off and the enemy regained some semblance of composure as Legolas heard Haradrim voices issuing orders through the sounds of carnage.

Legolas fired another arrow, tracing its departure long enough to see that it had struck its intended target before rearming his weapon.  However, he paused when he saw that some of the enemy soldiers had failed to seek cover and were attempting to form some sort of line. He observed their progress for a moment, noting the difficulty in attempting the formation under such heavy fire. However, a moment was no more than what was needed to discern what they were doing as he saw them arming their own bows, a mixture of long bow and crossbows in an effort to return fire.

“Take cover!” Legolas ordered, retreating a little from the edge as the first barrage of enemy arrows and bolts flew through the air.

Some did not move fast enough and suddenly the air was filled with cries that came from his own as Legolas saw an arrow approaching and leapt out of the way. Unfortunately, the projectile meant for him found its mark in another and Legolas winced as he saw the body of an elven warrior fall to the ground in death.  The return barrage of arrows indicated to Legolas that it was time for them to leave and join the others for the next phase of the battle.  Raising his head from the ground where he had dropped to avoid the arrows, he heard Faramir issuing orders to his archers to direct their arrows to their enemy counterparts on the floor of the ravine.

“Fall back!” Legolas cried out as he hurried away from the edge of the ravine, “we join the others!”

Another arrow landed at his feet and Legolas looked over his shoulder to see the bodies of those who had not managed to escape the returning assault by the enemy. He could mourn their loss only briefly because the conflict required their immediate presence with the rest of the army. They had completed their goal of sending the enemy into disarray and now it was the moment to take advantage of the chaos they had wrought. Even as he thought this, Legolas knew that Aragorn and Gimli were converging upon the Confederacy with the rankers while Imrahil led the contingent of cavalry hiding in the caves and the small passages connecting to the main path.

Faramir and the humans kept their position on the other side of the ravine, covering their retreat but Legolas knew that they too would soon have to withdraw to join the battle below.  Even now, his acute hearing could make out the signals to desist by the Prince of Ithilien to his archers, the bulk of which were Rangers that had returned from their mission of reconnaissance Faramir seemed to know that he was in Legolas’ thoughts for the Steward raised his eyes to the other side of the chasm and made brief contact with the elf. Both offered each other a slight nod of acknowledgement before breaking away to deal with more pressing matters.

Legolas hurried towards the path that would lead them to the ravine below, determined not only to join Aragorn and Gimli in this most important battle of the war but also because his reason for being these past seven months was finally within reach.  

Dallanar.

************

 
Faramir watched Legolas depart and did not have to know the elf’s mind to guess his intentions.  Faramir supposed that he could not be blamed for his need for vengeance. If anyone had committed such an violation upon Eowyn, Faramir would be similarly inclined to kill what was left of the animal after his wife was finished with it. At the moment, he was more concerned for the welfare of his men. Now that the elves were safely away, he could order them to fall back. No doubt, even now, the archers below were turning their attention to the men of Gondor and the Rangers who had assailed them with arrows to allow the departure of the elven archers.

“Fall back!” Faramir shouted and saw Beregond repeating the order further along the wall.

The Captain of Ithilien was hastening the archers in their retreat; a timely action considering the air was soon filled with arrows from the enemy. Most were able to escape the barrage of arrows because they only needed to outdistance the projectiles. The archers below were shooting blindly, hoping that volume would succeed where accuracy would not. Unfortunately, some of their arrows met the mark and Faramir flinched when he saw a number of his men collapse to the ground after being injured or killed by them.  Beregond was helping those who had fallen, to their feet once more so that they could escape.

“Help the others!” Faramir ordered, reminding himself to commend the Captain when this was all over and followed suit himself as he aided a young archer who had been impaled through the thigh not far away from him.  For him the battle was over, Faramir thought and helped him up as much as he could. 

“Are you able to move at all?” Faramir asked as he dragged the young man forward.

“I will my lord,” the archer replied with a strained expression on his face. He was attempting to hide the extent of his pain but Faramir could tell by the control in his voice that it was quite considerable indeed. “I will not fail you.”

Faramir smiled faintly as they moved clumsily from the edge of the wall, slowly moving beyond the reach of the arrows, some of which were falling to the earth impotently for the lack of any real targeting when released from the bow.   Rivulet of blood were following them across the dirt as Faramir like others in the group of archers, left their present field of battle to join their king on another.  They had done what they had set out to do in causing the enemy enough distress to mask the approach of the rankers and the cavalry who would meet the Confederacy in the ravine, face to face.

“You have fought well,” Faramir said when the moment allowed for it. “You have failed no one,” Faramir told the archer who was not more than twenty by his estimation.

The young man opened his mouth to answer but the words never left his lips because Faramir was suddenly splattered with blood as an arrow cruelly tore through his chest, its point emerging into the space in front of his body, covered in flesh and fluid. The boy’s eyes flew open in shock, his voice disappearing into his throat as little more than a strangled gasp before the light diminished in his eyes forever. Faramir held him through all this, his seasoned warrior’s sensibilities uncharacteristically stunned as he saw the archer die. Faramir had seen this too many times, had known too many warriors who had died in this way, his own brother as well, but something about this angered him. He did not know why.

“Lord Faramir!” Beregond snapped him out of his shock.

Faramir raised his eyes and saw Beregond standing before him. The Captain of Ithilien had witnessed the scene and felt compelled to retrieve the Prince. Since coming into service of the Steward, Beregond had vowed to himself to always ensure the safety of the Prince, remembering an occasion not too long in the recent past where his indecision had almost cost Faramir his life. That Faramir had forgiven him and brought him to Ithilien as its captain had earned the Prince his undying loyalty and Beregond was determined not to allow any harm come to him.

“He is gone,” Beregond declared. “You must keep moving. The king awaits you.”

Faramir nodded mutely and released his grip of the young man, making himself a silent oath to return to this place when the battle was done. For reasons Faramir could not explain, he needed to see this young man afforded a proper burial and wondered if it was because the archer had ceased to become just another faceless comrade on the battlefield and had become someone real to the Lord of Ithilien. Faramir believed he would be pondering the question for some time but at that moment, Beregond’s reminder was timely, the king did need him and the boy was dead.

Faramir could do nothing for him now.

And in all likelihood, his would not be the only body needing burial today.


*************

The commotion that travelled through the ravine to reach their ears told gave them no doubt that the time to attack was now.

Astride his horse, Aragorn, King of Gondor waited to hear Legolas’ signal and knew that it was time. He braced himself in the saddle and glanced at the escort of horses on each side of his flank. The rest of his army was on foot but to lead the charge he had to be seen and there was no better way to accomplish him then in the saddle of his horse, Roheryn. The animal was also adorned with its own armour, made mostly from leathers that protected its head and its eyes.  The beast snorted in anticipation of the coming battle as the signal produced by Legolas provoked a more cacophonous noise when the bowmen began their assault. 

As soon as the roar of disarray was heard, Aragorn raised Anduril over his head, the blade catching the gleam from the setting sun and appearing bathed in a glow of amber, capturing as well the eye of all the soldiers awaiting the battle to begin.

“CHARGE!” He shouted on the top of his voice and rode forward, his horse breaking quickly into a gallop as it carried him away from the soldiers on foot.  It did not matter that he left them behind as he rode forward, confident that they would catch up when the time was necessary.  A group of Rohirrim warriors remained at his side and as he emerged, he knew that throughout the ravine, the Rohirrim hiding behind to allow the enemy to pass were also emerging from their hiding places.  Led by Imrahil, the Easterling Confederacy was about to find itself enclosed from every side.

Whether or not the enemy could hear them coming through their confusion, Aragorn could not say but supposed that after they recovered from the shock of the initial attack, the sound of pounding hoof beats against the dirt would be difficult to ignore. The war cry of his army pursued him up the ravine as more and more riders joined the main body of cavalry at Aragorn’s side, until the expanse of the passage they were travelling became a sea of human and equine bodies, moving in tandem to a common purpose. No doubt on the other side of the ravine, approaching the enemy from the rear, the Prince of Dol Amroth was leading a similar charge.

The walls of the ravine began to blur as they gained momentum along their course, until all other features bled away with only the path ahead remaining with any clarity.  The noise was deafening in his ears, a mixture of human voice both in anxiety, anticipation, fear and the gamut of emotions that came when one was about to face another battle. It was primeval and savage and very in keeping with what was about to pass this day. Aragorn had no stomach for any of it. Battle to him was a duty, nothing to be relished and always to be avoided unless of course there was no alternative and in those instances, he would fight like a newly blooded warrior. As king, he could do nothing less.

When the enemy finally came into their line of sight, Aragorn saw that they had recovered enough from their initial shock to mount a hasty defence. He could see warriors falling clumsily into line, their lances and spears pointed towards the approaching cavalry.  Their line was weak and not quite formed in places and Aragorn acted quickly to take advantage of this momentarily vulnerability. Raising his hand, he gave the signal to the men under his command to counteract this particular defence, having outlined their strategy based on the enemy’s reaction following their ambush.

Upon seeing the signal, the Rohirrim acted swiftly. With expertise borne of one accustomed to a life in the saddle, the warriors of Rohan reached for the bows slung across their backs and took aim at the enemy they were approaching, their bodies so intoned with their mounts that they needed no hands to direct the animals who were thundering ahead just as fearlessly as their masters. Aragorn held back a little as the first barrage of arrows flew past him and assaulted the weak line of defence mounted by the enemy against their eminent arrival.  The arrows were deadly in their accuracy and the first wave saw many of the Confederacy succumbing to their onslaught.

The two armies were almost converging and despite the heavy losses being suffered by the Confederacy, it was not nearly enough to ensure that they would not be capable of mounting a formidable defence.  With the Confederacy line within reach, Aragorn raised his blade above his head once more to offer a final cry of battle before the battle slipped beyond the reach of orders. 

“ELENDILL!” He shouted, allowing the name of the ancient king to inspire his men and remind them all for what they fought.

The assault of arrows ceased upon their arrival at the Confederacy line and Aragorn gripped Roheryn’s reins tight as the steed bounded past the sharp points of lances and spear, landing beyond the perilous weapons into the thick of the enemy’s midst. The Rohirrim riders, more than accustomed to all manner of attacks against cavalry, followed suit in good stead.  There were some who were not so lucky and the screams of those who did not pass the deadly phalanx tore through his ears in the agony of their dying.  Unfortunately, Aragorn had little time to see how many had been impaled upon the enemy’s lances and spears for he was soon fighting to stay alive.

Swarming around his horse and the other riders like a plague of locusts, the enemy numbers were indeed as numerous as they had been led to believe. While the absence of the mumakils as well as being taken by surprise had given the Reunified kingdom and its allies a decided advantage, there was no doubting that this would be a bloody fight. Swinging his blade wildly beneath him, Aragorn drove away the warriors attempting to unseat him from Roheryn’s back.  He could tell by the intensity of their attacks that they knew who he was and were focusing all their efforts in killing the leader of the opponents.  Fortunately, Aragorn, who had fought more battles than most men alive in this day and age, had little difficult stemming the tide of assailants.

He swung his blade through the lances and pikes stabbing at him from various sources. Roheryn was almost as seasoned as he in battle and the horse knew how to protect its master while at the same time ensuring none of those killing blows harmed it in turn.  Aragorn saw the point of an Easterling pike coming towards the horse and immediately reached for his dagger and hurled the weapon forward without giving it a second’s thought. The blade impaled itself between the eyes of the enemy, halting the Easterling’s advance dead in his tracks. His body disappeared quickly amongst the fighting and Aragorn turned away because the corner of his eye caught the gleam of another weapon. He swung around and tore the weapon from the enemy in a ruthless upper cut. The schmitar sailed in the air, torn out of the enemy’s hand. Aragorn wasted no time killing him, aware that the Haradrim would do the same if their positions were exchanged.

The rest of the cavalry were engaged in similar actions, cutting down the enemy from their saddles. Aragorn looked above the fighting, trying to catch sight of Imrahil and was disappointed when he could not.  The Prince of Dol Amroth was undoubtedly keeping the enemy locked between them, with no way to escape. Inwardly, Aragorn made a silent plea to the Valar to ensure the older man’s safety. The fighting around him was fierce and had been raging at a fevered pitch since the armies had met but now a sudden silence had gripped them all, a pause that was in reality barely second in length but felt as if time was making its crossing over an eternity.

The silence lasted briefly as the rankers led by Gimli on foot appeared within sight.  The soldiers of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar flowed into the ravine like a river whose course had suddenly been set anew.  The tide of bodies swept forward and the silence of discovery had evaporated quickly, bringing with it a ground swell of sound, like waves roaring against the shore.  The Confederacy turned their attention away from the cavalry, suddenly eing presented with a much greater danger. Attempting to defend themselves but there was no line to hold, not after the archers and then the riders had placed them in such disarray. 

Aragorn searched the battlefield for Dallanar, wondering where the Haradrim king was or for that matter, any of the leaders of the enemy.  The forces of the Confederacy were reeling from the surgical strikes against them and the lack of direction was causing what little strategy there had been in their actions to be abandoned quickly. While this proved advantageous to the western armies, Aragorn had never thought the enemy would be so unprepared or poorly led that the ambush of the western army could turn into nothing less than the complete slaughter of the Easterling Confederacy.

After all they had endured to be find themselves in this particular place and time, Aragorn had never believed victory would come to them like this.

 
************

Legolas and the archers still able to fight joined the battle shortly after the two armies had completely hurled themselves at each other in a roar of noise that made the very earth quake from its violence. He could have been forgiven for thinking that it was about to rain since the noise easily rivalled the rumble of thunder preceding a great storm. However, there were only stars in the skies above, a contrasting beauty against the savage bloodshed that was taking place on the land. 

As they approached the thick of the battle, Legolas could see nothing of Aragorn or Gimli and that immediately gave him reason for caution. While logic told him that they were more than capable of fending for themselves. Not having them inside during battle made the elf anxious. After all, they had fought at each other’s side in one form or another since they had become comrades during the quest of the Ring.  For one as long lived as he, Legolas was somewhat reluctant to admit that he had become accustomed to their presence on the battle field and felt somewhat unsettled that he could not see them in plain view.

It mattered little he told himself, brushing off his uneasiness as he and his elven comrades threw themselves into the fray. There were so many bodies locked in life and death struggles that it was difficult to move. Swords swung, spikes stabbed, steel meeting steel could be heard against the gruesome sound of flesh tearing under the blade and the screams following it. He saw faces covered in blood, the dead piling up around their feet and knew that no one would leave the field of battle unsoiled or unscathed from what they had wrought today.

This is what he had wanted was it not? Legolas asked as he swung his blade at an advancing Easterling warrior and cut the man in half by splitting his belly open. The enemy cried out in pain as blood splattered, some of it smearing Legolas across the chest. The elf wiped the gore from his chin and continued onward, barely wasting a second thought on an opponent who as far as he was concerned was already dead, before moving on to another.

This was the end that he had desired, ever since he had convinced his father and Lord Celeborn that it was vital for them to take up the cause of battle against the Easterlings and the Southrons following the destruction at Eden Ardhon. It was for their safety, if they wished to remain in Middle Earth a little longer.  However, in his heart he knew that his reason for bringing the elves into this conflict had little to do with protection and more to quench the burning desire for vengeance that had paralysed his thoughts since learning what had taken place in his realm. 

He thought seeing this would make everything he had endured since entering Haradwraith worth the effort. He knew what he had become, he was not deaf to the words of his friends, to their altered perception of him, he even knew that on some level that Melia was right in trying to force him away from the battle. However, now that the moment was upon him, now that they were on the eve of the most decisive victory of the Haradrim campaign, Legolas found his desire for vengeance had dulled in the face of all the blood spilled. It was hard to think of vengeance when the faces on the ground, bleeding into the dirt, belonging to the enemy and to his comrades, did not seem so different from one another.

His ruminations were interrupted by the appearance of a Haradrim warrior before him. The soldier clad in armour that was obviously too big and ornate for him, had fallen to the ground at Legolas’ feet. The elf’s first instinct was to strike but the face that looked up at him, smeared in blood and dirt was wide eyed with fear. Legolas estimated that the boy was no more than sixteen if that. His eyes were brimming with tears and the stench of him told Legolas that it was not so long ago that the boy had retched over himself.

It would be so easy to kill him, to end his life now before he became an adult who had no doubt been taught to hate the enemies of Sauron since the day of his birth. However, too many times already had Legolas used that particular argument to kill and it was no longer able to salve his conscience.  He knew that in desperation the Haradrim had been forced to recruit vigorously to fill their ranks. However, he had no idea that they were snatching children off the street to fight the seasoned and battle hardened warriors of the west.  Legolas had already killed one child in this war. He was not about to kill another.

“Go,” he told the boy while eyeing him cautiously, remembering what had happened to Eomer.

The boy’s expression showed his shock but there was little time to reach when suddenly, Legolas heard a new voice shouting at him. His memory of his encounter with the Haradrim king at Ithilien was branded into his mind and so there was no doubt who had spoken. 

Dallanar glared at Legolas, a mixture of fear and rage on his face and hissed menacingly.

“Get away from my son!”

Part Ten
Mahazar

Eowyn had decided that she did not like being pregnant at all.

Aside from the physical limitations it placed upon her body, this business of caring for another life was rather a daunting one. She knew that it was pure foolishness of course, since she had been looking forward to the birth of her babe since learning of her pregnancy, however as the day drew closer, she began to question what sort of mother she would make. Very little about Eomund and Theodwyn’s daughter was as a woman should be. Eowyn knew that she was hardly the picture of the proper noble woman. Noblewomen of her lineage did not ride into battle dressed as a Rohirrim warrior, nor did they embark upon quests to fight ancient evils and they certainly had no business defending their homes alongside their men. With all these deficiencies, in mind, how could she even think of becoming a mother?

There was no doubt that Faramir would be an excellent parent. In the brief time they had shared together before he was forced to embark upon the conquest of Haradwraith, he had spoken of how he would ensure that their child never have to endure the things he had with Denethor. In some sense, Eowyn had the feeling that he would be the more sensitive of the two in regards to their offspring, which was just as well since she had no patience with subtlety. Still, a mother was supposed to warm, nurturing and a comfort to her children. Eowyn had none of these things! Oh what was she thinking when she thought herself fit for motherhood?

"I cannot have this child," she announced quite suddenly to Arwen, whilst they were both sitting on a balcony overlooking Minas Tirith. In recent weeks, it had become more difficult for Eowyn to maintain the mobility she was accustomed to, leading Arwen to suggest that they spent their time here since it would make Eowyn feel less cloistered and still apart of the world.

Arwen looked up startled.

"I cannot have this child," Eowyn repeated herself. "I will make a terrible mother!"

Oh this is terribly familiar, Arwen thought to herself as she composed her thoughts to formulate a suitable response.

She thought of how Aragorn had dealt with the same question and was forced to stifle the smile when she recalled that by this time in her pregnancy with Eldarion, she had already reduced her husband to a bundle of nerves who could only gibber nonsensically when she put forward such questions. She wondered how the man who had little trouble with orc slaying could turn white with fear each time she questioned him if she were becoming too fat.

"You will make a wonderful mother," Arwen spoke in that voice that so many around her found terrible comforting, even if she did not know it herself.

"No I will not," Eowyn declared, her cheeks flushed with anxiety, "I remember my own and I am nothing like her!"

"No,’ Arwen said sympathetically, "you are you and that is more than enough for any child to be very fortunate indeed. Your feelings are natural. The closer you are to your time, the more you are with worries about what will happen when the babe does arrive. All women bearing a child at one time or another feels what you feel. Motherhood is about doubting oneself and blundering through the rest to find the best way. I cannot say that I know you will be a wonderful mother but I do know you and that gives me a great deal of faith in how you will raise your child."

Eowyn met her gaze, softening considerably at Arwen’s kind words.

"You are a good friend," Eowyn said emotionally, conceding that Arwen was probably correct in assuming that her feelings had a good deal to do with her condition. "I only wish Faramir were here."

"I have no doubt that he probably feels the same as you," Arwen returned, feeling a pang of sadness that the Prince of Ithilien was not absent for this momentous occasion. While she missed Aragorn herself, Arwen was grateful that Aragorn had been present during Eldarion’s birth.

"How do you think they fare?" Eowyn asked, easing back into her chair because her lower back was aching and the needlepoint she had been working on was not improving her disposition. Her hands felt especially clumsy today as if her body was concerned with other matters and not devoting itself to the accuracy she needed for the work.

"I do not know," Arwen answered honestly and hated it that she could give Eowyn a no firmer answer than that.

"I hope Melia was able to help Legolas," Eowyn remarked, flinching in her seat once more. Curse it, why could she not feel slightly comfortable in his chair?

"I doubt anyone can help Legolas if he does not wish it," Arwen replied sadly, disagreeing with Melia’s decision to go to front lines to face Legolas. Arwen knew the elf and she knew that when his mind was set, very little would alter it unless he saw reason for it to change. His stubbornness was the stuff of legend and Arwen feared that Melia’s arrival at the battlefield would only complicate the situation, not improve it.

"Oh," Eowyn said suddenly, causing Arwen’s eyes to shift from the vista of the White City to meet the young woman’s own.

Eowyn’s expression was one of quiet contemplation but her body language told Arwen that the thoughts running through her head could be anything but calm. She had sat up straight in her chair, almost rigid as a matter a fact. Her brow had furrowed over her eyes and her gaze though looking straight at Arwen, did not see the elf queen.

"What is it?" Arwen asked with alarm when suddenly, what sounded like water dripping against stone caught her attention.

She honed in on the sound almost immediately, the advantage of elven hearing allowing for such precision. A puddle was forming beneath Eowyn’s chair, clear fluid wetting the marble in an expanding pool. Arwen’s eyes widened, three thousand years of poise suddenly vanishing in an instant at the realisation that Eowyn’s time was no longer near, it was now.

"I think my time has come," Eowyn spoke, stating the obvious.

"I believe you are right," Arwen said on her feet and at Eowyn’s side

"I was merely being rhetorical when I question my fitness for motherhood you know," Eowyn said as Arwen helped her to from the chair, "I had no idea that Eru was listening."

"I assumed as much," Arwen answered. "However, I have found that Eru has an odd sense of humour in situations like this."

"Yes," Eowyn nodded mutely as they made their way off the balcony slowly, "if I knew he was in the mood to grant requests, I would have asked him to have Faramir bare this baby."

**************

This was not his first sighting of the great beasts, but their power to leave his breathless had not altered one wit.

Like the ambush awaiting Dallanar's forces in Anumet, the business of dealing with the remaining forces of the confederacy was also conducted under a tight shroud of secrecy. Aragorn had been insistent that they keep from harming the oliphants if possible and it was a view shared by Eomer as he lead the Rohirrim and the elven cavalry towards the enemy with all the arts of stealth at their disposal. The hour was growing late and the enemy had set up camp for the night, their animals left to graze on the meagre vegetation to be found in this parched terrain as well as the enormous supplies of food that was surely necessary to feed such beasts.

The beasts stirred but slightly, their long noses undoubtedly facilitating a heightened sense of smell but not enough so that they were able to discern danger as of yet. Danger to the oliphants was something they could sense or see, the less tangible instincts that allowed man dominance over the beasts were lost to them and so while they could sense the approach of others, they were unable to discern if there was need for caution. The elves had kept close eye on the encampment once the darkness descended, watching the humans as they went about their business, preparing for a battle that had already been pre-empted without their knowledge.

They watched carefully as the enemy prepared for their evening repose, leaving their animals to gaze without the slightest inkling that the enemy they had marched to ambush had already arrived and were keeping them under tight scrutiny in the prelude to their own plans. Once the oliphants were left to graze and the attention of the army was fixed upon the business of the morning, the elven scouts returned to the main body of the cavalry and reported their findings. Eomer and Haldir reached a silent agreement that there was no longer any reason to wait and with the rest of the western army engaging the Confederacy, they were needed elsewhere once their task here was done.

Instead of charging, they moved in silently, a difficult thing to accomplish on horseback but between them, the Rohirrim and the elves knew a great deal about advancing in silence. They waited until the sun had truly set upon this warm and arid land, until the scourging winds began to take the place of heated air. The cavalry divided themselves in their advance. Haldir led one half of their forces towards the oliphants to ensure that when the alarm was raised, they would be able to sever the path between the enemy and the beasts. Keeping the Confederacy away from the oliphants was the only way to ensure that the cavalry was not forced to engage the beasts because in such an instance, they would have no choice but to harm the animals.

When the oliphants became increasingly agitated by their looming presence, Eomer knew that they could not longer delay their advance by attempting to remain cloaked in stealth. Fortunately, they had crossed enough distance to ensure that it no longer mattered if they abandoned their covert approach and continued ahead in a full frontal assault. They had covered enough distance to ensure that the enemy was no longer capable of reaching their beasts without encountering the elves and without the oliphants, the remaining Confederacy forces were extremely vulnerable to the might of Eomer's formidable Rohirrim warriors.

"ROHIRRIM!" Eomer cried out, his voice sailing across the night and shattering the peaceful twilight irrevocably. "CHARGE!"

The elves were far more discreet, since the success of their mission depended on severing the enemy's ability to reach their beasts. However, Eomer's war cry had ensured that the attention of every warrior in the Confederacy encampment was fixed upon the approaching Rohirrim cavalry and not the silent approach of the elves that were cutting off their only means of defence. Within minutes of Eomer's call to charge, the encampment came to a frantic awakening as the alarm of danger was raised. Excited voices in a mixture of languages, Easterling, Khand and Haradrim meshed clumsily into a cacophony of panic, particularly when they realised that the ambush had been far better coordinated than their efforts to rise to the occasion.

Eomer's mount was one of the first to reach the encampment and the disarray caused by their sudden appearance was extreme. Enemy soldiers were hurrying across the camp, making their way towards the mumakils only to bar by charging elven warriors who were making their presence felt most prolifically. Arrows flew through the air from exquisitely crafted elven bows, cutting down the enemy who were now beginning to sense the full scope of their predicament. Eomer saw a Haradrim warrior rushing at him with a spear and immediately unsheathed his sword to meet the weapon by the time it reached him.

Swinging his blade hard across, the sword dug into the stems of the spear and split the wood easily. The force of his attack tore the weapon from the Haradrim's hands and he finished the contest of battle with a sharp thrust through the enemy's chest. The soldier let out a sharp cry of pain before tumbling into the dirt beneath Eomer's line of sight. Sweeping his gaze across the battlefield, he saw the Rohirrim swarming across the encampment, cutting down the Confederacy soldiers who were trying desperately to reach their weapons to mount some form of defence. Some did manage to arm themselves but most were falling beneath the onslaught of blade, spear and arrow that slashing away at the night air and connecting with flesh.

Eomer saw the enemy attempting to reach the oliphants and knew that there would be elves to greet them when they made the effort. Still, good portions of the Confederacy's warriors were making the effort and may prove fortunate enough to reach the beasts. It was a gamble Eomer was unwilling to take and immediately issued orders to the nearest riders to intercept them. Digging his heels into the flanks of his mount, the horse bolted forward, falling immediately into pursuit of the men hurrying away from the camp towards their beasts.

With his blade brandished, Eomer and the Rohirrim cut down their numbers, enabling the elves to cordon off the routes to the beasts as well as forming a defensive perimeter through which none of the Confederacy could break. Eomer and Haldir had spent days engaged in the business of formulating this particular strategy, aware that the enemy's first inclination would be to reach their oliphants. The Easterling relied heavily upon their mumakil cavalry to win their battles. The sheer size of the beasts allowed them to trample any opposition into the ground before their rankers moved in for the final assault. Unlike the Haradrim who were fierce fighters on foot or on horseback, the Easterlings seemed to rely too much on the beasts and it was this observation of their battle tactics that allowed Eomer and Haldir to create a plan that would cut away that advantage when they needed it most.

Drawing the conclusion that they would not reach their mounts unless they defeated the enemy on horseback, Eomer noticed some of the Easterling breaking off from the main group attempting to reach the oliphants. He caught sight of weapons under the moonlight, the curvature of the heavy scimitars, sharp lances and pikes upon which many a cavalryman had met his end, turning their deadly eye upon the Rohirrim.

Eomer's eye caught sight of something moving at the far corner of his vision and swung around in time to see a scimitar coming for his horse. The king of the Mark leaned forward, halting the blow would have surely killed his horse and forced back the weapon with all the strength he could muster. This was considerably easy to do since for a cavalryman there was no greater sin that attacking his horse and he reacted with unbidden savagery. Slashing his sword in a crisscross movement that saw blood splatter across the guards on his legs and across the flank of his steed, Eomer sent his would be attacker tumbling into the dark and was satisfied when he did not return.

Raising his eye to the field of battle, he saw similar struggles taking place across the field as his Rohirrim warriors defended themselves against the enemy who were now coming at them at force. Unfortunately for the Easterlings, the bulk of their number had entered Anumet and there were simply not enough of them to defend against the large body of Rohirrim cavalrymen. Eomer felt a twinge of sorrow at seeing so many die because he was a warrior. Though most would not know it, there was a difference between being a warrior and a soldier. A soldier fought for a country and warrior fought for a cause. He was a soldier first but he was also enough of a warrior to be saddened at seeing the deaths of so many men who had fought valiantly under crushing odds.

The Confederacy was defeated but that would not stop them from fighting even if they knew it.

*************

Whilst the Rohirrim ensured that the enemy was suitably distracted, the elves were advancing steadily and stealthily upon the mumakils. The elves with their ability to communicate with animals had been the cornerstone of Eomer and Haldir's plan because Aragorn had made it clear that he did not wish the creatures harmed if it could be avoided. The oliphants were formidable indeed but they no more deserved to be butchered than horses were during the battle. Haldir respected the Elfstone's decision but was certain that his decision was not entirely, altruistic. While these beasts remained in existence, they would provide the Easterlings with a formidable weapon. It was to the benefit of the western army that they learn all they could about the creatures and their vulnerabilities, to saw nothing of commanding a herd for their own use.

Following Eomer's loud cry of battle, whose purpose was not only to act as a signal to his men but also to draw the enemy's attention away from the oliphants as Haldir led his elves towards them. Half the elves held the line against the inevitable flood of Confederacy warriors that would undoubtedly attempt to reach their beasts while the other half made their way towards the creatures themselves. Haldir took the stand between the oliphants and their masters, certain that those he had sent to undertake the secondary portion of their mission would acquit themselves adequately.

After all, they were elves.

Haldir remained on horseback and could discern without casting his gaze behind him that roar of battle was unsettling the beasts considerably. The oliphants trumpeting voices could be heard in random succession and their massive height and bulk cast a shadow of near pitch-black darkness over the elves holding the line against their masters. Haldir could sense their anxiety and their expectation. They craved the comforting symbiosis between rider and mount during such instances and the absence of the former made the beasts anxious for they were uncertain what to do.

Fortunately, the darkness hindered the enemy more than it hindered the elves that were able to see far better than men under any circumstances. In any case, the Eldar relied upon senses beyond their ability to see and they could sense the arrival of the enemy well before they were actually able to see them. Haldir armed his bow as he heard the approaching advance of the Easterlings. He could hear their footsteps thundering against the ground, soles of their feet crushing the gravel like terrain into dust. He could almost hear them draw breath.

"Naur na innas!"

His order had no sooner left his lips than a deadly wall of arrows escaped the line of elves and slammed into the enemy like a brick wall that had suddenly formed out of nothingness. It was too dark to see them clearly still but the screams of pain as well as the abrupt halt of footsteps revealed a clearer picture than one that could be gained from sight. He could imagine in his mind's eyes the men that had been halted in their steps, thrown backward from the force of the projectiles, those who kept moving even though the comrade at their side had fallen into the dirt behind him.

"Ad!" He shouted again.

Another barrage of arrows was sent flying through the air and though the effect was not as prolific as the first assault, Haldir had no doubt that it had done considerable damage to the number of the Easterling advance. Indeed, his assumption appeared true when the enemy finally appeared within their sights, there seemed a considerably less number of them than he had anticipated and though their purpose was clearly to reach the beasts behind the elves, there was rage to their battle cry that belied the anger felt at their fallen comrades.

The elves continued the assault with their arrows, savagely curtailing the number of Easterlings coming towards them. At the last instance, the enemy realising their vulnerability began to spread out, erroneously believing that like the elves were like men, employed long bows that were effective mostly over distance. However, as anyone who had ever seen Legolas Greenleaf in battle could attest, this was an assumption steeped in folly. The arrows flew almost to the last instance, when only a quarter of the Easterling cavalry remained alive and capable of fighting.

They swarmed around the front line of elves who themselves had scattered in an effort to defend themselves and to hold the perimeter. Haldir heard a cry and felt his heart plunge a little because it was the voice of someone he knew. Lashing away at the enemy attempting to pull him from his horse, his senses screamed of impending peril that was not for the battle but to him personally. He looked up just in time to see the point of the spear coming at him. Haldir twisted his body in the saddle to evade it but he did not have the flexibility to escape completely unscathed.

The pain was not quite excruciating but for a precious few seconds, the elf felt every nerve in his body screaming in pain. It was rather a miracle that the impulse did not manifest itself verbally. He felt it in his flesh, its steel scrapping the underside of his ribs, blood flowing out of his armour. His eyes clouded in pain as he saw the enemy yank back the weapon and succumbed to the agony of that abrupt retraction by a slight shout. Haldir slumped forward in his saddle, breathing hard and through his teeth. He could sense for a repeat attack and lifted his gaze enough to see his approach. To the Easterling, he appeared done but Haldir was far from that. Shaking from the pain, he focussed his thoughts and waited until the best possible moment, that is when the enemy attempted to shove the spear through his chest.

He caught the shaft with reflexes only the Eldar knew, his speed driven by the chemicals of aggression pulsing through a body that was steeling itself to fight for survival. His gauntlet enclosed the shaft slick with his blood and snatched it from the enemy using the reserve of elven strength. His other hand had been poised on the hilt of his blade and in quick succession; he unsheathed the weapon and swung it in a neat arc. The enemy's head flew into the air, the force of the cut so powerful that it spun once before tumbling against the ground, making a thudding noise that was almost as sickening as the feel of his blood soaking into his clothes.

Haldir cast the spear aside once the deed was done, lifting himself painfully upright. He was injured badly but he was not about to leave the field. They were not done yet and this was one battle he was going to see through the end. No injury was going to stand in the way of that fierce desire.

**********

Gimli did not like leading battle and he liked leading an army of men even less. However, when Aragorn had given him the important duty of leading the rankers in the attack, the son of Gloin found that he could not refuse. In truth, there was very little to do in such an instance, since most of the army's eye would be affixed upon their king charging into battle astride his horse. Still, Aragorn felt it was important that someone lead the charge on foot and though dwarves were not really at their best whilst running, at least over long distances, Gimli knew that he was more than capable of doing so.

When Aragorn had ridden away, his cry of battle reaching into the hearts of all, even Gimli himself, the dwarf had repeated the call to fight for the kings of all, namely Elendill and the army of rankers had exploded forward in a stampede of sound that drowned all other thoughts from their mind and perhaps the world itself. Their arrival had astonished the enemy who possibly at that point believed they were facing the ambush of archers and riders, not the complement of the entire Western army. Gimli saw the astonishment on their faces, amidst the dim glow of torches they carried. Their hesitation lasted but briefly before fear and determination swept away their intimidation.

The armies met like colliding rocks, shattering into a thousand fragments as the battle splayed out across their limited field. In the passageway between the hills, they fought, a tide of bodies hacking away at each other. Gimli did not know many he killed, how much blood was drawn from his axe. He no longer kept score of how many he killed, it became too numerous to count and truth be known, the keeping a running tally of the dead had ceased to be a game since entering Haradwraith.

Swinging the axe into the belly of yet another unfortunate opponent, Gimli tried to catch a glimpse of either Aragorn or Legolas during the battle. The darkness and the number of bodies made it difficult to see. The field of battle was also rather large despite the narrow passage of the ravine. He was certain by now the elf would be in the thick of things since Legolas would have proceeded here immediately after the ambush by the archers was completed. Gimli could see the cavalry around him, watched the armoured warriors astride their beasts taking a devastating toll on the enemy but he could not see Aragorn. No doubt the king of Gondor would be in dead centre of the storm.

The dwarf rolled across the ground as he saw a scimitar blade coming at him. He could not roll very far without fear of being trampled but made sure he had the room he needed to maneuver as he got on his feet and cleaved a fatal blow in his enemy's back. The Easterling or Haradrim, it hardly mattered to Gimli anymore, fell flat on his face as Gimli pulled out the blade and resume the battle. Suddenly, through the moonlight, he saw a familiar head of gold hair through the sea of fighting bodies. Gimli narrowed his eyes and concentrated, wishing at this moment he was in possession of elven eyesight, though it would take a torturers rack to force him to admit it, but it was undoubtedly the lord of Eden Ardhon and his friend.

It was Legolas.

It took another instant of observation to realise that the elf was standing still in the middle of all the chaos around him, oblivious of the battle because something else had captured his eyes. Gimli knew that look, the one he had become so familiar with throughout the desert campaigns and was suddenly gripped with the terrible urgency that he needed to reach the elf immediately.

****************

For Legolas Greenleaf, the war was suddenly and utterly forgotten.

It appeared as if he were standing in the eye of the storm, with chaos ensuing all about him in a tempest of blood and killing and within that eye, stood Dallanar and his son.

The boy was frozen in fear, terrified to move lest he become swallowed in the maelstrom around him. Like any child, his first impulse was to remain close to the parent who raised and loved him. However, he was the Crown Prince of Haradrim and he was facing the leader of the elves who had turned the war against his country into a bloodbath, an elf who held their father personally responsible for the destruction of his colony, who now looked at him with such calculation that the boy had come to realise that killing the father was no longer as satisfying as murdering the son.

The boy stared at his father and saw that the older man had understood this as well.

"Get away from him," Dallanar's demand hissed in Legolas' ears.

"Get away from him or what?" Legolas asked, his voice was glacial in its hatred.

"Your rage is with me," Dallanar replied, painfully aware of how much closer the lord of Eden Ardhon was to his son.

"Then you should not have brought him to the battlefield," Legolas answered.

"He is the Crowned Prince," Dallanar declared, "I cannot ask of our young men what I cannot ask of my own son."

"And so he will pay the same price as they," Legolas retorted, taking a step towards him.

"NO!" Dallanar exclaimed, the persona of king forgotten, only the terrified parent remained.

He rushed at Legolas who was not exactly taken by surprise at his aggression. The king of the Haradrim barrelled into the elf and knocked him off his feet, Dallanar's bulk against Legolas lithe frame accomplishing this easily enough. The king swore at himself because he was in possession of better skills in battle than this novice's attack but his actions were meant to drive the elf away from his son and to that end, this clumsy tackle worked rather well. He rolled on top of Legolas, preparing to strike when suddenly, the elf's foot lashed out, the toe of his boot making sharp contact with the back of Dallanar's skull. The Haradrim king let out a soft grunt of pain as he reeled forward, disturbing his balance enough for Legolas to throw him off.

The elf rolled onto his knees and was on his feet in seconds, his body moving like that of a cat, smooth and gracile. Dallanar struggled to keep up, pushing himself onto his knees and looked up in time to see another boot connecting with the underside of his jaw, beneath the chin. The power of the kick almost flipped him onto this back and he immediately felt blood in his mouth from where teeth had sunk into his tongue. The elf took a step forward in his dizziness, a hand clenching around Dallanar's throat and falling him to his feet. He felt powerful fingers digging into his flesh and a fist connecting with his jaw with such force that he slammed against the floor without contest.

Dallanar struggled to get up but his pummelling at the hands of the enemy was far from done. He felt himself hauled upwards by the arm and managed to react with a rush of a determination, throwing as fist into the lord of Eden Ardhon's face and momentarily distracting him into releasing his grip upon Dallanar. The king saw the elf stagger back from the blow and opened his swollen eye to search for his son. He found him not long after, staring at the scene with his eyes wide from fear and worry.

"Run!" Dallanar ordered but could offer no more instruction when he felt another blow, this one against his ribs, followed by another sharp blow to the jaw. He had heard that elves were far stronger than men but until now, Dallanar did not realise how much difference that could make in a battle.

The king of the Haradrim fought valiantly to hold his own against the lord of Eden Ardhon but Legolas Greenleaf was being driven by more than just the need to win the day. He was driven by the anguish of everything this man had driven him to do, the enmity he had created between himself and all men who would never look at any elf in quite the same way because of what he had done in Haradwraith. As his fists flew, striking flash, turning bone into kindling, Legolas was visited with a flood of images and each of them had their own resonance of pain and fury. He thought of the child he had killed, of Nunaur who would never be able to see the Undying Lands, he thought of the little girl Anna and the village of Lebethron who had been sacrificed as a warning to him, he thought of all the elves who had come to an end in this desert on the edge of the world and of Eden Ardhon, his home, sullied and destroyed.

And then there was Melia.

His wife. His love. Violated like some tavern whore because was his wife. The Easterlings had not simply taken her honour, they had carved up her heart with guilt until the only way she could justify anything that he had done was to leave. Like Aragorn and all his friends, she would never look at him in quite the same way again, not after the blood this man had caused him to spill. Legolas wondered what enraged him more, the fact that this animal had caused his wife such pain or turned him into a monster. Perhaps that was the real reason why he could not go to Melia; he could not bear having her turn away in shame, knowing what he had done here in Haradwraith. He could not bear being held any less in her eyes, any more than she had been unable to endure the same after her violation.

Legolas loved her too much.

He did not know how long his fists struck flesh, how many blows he had delivered to the king of the Haradrim who no longer fought back. Legolas could feel his knuckles split, could feel the damp of blood against his skin, most of which was not his own. The red haze of rage and grief fell away from his eyes and when he blinked, he saw that Dallanar's face was little more than a bloody pulp. The man's teeth, jagged rows of white were covered in blood and Legolas doubted he was able to see through the blood filled swell of his eyes.

"Leave him alone!" The boy screamed, rushing at Legolas, anger overcoming his fear at last.

Legolas lashed out with one hand and grabbed the boy by the neck, releasing the father to the ground. Dallanar fell against the gravel, not quite conscious as Legolas turned towards his firstborn.

Legolas stood up to full height, holding the boy firmly in his grip, staring at the young face. He was little more fifteen years old, now that the Lord of Eden Ardhon had opportunity to look at him closer. His eyes had lost their momentary glint of rage and had resumed fear once more. He closed his eyes as Legolas unsheathed his sword, clamping them tight so that he would not see the killing blow. He did not cry out, even though his lips were trembling, the corner of his eyes filled with tears. Legolas could sense his fear, it was so thick that it could be sliced with a blade.

"Please…" Dallanar's voice groaned over the sound of battle. "Please do not hurt him. Your anger is at me, not at my son. He did nothing to harm you or your kind. Do not punish him for my sins," Dallanar's voice choked into a sob, "I beg you, spare him."

"It is a terrible thing is it not?" Legolas met his gaze and addressed his nemesis for the first time without rage or malice, merely calm elven resignation, a stark contrast to his brutal assault upon Dallanar but a short moment ago. "To see someone you love, harmed and humiliated, destroyed from within with wounds that no amount of time can ever truly heal, knowing that it was suffering inflicted because of you. To watch everyone you love endure their wounds, while you yourself come away completely unscathed, whole and yet less intact than they because their grief eats away your soul, a tiny portion at time."

Dallanar did not speak but the shudder in his eyes at the sight of his son in the elf’s grip told Legolas he was beginning to understand quite clearly.

"What you did to my people, there are no word to describe. To take one of us by force in the despicable manner you have done could have easily caused the annihilation of your race had we been in greater numbers in Middle Earth. My people were willing to turn our back upon Valinor and our gods to wage war against Morgoth, what in Eru's name did you think would happen when you provoked us by what you did at Eden Ardhon? It was I who gave it its name, it meant New World and that is what I wished to build, a new world in a new age of peace. The War of the Ring did not just end the bloodshed for Gondor and the west but for your people as well. All Aragorn ever wanted to do was reunite all the races of men but you could not see the gesture for what it was. It was easier to believe that he was attempting to subjugate you rather than to give peace a chance. Even in his death, your people are still shackled in servitude to Sauron."

Dallanar appeared as if he might protest at that statement but he did not speak and Legolas imagined that it would take some effort on his part to form any words after the battery the king had received at his hands. Fortunately, the only further assault that Dallanar would have to endure from him now would be a verbal one.

"You took Eden Ardhon and you destroyed it, you sullied it with your cruelty and turned me so far away from myself that I shall never be able to look in the mirror without seeing some part of the darkness you provoked in me. You almost turned me into a creature that would have murdered your son in front of your eyes just to ensure you understood my wrath. A number of weeks of ago, I would have done it and happily. I would have split his belly open and have his innards fall about your ears in bloody sacrifice but I have come to discover of late, thanks to my friends and the woman whose rape you were so happy to boast in Ithilien, that I will not allow you any more power over me than you have. I will not become the monster that you would have me be. You have turned me against my conscience too much already and I will cross it no more."

With that Legolas released the boy and said softly, "go."

The boy stared at him with shock, "this is a trick."

"If you die this day boy, it will not be at my hands," Legolas answered. "My choice does not reflect the rest of the western army so this reprieve may be temporary. In any case, I have no concern of you."

"I will not go without my father," the boy insisted in surprising show of steel.

"GO!" Dallanar groaned in pain.

"I will not go without you father!" The boy returned.

"Do not worry yourself," Legolas stepped away from father and son. "I have no intention of killing him though he surely deserves it."

Dallanar’s shock was reflected in his eyes.

It was the truth however. In the last few minutes, he had realised how pointless it was. He could have killed Dallanar's son and shown the man what it was like to have someone he loved harmed because of his choices. However, Legolas realized that it would change nothing for him personally. It would not take away the pain he felt or the sorrow in his heart.

Aragorn was right.

Life was hard and sometimes one simply had to accept the misfortunes it dealt and continue on. He had heard the words but did not truly understand it until the moment was upon him. He could have killed Dallanar and let that act of vengeance destroy all semblance of the person he was but suddenly, in this place, with so much death surrounding him, even as he was turning Dallanar’s flesh into pulp, Legolas could not think about anything but life.

His life, the life of his friends and that of Melia’s, all waiting to be lived and he wanted very much to be apart of it, as he was before this conflict of blood had changed him.

Suddenly, he wanted it more than he wanted to kill Dallanar.

Legolas stared at the boy who still refused to run and spoke once more, surprised that the battle had yet to interrupt the moment. "Eru knows I have thought of little else these past few weeks but of taking your life," Legolas replied, staring at Dallanar. "I have justified the rightness of my cause to the very possibility of losing my wife forever but now that I stand within reach of my goal, I see no reason to take your life. I am certain that someone else will do so in due course. Your country is conquered, your people will soon become a part of the Reunified Kingdom, a province of Gondor. You are defeated enough without my personal need to take your life and because my wife believed letting you live would save me. I do not know whether or not I can be saved but I will do this because I have failed her too many times since Eden Ardhon. This one thing I am willing to sacrifice because she means more to me than your blood on my hands."

And Melia truly did. When this war was over, he would find her and tell her that she was right, that to kill this Haradrim king was to destroy the man he loved and he would not risk such a thing, not ever again. Legolas turned away from Dallanar, staring at the battle that was still raging around him like the white hot flames of a furnace, preparing to throw himself into the fray for he was willing to do battle as a soldier, not as the vengeful lord of Eden Ardhon. His days of being encompassed by this all consuming need to avenge that particular wrong was done.

It was time to live again.

He did not look over his shoulder, certain that the boy had rushed to his father’s side the moment Legolas had turned his back upon both of them. There was a battle to be won yet, although Legolas was certain they would take the field at the end of the day. Somewhere in this carnage that had left them untouched while he spoke his mind, was Aragorn and Gimli, he wished to find them again and fight at their side as he had done since becoming a member of the Fellowship. This was as much about reclaiming his sense of self as it was reclaiming his wife.

He had no more taken a step forward when something tugged at his subconscious, urging him to pause. It manifested itself like a sudden swell of the ocean and when Legolas spun around, he heard his name being called with terrible urgency.

"WATCH OUT!"

Legolas turned around and saw Dallanar had recouped his strength and was surging towards him with a scimitar. The lord of Eden Ardhon had barely had enough time to avoid being impaled when suddenly, he saw Dallanar falter in his attack, the king's forceful steps becoming an uncoordinated stagger forward. The Haradrim king stared at him, his expression unfathomable. He open his torn lips to speak but what came from it was not a voice but a gush of blood that spilled over his lips and ran down his chin. He dropped to his knees suddenly and fell forward.

Legolas took a step back and discerned what had happened when he saw the axe buried in the back of Dallanar’s skull. Dallanar’s son had run forward and was soon crouched over his father, sobbing in grief. Legolas would have offered him compassion but somehow felt that it would be ill received. Dallanar had made his choice in spite of Legolas’ mercy. What fate claimed him or his son beyond that point was no longer the elf’s concern. Instead, Legolas lifted his eyes upward and saw himself staring at the dwarf who had saved his life.

"I believe that brings my tally to twenty," Gimli declared, his voice shaking. The dwarf had heard Legolas’ speech and had done nothing because his heart was filled with such gratitude at the journey the elf had taken back to them that he could not bear to interrupt until the moment demanded it.

Legolas’ curled his lips into a little smile, "I think you may be ahead in this game my friend."

"You are a reckless fool," Gimli retorted as Legolas closed the distance between them and patted his shoulder in a gesture of untold affection. "Only a fledgling turns him back upon an enemy even when he is seemingly subdued. You could have gotten yourself killed!" The dwarf ranted in typical fashion.

"No I would not," Legolas shook his head. "I knew you would be there to watch my back."

Gimli’s eyes clouded with emotion and as always when he was bombarded with sentiment he was not entirely comfortable with, harrumphed loudly before going to retrieve his weapon.

"Where is he?" Gimli asked upon realizing that Dallanar’s child had fled, leaving his father’s dead body behind.

Legolas swept his gaze across the battle field, at the fight still raging around them and released a little sigh when he could not see the boy, "I do not know and it no longer matters."

And he was rather pleased at how good it felt to know that it was true.

**********

Dallanar’s death did not bring the battle to an end.

When they had fought the enemy on home ground, the Haradrim were willing to die for their leader but after their numerous defeats and the onslaught of elven wrath, the enemy’s willingness to protect the king lessened considerably as did their faith in his strategy. Dallanar’s death was hardly noticed by his people and only after the fighting was done, would many of them become aware that he had fallen at all. Before that outcome, the battle of Anumet continued into the morning with losses on both sides. Despite the devastating surprise attack from which they never fully recovered, the Confederacy defended themselves valiantly and while it was hoped that it would not come to it they fought almost to the last man.

Aragorn had fought the battle in the very heart of it. Astride Roheryn, he provided his men with the will to continue fighting, even when their limbs were aching and their bodies bled from numerous wounds. Their king fought alongside of them, never leaving the field of battle. Upon Roheryn, King Elessar directed the battle, fought the enemy and bled alongside them. Those who had faltered had only to see the determination in their king’s eyes to know that they could wield their sword once more and fell upon the enemy whose numbers were beginning to dwindle.

Legolas and Gimli fought alongside each other throughout most of the battle, carving a path through the sea of bodies to reach Aragorn. The king of Gondor was grateful to see they were alive but could do little to acknowledge it as the battle continued. The three remained in close proximity for most of the night, wielding axe, sword and dagger in endless combat, slashing and cutting away at bone, flesh and blood, until the sand ran red with it and the air was killed with nothing but clanging steel and cries of dying and agony.

The ranks of the enemy were savagely decimated once the more seasoned veterans had fallen in battle. The desperation of the Confederacy in its conscription was most apparent by the young faces that Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn were force to fight. While some were little more than adolescents, others were not long into their adulthood but ultimately the outcome was the same. Against the battle hardened warriors of Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien, to say nothing of the experienced elven warriors, the enemy could not stand and began to fall like chaff in the wind.

Imrahil had carried out his task of preventing the Confederacy from escaping the ravine with magnificent success. The Lord of Dol Amroth, using the warriors under his command drove the enemy back through the passage, hemming them in on either side of the ravine. Faced with Imrahil’s forces and Aragorn’s on either side of them, the Confederacy arm was soon crushed in a ring of steel. What the cavalry under Imrahil’s lead did not tear asunder, the rankers of the western army were more than capable of undertaking with similar efficiency.

By the time Eomer and Haldir returned to the ravine after undertaking their own mission beyond the hills of Anumet, the enemy was already on the verge of complete annihilation. The appearance of more cavalry seemed to drive what will there were in them to prevail into nothingness. The plan to nullify the threat of the mumakils had met with resounding success with the remnants of the Confederacy army utterly laid to waste and the elven ability to communicate with the beasts ensured that the creatures would be no further trouble.

The combined assault of the western army in all it’s entirely upon the dwindling remains of the Confederacy, brought the enemy to its knees in a matter of hours. As the sun rose in the horizon and the night stole further away from dawn into the new day, the battle of Anumet had finally drawn to an end and though no one spoke it at the time, so too were the Desert Campaigns of Haradwraith.

*************

Legolas stared out the window and allowed his gaze to sweep across Mahazar, remembering how he had once vowed to burn this city to the ground.

He was rather glad that he did not.

They had marched into Mahazar yesterday, entering the city unopposed because the Tribe of Bors had swept into the Haradrim capital days before and dealt with the scant forces left behind to defend the city. The people of Mahazar had little choice but to endure the occupation of the four thousand strong army from the Sunlands, particularly when the handful of soldiers left to defend them were easily overcome. Some resistance from the native population had been encountered but the Bors dealt with this using similar efficiency and by the time the armies of the west marched into Mahazar, the population had settled into an uneasy acceptance of their situation.

The rest of the Sanara Belt had little choice but to accede to the surrender, since their ranks had been drained of all defenses when the Confederacy had made its last stand at Anumet. A handful of high-ranking generals had survived Anumet but as was in the customs of war that no amount of compassion or benevolence could permit, they were put to the sword quickly and with mercy. The executions had disturbed Aragorn greatly, Legolas knew but the king of Gondor could not afford to assume half measures now that he had conquered a country and brought about an end to the war. It was thing to end the fighting but quite another to ensure that peace could be maintained and to that end, those sacrifices had to be made.

The Easterling leader and his Variag counterpart were allowed to return home with what was left of their armies, which was to say very little. Both were issued a warning that Gondor was watching and less they wished their respective lands to be annexed as Haradwraith had been, they would be wise to desist in any attempts at aggression. As it was, the terms of their surrender required the Easterlings and the Variags to return immediately to their territories and surrender all lands taken from the Bors in their wars with the people of the Sunlands. The two leaders had protested but had little choice but to accept the terms since they were clearly in a position of disadvantage.

Following the departure of the Variags and the Easterlings, with a healthy portion of Bors warriors ensuring they crossed into their borders without any resurgence of defiance, Aragorn and the Ruling Council turned its attention to the newly acquired province of Haradwraith.

Legolas studied the skyline beyond the domed palace and had to confess seeing the beauty that Faramir described so vividly upon his return from this city. There was an exotic texture about it, an amalgamation of cultures that produced a visual feast of color that was somewhat surprising in a land surrounded by desert. He and Gimli had explored the city this morning, mindful that the people of Mahazar after hearing tales of Axinar and the rest of the villages in the Barrens, still expected to be slaughtered by the First Born. His purpose for moving among them was to show them that they were safe from murdering elves and to diffuse their fears as much as possible.

He found a city of incredible diversity, once one was able to look beneath the fear in everyone’s eyes. From the colorful bazaars, to the eclectic flotilla of trading boats on the Sanara River, Mahazar was very much like Minas Tirith and yet uniquely different as well. As Legolas walked through the paved streets, breathing in the unfamiliar spices and scents, he wished more than ever that Melia was here with him. More and more, his eye was turning to the east and he knew that even when matters in Mahazar were settled, he would still have one bit of unfinished business to deal with.

But not yet.

Legolas turned away from the window upon Aragorn’s arrival in the throne room of the Haradrim palace. The Elfstone cut an impressive figure as he approached the seat of Haradrim power clad in the regalia expected of a conquering king. With Anduril sheathed in its scabbard at his hip and flanked by Faramir and Imrahil who were presenting the fiefs of Ithilien and Dol Amroth, Aragorn took the throne before the entire court of Haradwraith. Eomer and Kirin as the other leaders of their country were placed in a seat of similar honor but it was clear that the king of the Reunified Kingdom was the master of the floor. Legolas drew a deep breath and took his place at this elite gathering, Haldir to one side and Gimli at the other.

Before them was what remained of Haradwraith’s ministers, the ones who had chose to remain instead of fleeing what they were certain would be death at the hands of the new regime. These were men who loved their country, who were willing to remain despite the possibility of death, who could no more abandon their homes as any ranker could turn away from Gondor in its time of need. The Prime Minister, a man called Yurien, stood before the Ruling council, prepared to argue what concessions he could gain for Haradrim sovereignty, such as it was.

Standing next to him was Dalan, the Crown Prince of Haradwraith and Dallanar’s only son.

The boy had been recaptured following the battle of Anumet, one of the handful of survivors following that fierce battle. Dalan had come through the ordeal a little stronger Legolas noted. The fear that he had seen in the boy’s eyes was better hidden if not diminished altogether. He held his head high and his countenance did not speak of defeat but rather of pride and dignity. Did he acquire that trait from Dallanar, Legolas wondered.

"Firstly," Aragorn broke the overwhelming silence of the room, "we will discuss the disposition of Prince Dalan."

Legolas saw the boy stiffening and the mood in the throne room already tense, became even more taut as all eyes fixed upon the king and the young prince respectively.

"It is customary in such circumstances that the first born son of any defeated or deposed king be put to death as a deterrent for future acts of aggression where he may be used as a rallying cry of opposition," Aragorn began. Legolas could see Dalan’s strength began to falter but he did an admirable job of maintaining a composed face. Yurien at his side however, appeared resigned that the boy’s death as an inevitability.

"However," Aragorn replied, sweeping his gaze not only across the court of Haradwraith but also his comrades in arms and in particular Legolas, "at the behest of Lord Legolas of Eden Ardhon, representative of Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien, I have chosen to commute the sentence of death to exile. You and your family will be expatriated to the Sunlands where you will live under the supervision of the Bors. You will not be allowed to return to Haradwraith and should you attempt to do so, we will assume it as a violation of the terms of surrender and the traditional sentence shall hold."

Yurien let out a deep exhale and Legolas guessed that it was likely that the Prime Minister held some affection for the young man as evidenced by the relief on his face at Aragorn’s decree. Indeed the court of Haradrim were similarly astonished by the order, for such mercy would have been unheard of were it Dallanar occupying the throne. Legolas had needed very little effort to convince Aragorn to give the young man his life because Aragorn was too noble a man to condone bloodshed of one so young despite the demands of tradition.

"We thank the king for his mercy," Yurien spoke for the first time.

"There has been enough bloodshed in this land," Aragorn answered him with sympathy. "Let us not begin this new page with the murder of a child. Does this suit you young Dalan?" He turned to the Prince, "or will you prefer to join your father in death?"

Dalan blinked, not expecting to be addressed directly. As it was, the young man appeared rather stunned that he was being allowed to live.

"I am the head of my household if no longer a prince," Dalan answered, his voice shaking and his eyes never meeting Aragorn’s, "I still have responsibility to my mother and my sisters. I shall accept exile if it means I can care for them."

"You have made a good choice young one," Aragorn answered with a smile, "go in peace."

Faramir had only to nod at Beregond before the Captain of Ithilien, who along with the troops under his command had taken sentry position in the room, marched forward and whisked the young man to his fate.

Once Dalan was ferried away, Aragorn turned his attention to the Prime Minister for their business was far from done. Aragorn had no wish to rule in Haradwraith but there were realities he was forced to deal with, precautions he had to take in order to protect the Reunified Kingdom and its allies. What happened at Lebethron, Edoras, Lossarnach, Ithilien and Eden Ardhon would not be repeated again, of this he was absolute. The cycle of hatred had to end and if it required him acting with a little more benevolence than was required of a conquering army, then so be it.

"Prime Minister Yurien," Aragorn met the man’s eyes, "that you chose to remain when so many of your ministers have fled leads me to believe that the fate of your country is more important to you than your safety."

"This is my home," Yurien said firmly in perfect Westron, "I was born here and if necessary I will die here."

"I am appointing a governor to this realm," Aragorn stated, getting to the heart of the matter quickly. "He will sit in charge of one thousand Gondorian rankers and four hundred Rohirrim cavalrymen who have volunteered to remain in Haradwraith. This presence will also be supported by a further one thousand troops from the Tribe of Bors and three hundred elven archers."

A low hiss moved through the court but Aragorn continued speaking for this matter had been discussed by the ruling council before this day and to the others who had no part in the process, the decision was not theirs to debate, merely accept.

"Word has been sent to him in Gondor and he will be arriving shortly, I wish you to act as his counsel, Prime Minister Yurien," Aragorn declared.

Yurien’s eyes widened. "How can you trust me?"

"I do not and I am certain neither will he," Aragorn retorted. "Trust is something that has to be earned and if he for one instant, believes that you are attempting to subvert the initiative of a peaceful coexistence, he has my full authority to separate your head from your body. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Yurien answered needing no further clarification.

"The governor will arrive here with grain, surplus grain that Gondor has kept in its granaries when our harvests have been particularly bountiful. That grain will be brought to Mahazar and distributed throughout the Sanara Belt and the Barrens. He will also bring with him some of our best agricultural minds that may be able to aid your efforts to grow grain. His first order of business will be to feed your people, something I am sad to say Dallanar has been ill in accomplishing during his reign."

Once again, the court of the Haradrim were uncertain of how to accept such a magnanimous offer and a ripple swept through the faces of those present.

"This governor," Yurien finally asked, "who shall it be?"

"Erchirion of Dol Amroth, second born of Lord Imrahil," Aragorn glanced briefly at the Prince who had been rather stunned when Aragorn had brought up the matter with him. As second born, Erchirion would always live in the shadow of his older brother and both siblings had been acquitting themselves admirably in the defense of Gondor during the Desert Campaigns. "He is a fine warrior and has learned a good deal of diplomacy from his father who is an expert in the subject. He will oversee the interests of the Reunified Kingdom in Haradwraith and ensure that there will be peace among our people. Perhaps in time, you can see that we are not your enemy and can be trusted to govern yourselves."

That day was many years away, Legolas thought as Aragorn made that statement not only to Yurien but to all the Haradrim present. It would take longer than Aragorn’s lifetime and Legolas was certain that the elves would be but a memory before that day arrived but he was confident that it would come.

The world was if anything, patient.

************

"You are going?" Aragorn spoke to Legolas several days after that fateful meeting in Mahazar.

They had been occupying the palace since their arrival in the city though Legolas never truly felt comfortable residing in the home of his enemy, even if that nemesis was one of countless bodies that had been buried at Mahazar. There was still a good deal to go but Aragorn and the rest of the Ruling Council appeared to have it all in hand. The army would not depart these lands until Erchirion arrived and Aragorn was reasonably confident that Haradwraith was in good hands. That journey would take weeks from Gondor, certainly long enough for Legolas to slip away and deal with affairs of his own.

"For a time," Legolas nodded as they stood in the hallway leading to the main entrance of the palace. "You know why."

"I do," Aragorn replied understanding completely. As his friend, Aragorn was glad that Legolas was at last making this important journey to secure his future though as king, he was grateful that the elf had continued his presence as a member of the Ruling Council and the commander of the elven army. Legolas had been instrumental in convincing the elves that it was necessary that some of them remain behind to maintain the peace in Haradwraith. Those who chose to take up this duty had done so out of a genuine curiosity over this part of Middle Earth and were eager to explore the lands that were suddenly open to them after so long.

"I shall not be away for long," Legolas answered, clutching the hand that reached for his shoulder in a show of warmth and affection. "I promise I will return when you and the others begin the journey home."

"I shall hold you to that," Aragorn said with a smile.

Legolas started to turn away when suddenly, he paused. This exchange was fraught with far more emotion than he thought possible and the need to speak his mind suddenly became overwhelming. He turned around and met Aragorn’s gaze.

"I would not be making this journey if it were not for your friendship Estel," Legolas said quietly. "You have endured much of late being my friend and I wish you to know that I shall not forget it."

Aragorn swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat, dropping his gaze because it was not a thing between men to show so much sentiment even when it was so heartfelt. "You would have done the same for me."

"Perhaps," Legolas answered, "but not without as much patience, I wager. I was ready to kill him and if it were not for your words, I would have done so but you were right about everything and it shames me to think that I could not learn in three millennia what it has taken you less than a century to understand."

"The privileges of mortality," Aragorn shrugged. "You have nothing to be ashamed of Legolas. For all my preaching, for all my advice, I cannot truly say how I would have been if it were Arwen who had been harmed in such manner. I do not think any man who loves a woman as much as you love Melia can ever be certain of their actions when confronted with what you were forced to endure."

"It will not leave me for a long time what I have done in this land," Legolas replied, his eyes moving across the room as if he could see through the walls into the world beyond it. "For all the reasons that I felt justified, there will still be a mark of blood upon me that no amount of time will ever erase."

"Perhaps it is not meant to be," Aragorn answered as Legolas started to break away and resume his departure. "Ride well my friend. I look to the east for your return."

Legolas nodded shortly before disappearing down the corridor.

************

He had no more descended the path that led to the stable when he saw Gimli waiting for him at the foot of the steps. Legolas slowed as he approached the dwarf, noting quickly that Gimli was dressed for travel.

"It is about time you arrived," Gimli grumbled in annoyance, his eyes shifting briefly to the morning sky. "We are going to lose the morning thanks to your tardiness."

"We?" Legolas stared at him.

"Well you do not think I am letting you ride all the way to the Sunlands alone?" Gimli stared at Legolas as if he were an infant and not a three thousand year old elf.

"I suppose there is no way I can convince you to remain here," Legolas met the dwarf’s gaze with amusement and affection. As much as Aragorn’s friendship had helped him through this, Legolas could not forget the part Gimli had played either. He was fortunate to be blessed with such friends and did not have it in his heart to turn the dwarf away since Legolas could ask for no better travelling companion.

"No," Gimli retorted turning on his heels and resuming the walk to the stables. "So you had better become accustomed to me being at your side. I intend to see to it that you do not get into any trouble. Aule’s knows that is feat alone will keep me occupied for the next hundred and twenty years."

"And probably beyond," Legolas grinned, not minding the possibility at all.

*************

Naur Na innas—Fire at will

Ad—Again

Epilogue
Homecoming

Melia straightened and lowered her arms from the task of brushing down Lomelindi’s velvet like coat. Since their arrival in the dry, arid climate of the Sunlands, the animal was constantly plagued by dust and sand being caught in its fur. Melia had taken to performing this daily ritual to ease the beast's discomfort. The animal had come to her from Rohan and had cost her almost a year of savings to purchase. Lomelindi was more than just her horse; the mare was her friend. In a time when Melia had been completely alone in her life, existing as mere shadow in the woods of Angmar, this beast had been her only companion.  She had no intention of allowing herself to forget that now that her life had changed.

Turning around slowly, she met the anxious gaze of Aunt Felamin, her father's youngest sister who was awaiting her answer.

Melia had never known her aunt as a child because Felamin lived in another village with in the Bors Tribal lands.  Felamin had married before Hezare’s return from the western lands and as custom dictated, was forced to travel to her husband’s village to begin her new life. Unfortunately, the devastation of the Scourge had seen Felamin lose not only her husband and most of the men in his family, forcing her to take her own children and returned to the village of her birth. Kirin who at the time,  suddenly found himself the High Chieftain had been more than happy to welcome her into his house, having lost his mother during the attack.  Felamin had tended to Kirin’s house until his marriage and now enjoyed the reputation of a dowager of sorts, caring for her family both infant and adult.

Melia wished she had known the lady when she was a child because despite being hopelessly trapped in the Tribe’s apparently outdated customs towards women, Melia and her aunt had liked each other immediately. Since her homecoming, Melia had spent a great deal of time with Felamin whose wit and good humour reminded her greatly of the father she had lost.

"It is the only course," Melia said impatiently, resolute in the decision she had made and refusing to entertain any other arguments to the contrary. "I am going to find my husband. I should never have fled in the first instance. Of course, it is hardly surprising since I seem to have a history of running whenever I am faced with any situation of difficulty."

"That is hardly fair," Felamin pointed out.  “You have been through a terrible ordeal. You told me yourself when you came here that you thought that you were doing the best thing for your husband by leaving him and forcing him to follow you.”

“No,” Melia shook her head and turned away, her eyes staring through the open door of the stable into the horizon beyond, “I did what was best for me. I should not have made that demand of him. I wanted to save him but put no thought into whether or not my decision was wise. I have had time to think Aunt and I know I erred in asking him such a thing.”

“It was a mistake borne out of love,” Felamin said sympathetically, liking this headstrong young woman very much.  Felamin had not known Melia’s mother but there was no need for that since the girl was almost all Hezare. Felamin thought and not for the first time since meeting Melia, how much like her father Melia was.  Melia had Hezare dreams in her head, his determination in her eyes and while her face was an amalgamation of both parents, Felamin could only see Hezare.

“I ran from him once Aunt,” Melia confessed, feeling more a fool when she spoke the truth out loud. “I promised him I would never do that again and here I am, having done the very thing I promised I would not do.  I should have been more sensible. I could have simply returned here and told him that I needed to come home. After what we had endured, I do not think he would have begrudged me that desire but coercing him to leave the battlefield, whatever the intention, has no excuse.  I keep thinking of Legolas as my love when I ought to have remembered that his is also the Lord of Eden Ardhon and for the moment, the commander of the elven army. It was irresponsible of me to make such a demand of him.”

“You were trying to save him from himself,” Felamin approached Melia and rested a comforting hand upon the younger woman’s shoulder. “All of us have heard the tales of his rage at Axinar. It is understandable that you behaved as you did.  You did not wish him to destroy himself in the pursuit of his vengeance.”

“So I made a demand of him he could not possibly keep and knowing him, it would have hurt him deeply to refuse me my request,” Melia dropped her gaze to the straw covered floor in shame. “I only hope that he is still in Mahazar when I arrive.”

Melia felt no anger that Legolas had not come to her in the wake of the news that Mahazar fallen to the Tribe of Bors and the western army. How could she when his arrival would only drive home how foolishly she had behaved by demanding he leave his army and his responsibilities? She had thought to save him from himself by taking away his vengeance but to deny him the right to kill Dallanar was not her choice to make. 

It was his.

Only he could decide whether or not he wished to travel that path even if it led to destruction.  She could try to convince him against it but ultimately; no one could make the decision for him. She should have gone to him as Gimli had wished. She should have gone to Legolas to embrace him in her arms and tell him that no matter what, she loved him still and always would.  It was her own shock at what he was capable of doing at Axinar that had sent her fleeing like a frightened child. It appeared her entire life was one endless flight after another.  It disgusted her completely that she had not recognised that by now.

Ironically enough, coming to the Sunlands had replenished her as she had hoped it would. Suddenly what happened to her in Eden Ardhon seemed very far away and though there would be scars upon her psyche that would never truly fade, she knew she could live with them and perhaps the ordeal had  even made her stronger.  However, she first had to find her prince and tell him that she was a fool and perhaps he might forgive her for doing the unthinkable once yet again.   Melia hoped he could forgive her.

“The war is ended,” Felamin answered, resigning to the fact that Melia would leave as she intended the next day and nothing said would change her mind.  “I would imagine that the western army would have some issues to attend before they can depart.”

“I would imagine that they would have quite a great deal to contend with,” Melia answered, unable to imagine what an enormous task it must be to set Haradwraith in order now that the enemy was conquered.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Hadar, Kirin’s son of seven years. The boy had latched himself to Melia soon after she had arrived, demanding to hear the tales of the western lands. Melia was able to oblige him with the legends of the Fellowship and the history of the elves as imparted to her by Legolas, earning her his undying adoration. He had Kirin’s sweet nature with a smile that would charm any woman he met in his adulthood. 

“Cousin Melia, you must come!” The boy ran across the room, pausing long enough to secure Melia’s hand in his before resuming his journey the way he came.

“What is it?” Melia asked as she allowed herself to be led by the boy, offering Felamin a look of puzzlement as she was forced into the sunshine outside.

Felamin shrugged in similar confusion, choosing to follow her younger family members out the stable to investigate the reason for Hadar’s excitement and insistence. Children his age were usually inclined to see the most inconsequential things as important but even Felamin had to concede that there was more than the usual enthusiasm in the boy’s manner.

Melia emerged outside and saw that there was a ripple of excitement moving through the community. Men and women alike had emerged from their homes and were staring in the same direction. Their expressions were a mixture of awe, wonder and excitement. Melia wondered if perhaps Kirin and the army had come home.  However, her appearance divided their attention as some turned to her and began muttering amongst themselves.  Happy smiles and anticipated expressions filled their faces, forcing Melia’s stomach into a nervous tangle of knots.

“Look Melia,” Hadar exclaimed as Felamin came to stand next to them, “it is him. He has come.”

Melia followed Hadar’s gaze and understood at last what had captured the attention of all the villagers in this community.  She felt her heart quicken at the sight of the prince, astride Arod with Gimli at his side, his fair skin a little more tanned than she remembered owing to the heat and his hair even more golden under the sun.  To the Bors, he looked as if he might have stepped out of the pages of an ancient book, the kind that Bor’s descendants had brought with them from Beleriand. For many who had never seen an elf in their lives, the memory of Legolas’ first arrival into their midst’s would be burned into memory forever.

Melia did not see an elf or the great hero of the Fellowship or even the conqueror of Haradwraith. She saw only the man she loved and knowing that he was here and he had come all this way despite her selfish demand sent her running forward before the thought had reached completion in her head. She was barely aware that Hadar had attempted to follow her only to find himself secured in Felamin’s grip to prevent it. 

Melia hurried forward; unable to believe the tonic it was to her spirit to simply see him. Eru how she had missed him and prayed that he was in the mood for forgiveness. She told herself that she deserved whatever anger he may be feeling but was hopeful because he had come all this way.  She understood completely that he had to wait until the war had ended and was grateful that he had.  When she had heard that Dallanar had died at the hands of Gimli, not Legolas, Melia knew that there would have been no way that Legolas would permitted it unless it was his choice.   How she had underestimated him and even as she hurried towards Legolas, felt another surge of shame at her inability to rise to the occasion when he needed her.

Legolas saw Melia approach and felt his own heart swell with emotion at seeing her.  She looked well he thought and there was a sparkle in her eyes he had not seen since before Eden Ardhon. Had returning to this place agreed with her as much as she had claimed it would?  Legolas brought Arod to a halt upon seeing her and noted that his arrival into the village was causing much commotion with all eyes fixed upon Gimli and himself.  It was likely that none of these people had ever seen a dwarf or an elf and Legolas wished he were a less tainted representative of his race to mark that initial introduction.

“She looks happy to see you,” Gimli remarked, his own pleasure at seeing Melia apparent on his grinning face.

Legolas flashed the dwarf a returning smile, hoping that it could convey to Gimli the thanks that words were inadequate to express. The journey here had been long, requiring them to travel the length of the Sanara River and crossing the Turan Mountains to reach the Bors Tribal lands.  They were accompanied by some of the Bors who had parted company when they neared their own villages once they inside their territory. Legolas discovered that the Tribe of Bors was a collective of many villages stretched across the Sunland’s, the principle being the village of Borean, so named after the descendant of Bors who crossed the Turan Mountains and founded the Tribe.

Dismounting the animal, he felt slightly uncomfortable by the fact he and Melia were being observed but supposed he drew attention by his very presence, to say nothing of his relationship to Hezare’s daughter. Arod seemed to recognize his master’s lady and sniffed her familiar scent with two loud snorts. Legolas crossed the space between Melia and himself, wondering if she knew how great that distance truly was. It felt like an eternity since he last beheld her and seeing her again made him wonder how he could have ever thought of risking her love for vengeance.

Neither spoke as they swept into each other’s arms and crushed their lips together in a kiss full of passion and fire. For a time, there was nothing else in the world except for the touch, taste and feel of one another wrapped in a passionate display of love and desire.  It took the breath away, it made the heart pound and infused each other with a rekindling of spirit that was devoid in both for too long.  The wounds that had marked them seemed less when they were together and it was proof that their love would survive their recent troubles.

Legolas had forgotten how it felt to kiss her, to breathe her, to simply bask in the presence of her because it had been so long.  It was almost nine months since he had last seen her.  For elves it should have been a blink of an eye but without her it was a long and torturous. He could not begin to imagine how men retained their sanity when time moved so slowly for them.  He took from her lips all that he could, a parched man indulging himself at an oasis.  She too was happy to quench his thirst for she appeared just as needy as he. 

Still, parting was inevitable and Legolas pulled himself reluctantly away from those enchanting lips to stare into the pools of her eyes, burning with love and spirit once more. 

“This does not mean I am any less upset at you,” he said with one brow arched.

“I deserve it,” Melia declared readily. “If you had but been a day later, we would have missed each other. I would have been gone in the morning.”

“Gone?” He stared at her.

“I was going to Mahazar to find you,” she answered sincerely. “I was coming to tell you that once again I was a fool for making of you’re the demand to leave the war  to be with me here. I should not have asked that of you. It was wrong. I sought to save you from yourself. After seeing what had happened at Axinar, I was terrified that you would ruin yourself because of me and so I thought that I could use your love to make you see sense but it was wrong, I was wrong. The choices for your conduct are your choices. I had no right to take that from you. Since being here, I have thought of my behavior and I feel ashamed that I had to come so far away to discover my weakness. I am sorry Prince, I should have been there for you, not make the situation worse.”

Legolas heard her words and saw the emotion behind them. He could never stay angry at her for very long but he was grateful that she understood why he could not leave the battlefield. “You complicated it,” he spoke after a moment, “but you could never make anything in my life worse. I am glad you understand that I could not leave, that there are responsibilities I must uphold no matter what the consequence. I am who I am Melia and it is not in me to turn away from my duties, even if you mean life and death to me.”

Melia took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply once more before answering, “I have never doubted your love for me, I only feared that you were going to destroy yourself in your vengeance against the Haradrim king.”

Legolas blinked and lowered his gaze but a moment as he summed up the courage to respond. There was a multitude of feelings inside of him regarding that subject and he needed a pause to compose his thoughts .

“I could have killed him Mia. He was within my reach. I could have killed him or at the very least made him suffer just as torturously as he made us both suffer these past months but I could not do it.  I was faced with the choice and I realized that if I killed him or harmed him as I wished, I would only be harming myself. So much of me have become tainted in blood, my love for you is the one thing that has remained pure throughout everything that has transpired in Haradwraith. If I took his life in vengeance, that love would be soiled and I could not bear that. I have much to atone for Melia but I refused to atone for this too.”

“We have both of us much to atone for,” Melia said firmly, meeting his blue eyes in earnest, “but we will do it together. I left you once and though this time I thought I left you for the best reasons, I am still ashamed of my conduct.”

“Do not be,” Legolas placed a hand on her cheek, “you had cause in my behavior.”

“I love that you wish to absolve me but I know my sins as I am certain you know yours,” Melia replied. “I promise you on my life that as long as I walk this earth, I will walk it at your side.”

“That is all that I can ask,” Legolas answered, touched by the reaffirmation of that oath and sensing the conviction behind it. Perhaps even more than when she had returned to Eden Ardhon before their marriage.

“Now,” Melia smiled as she glanced at Gimli and then at Felamin and Hadar, “I want to introduce you both to my family and now yours as well.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Legolas smiled happily, kissing her lightly on the lips, “and after a visit shall we go home?”

Melia’s eyes held his and nodded, “where you are, I am home.”

*************

Legolas, Melia and Gimli lingered but a week in the Sunlands in which time the Lord of Eden Ardhon was introduced to his wife’s family who received the latest addition with the warmth and awe that could only be given to member of the First Born. The villagers of Bors looked upon him with some measure of anticipation, their knowledge of him as a person understandably clouded by what they knew of the First Born and his notorious reputation in Haradwraith. Legolas regretted it but accepted this was part of the penance he would have to pay for what he had done as the butcher of Axinar.

Despite the familiarity of returning to Melia, both husband and wife found that each had changed in the nine months that they had been apart. Though the changes in character were subtle, the week in the Sunlands where they were just themselves instead of the lord and lady of Eden Ardhon had been very liberating. It almost felt as if they were courting again as they revisited their feelings for each other without the complication of the world they had left behind. It had been a tender exploration of love making and reveling in the simple joy in being in each other’s presence again. Legolas was also pleased to visit some of the places in Melia’s youth since she knew all about the lands of his birth and he wished the same familiarity with her past.

Gimli was a favorite among the Bors who had never seen a dwarf in their lives and his interest in their culture, particularly in the crafts, drew the attention of many village elders. He spent much of his time in deep discussions with craftsmen about their skills and after awhile, Legolas had to wonder who had come out of the exchange more rewarded. Judging by the wealth of knowledge that was shared among the dwarfs and his companions, it was difficult to say. Nevertheless, a short visit was as best as they could afford since Legolas intended to make good his promise to Aragorn. 

When he left Haradwraith forever, he wanted it to be in the company of his friends and the woman he loved.

After a tearful farewell with Melia’s family, particularly with Felamin and Hadar, they arrived in Mahazar to find that the western army was more than ready to depart. Erchirion had arrived in Haradwraith weeks before and during that time the second son of Imrahil’s line had worked closely with his father and his king to ensure the smooth beginning of his governorship when the western army finally set out for home.  With him, Erchirion had brought his new bride, Tarien of Anorien, having wed the lady in a hasty ceremony following to the surprise news of his appointment.  Legolas had met Erchirion before this occasion and found Aragorn’s choice to be a sound one. Certainly Imrahil was filled with pride at the selection.

In the meantime however, Melia was reunited with her beloved cousin Kirin.  Despite the fact that Kirin was now High Chieftain, the two cousins behaved as if they were young children once more and for the duration of their stay in Mahazar, there were days when Melia and Kirin were seldom apart. Thus when it was time for the conquering armies to depart, the parting was difficult for Melia most of all.  Kirin had helped her in her youth to become the woman she was in her adulthood and had brought a swift end to the war by his willingness to align himself with the Reunified Kingdom and its allies.

 “I shall miss you,” Melia said to Kirin who was returning to the Sunlands now that affairs were concluded in Mahazar.

Kirin looked upon her face with a smile, reminding Melia so much of her father that she was almost driven to tears, “I shall miss you cousin,” he said with equal emotion.

“My life would not have been as it was if it were not for you,” Melia replied, having waited for many years to thank him for his kindness and his aid in her youth. “You grew up as I imagined you would, into a great man. I always knew you had strength in you Kirin.”

“You and your father were the only ones,” the High Chieftain answered, forcing himself to maintain his composure because it would not do for his men to see his emotions exposed in such a way. “I am glad that you have happiness in the west Melia. You have found someone who cherishes you, whom I believe will never break your heart. That is more than most people acquire in a lifetime.  Be happy and always know that your family will welcome you home.”

Melia blinked her tears and embraced Kirin hard, unaware that his words and her time in the Sunlands had reconciled many things for her.  She felt restored somehow and many of the regrets she carried with her during the years had found resolution at last.  “And I will be glad to know that I am not alone, that I have family.”

She kissed him gently on the cheek before he drew her to him in a warm embrace.  It was as if the years had never been and Melia was grateful that everything she had hoped for Kirin had come to pass. He was the man he wanted to be and though she regretted the deaths that placed him in the seat of power, she had always known he would be equal to it.  It had given her a great sense of satisfaction to know that under Kirin’s leadership, the Bors were able to forge a lasting alliance with Ruling Council and perhaps may one day take its place as one of its members.

“However,” Kirin said upon parting from her, “since it appears we are entering a new peace, I may follow Hezare’s lead  and come for a visit. Once I have spent some time at home, I may be inclined to see Eden Ardhon for myself.”

“You will be most welcome,” Melia declared, thrilled by the prospect even if she knew it could be many years before she saw him again. “If you are able, I would like you to bring Aunt Filamen with you as well.”

“I think you might see her sooner than you think,” Kirin smiled. “Our aunt is something of a wandering spirit and now that our women are less restricted, she may call upon you sooner rather than later.”

“I shall look forward to it then,” Melia answered and hugged him again.

And with that, Kirin, High Chieftain of the Bors, led his army back to the Sunlands and began the exodus that would see the western army departing Haradwraith bound for the west

And home.

************

Lothiriel had a great deal of difficulty trying to acquaint herself with the fact that she had been married for almost a year. 

Unfortunately, it was a fact difficult to deny now that she was presiding over the celebration of the Spring Foaling.  For the people of the Mark whose primary means of support were the breeding of horse for the rest of Middle earth, the festival was an important cultural event.  All communities across Rohan celebrated the Foaling in their own way and it was one of the most anticipated occasions of the year. The festival, aptly named because it was the celebration of a successful breeding year, saw the gathering of hundreds in Edoras because nowhere was the Foaling  celebrated with as much grandeur than within the capital of the Rohirrim world.

For the festival, Edoras had transformed its fortress like appearance into a city of colour and vibrant energy.  Streets were decorated with the efforts of artisans who carved and crafted their bests for display on this day. It was difficult to imagine that the sometimes sedate city come to life in such spectacular bloom.   Lothiriel could not deny that she was swept in the atmosphere of colourful streamers, garlands and crafts decorating the buildings and streets. There were entertainers and performers, fire-eaters and jugglers.  A short time ago she had passed a bard who were telling a group of mesmerized children the thrilling story of Felarof, the great horse that bore Eorl into battle and was indirectly responsible for the Steward Cirion rewarding Eol with the lands that were now Rohan.

Lothiriel had opened the festival by conducting the customary tribute to the Valar lord, Bema or Orome, as he was known to the elves. It was Bema who had brought from the west, the wild steeds that were ancestors to the Mearas.  In accordance with tradition, the horse masters of Meduseld would then present to the people, the new spring foals borne of that noble line.  The Mearas, who were capable of understanding the speech of men, had sworn allegiance to the King of the Mark and would only allow themselves to be ridden by him or his sons. This year, the breeding for these wonderful creatures had been particularly bountiful and was everyone was suitably impressed by the small stable of foals with their coats of snow white, silver and jet, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

The festival had almost been abandoned this year because it was customarily the king of the Mark who presided over the ceremony and with the war in the eastern realms, there was some who questioned the appropriateness of the event at such a time.  However, Lothiriel had insisted that it continue because she knew that was what Eomer would have wished. He would not want his people gripped  in melancholy until his return.  Eomer would wish them to continue on with their lives and part of it was the festival of the Spring Foaling.  The queen of the Mark would stand in his stead and conduct it herself, she had said bravely to the court of Meduseld, hiding her anxiety in order to win Rohan its festival.  It had taken a long time for Lothiriel to feel confident enough to exert her authority as queen and though it was only a minor issue, she was rather proud of herself for it. Particularly when she saw how much the people of Edoras was enjoying the day.

For Lothiriel, the past year was wrought with its own trials; the least of it was becoming queen. When she was younger, she had always assumed that when marriage came, it would be to a nobleman and her aspirations in terms of title or rank did not extend past becoming mistress of her own house.  However, she had never dreamed that when she did wed, it would mean assuming the mantle of queen to a country and particularly one as large and impressive as Rohan.  Despite the months spent in Riddermark prior to her marriage, Lothiriel knew that she had a limited knowledge of Rohan and it people being cloistered in the walls of the Golden Hall.

It was only after her marriage, when Eomer was called away to the east that Lothiriel began to explore the land and acquaint herself with the people who saw her as queen. It had been difficult to make this study without Eomer and each new discovery was met with a pang of sadness because he was not here to hear of it.  However, she forced herself to learn and had driven Reonel, the captain of the guard almost mad with annoyance by her desire to ride out into the villages, to meet the people of Rohan, to see what could be done as queen to ease the burdens of their lives.  Edoras had been without a queen since the death of Theoden's wife and while Eowyn had played the part in some degree, it was not the same as being able to claim the title as one's own.

Fortunately, Lothiriel had now reason to cheer because the war in the east had ended and her brother Erchirion had left for Haradwraith many weeks ago to assume the title of governor for the conquered country.  It was expected that his arrival would send the western army home for Lothiriel, the day of that arrival seemed endless by her reckoning. She had but spent a night with Eomer before he had left to join King Elessar and that had left her to spend the first year of their married life alone. She bore no resentment for this but she worried not only for her king but also for her father, who was fighting yet another war. 

Equally taxing during the past year was her guilt regarding the use of magic during the Dunlending assault upon Edoras. Using her abilities to protect the enemy who had broken through the hiding place of the women and children during the battle, Lothiriel had unwittingly killed the men who would have surely done far worse had they been allowed the opportunity.  It was the first time Lothiriel had truly set out to kill anyone and though she was thinking only of protecting herself and the women and children with her, it did not change the outcome.  When the deed was done, Lothiriel had been left with the realisation that she had deliberately set out to take a life.  It was a sobering realisation that made her wary of using her powers for fear she might harm someone if anything were to go wrong.

"We should be retiring to the hall soon," Lothiriel heard Odrade’s voice in her ear.

Odrade was wife to wife to Carleon, the Third Marshall of the Mark who was in the east with the rest of the western army.  Although Odrade had been acerbic to say the least during their first encounter, the two women had somehow forged a deep friendship in the past year and Lothiriel had invited Odrade to stay at the Golden Hall until their husbands’ return. That had been almost six months ago and while the news from abroad told them that their time together was dwindling, Lothiriel was grateful for the companionship.

"Oh," Lothiriel said as her distractive thoughts faded away.

"The feast will not begin until you return to the Golden Hall," Odrade explained, having attended many festivals of the Spring Foaling in her lifetime and was more than capable of guiding the queen through the rituals required.

"I hate presiding over this feast," Lothiriel grumbled as she straightened up in queen’s seat perched upon a dais set out for the nobles as they watched the entertainers and performers.  "This is Eomer's duty, not mine."

Odrade smiled to herself, becoming more than accustomed to these complaints after the past year. Lothiriel would profess her unhappiness and then carry exactly what was required of her and some times more than she was expected.  Whether or not the young woman knew it, her trips to visit the folk of Rohan, much to the consternation of Reonel, had made her beloved among the Rohirrim people.

"You are queen," Odrade said patiently, "it is expected of you."

"I was under the impression that the only thing a queen is expected to do is to provide an heir," Lothiriel frowned, sweeping her gaze over the crowds of people watching the entertainments. She hated to leave all this colour in order to play host for the dining pleasure of Rohan's aristocracy in the Golden Hall.

"Well I am certain that when he returns, you will be happy to make that achievement by numerous attempts," Odrade remarked, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"You have the mind of tavern wench," Lothiriel replied with a smile of equal mischief.

"No, I have been without a husband for a year," the lady retorted in good measure.

"Oh well," Lothiriel sighed realising she had a duty to perform and delaying the inevitable would avail her nothing, "I suppose it is better get this over and one with"

The queen prepared to rise from her seat when suddenly she caught sight of Reonel fighting his way through the crowd. The captain of the guard was navigating swiftly through the bodies between himself and the dais. His expression was one of excitement but everyone's attention was still fixed upon the troop of acrobats presently astonishing the crowd with their impressive skills and paid little attention to his attempts to get by them swiftly. Lothiriel watched him for a moment as he reached the sentries guarding the queen's viewing gallery. 

"Something is happening," Lothiriel whispered to Odrade, calling the lady's attention to Reonel's approach.

As if in answer to that statement, she heard the Great Horn of Helm Hammerhand that had been transported from Helm's Deep following the great battle fought there, echoing through the air.  Eomer had ordered it built into Edoras, using it as a symbol of connection between his rule as the third line of kings and those who had come before him.   The Horn ended the celebration abruptly. Its sound swept through the crowds, through the streets and reached every corner of the Rohirrim capital.  It stirred the heart of all who heard it, reminding them of their past, their present and in some way even their future. Within seconds, the entire city of Edoras was as silent as grave and no one spoke, mesmerized by the powerful song of the great horn. 

When the horn ceased it blaring, another voice cried out, slicing through the quiet. It came from the walls of the city, from a guard occupying the watchtower.

"The king returns!"

The news was met with a gamut of emotions, shock being the initial reaction. As the announcement was repeated once more, shock melted away into acceptance and from acceptance there was rejoicing and like the tide rolling into the shore, the wave of happiness at the return of the thing became an explosion of sound that was deafening to those not making it, until all that could be heard was the roar of cheering and clapping.

Lothiriel had to sit down again because the news was almost too much. 

He was home. After almost a year alone, he was home.

She almost wept from the joy of it.  Instead, she managed to keep her wits about her and issued  orders to Odrade to go to the Golden Hall, to tell Glyneth that the king was home and that preparations should be made for his arrival immediately.  Odrade nodded mutely and departed, leaving Lothiriel to remain where she was.  She saw Reonel organizing the guards, having them dismiss the entertainers for the moment and taking charge of the crowd to ensure that when the king entered the city, he would have a clear path to the dais and then to the Golden hall.

Lothiriel wanted to run through the crowds, to greet Eomer at the gates of the city but she remained where she was, her knuckles digging into the wooden arms of her chair as she waited for the Rohirrim army to enter Edoras. She felt it terribly unfair that protocol and decorum required for her to show some semblance of propriety by remaining here when all she wanted to do was reach Eomer and fling herself into his arms.  She had not felt this hungry yearning to see him since the first few months of their marriage, when the aching for him after he had departed into the east was almost unbearable.  Fortunately, time had a way of eroding the edge of such acute need and the year had seen her longing recede into something almost manageable.

Until now. 

All that seemed to fade away as she heard the crowds cheering loudly. While she could not see him yet, she could hear the reaction of Edoras’ folk as their king and his company passed through the gates. She could imagine their happiness as he progressed up the streets towards the Golden Hall, a procession of warriors riding behind him as the street was flanked with cheering onlookers. The sound grew louder with people waiting in anticipation for the procession to pass them. Lothiriel craned her neck to see past the bodies and could only catch sight of a wisp of color that may have been the Rohirrim banner

There was a saying that the best things come to those who await in the longest and for Lothiriel, did certainly felt true because when she saw Eomer appear before her at last, she thought she might die from the sheer happiness of seeing him. Like the rest of the warriors who had made that long journey to the east and had now returned at his side, Eomer looked well but unmistakably in need of rest.  His skin was brown from the heat of the Haradrim climate, his hair bleached under the hot sun.  His eyes however, found hers quickly and though their first meeting was devoid of the privacy he would have desired, Lothiriel had no doubt how happy he was to see her. 

Lothiriel stood up when Eomer dismounted his horse, unable to remain seated anymore.  She saw Odrade next to her exchanging and affection look with her husband, Carleon who had climbed out of the saddle after Eomer.  The king looked at his people, a smile stealing across his face as he waved at them. However, it was clear that his mind was upon only one thing. Striding forward, he closed the distance between himself and the dais in a number of long steps.

“My lord,” she said upon reaching him, her voice shaking with emotion.  Around them, the crowd had fallen silent, their breaths held in anticipation of this reunion.

Eomer removed his helmet with both hands before running his fingers through his unruly hair. He wished that he were washed and cleaned because she seemed too pristine to be marred by the dirt on his clothes and the dust that followed them from Haradwraith.  He saw the emotion in her eyes and stared back at her with the same sentiments. He had not realised until now how much he had missed her, how dear she was to him. During the war, she was the image he clung to when he had been wounded in battle and when things were at their worst, knowing that she was here waiting for him to return had given him the will to continue.

“You look well,” he said with a smile, mildly aware of the eyes upon them. Unlike Lothiriel, Eomer cared little for propriety.  “I am glad I did not miss the festival.”

“As am I,” she answered reaching for his hand.

For Eomer, touching her hand was not quite good enough for him and when it was within the palm of his gauntlet, the king of the Mark drew his lady to him in one swift movement. He embraced her wholly as his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss. Around them both, the crowd cheer at this unabashed show of affection between their king and queen but neither Lothiriel nor Eomer was aware of it. Both were to lost in the kiss to note that their exchange was being received with such delight.  Lothiriel felt her head swim because she had forgotten how wonderful it was to kiss him, to feel his lips and his body pressed against hers. He smelled of leather and sweat, a musk filed aromas that seared itself into her mind and released the tears of joy she had been attempting to suppress.

“What is this?” He asked with concern when he saw the moisture running down her cheeks after they parted.  His finger captured a single tear as it rolled down her skin.

“It is nothing,” Lothiriel answered, her voice still choked with emotion. “I am so happy you are home. I have thought of you every day since you have been away. Seeing you here is almost like a dream.”

“I am no dream,” Eomer said firmly, holding her hand in his and kissing her forehead. “I am your husband and I am home. I promise you we will make up for lost time.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Lothiriel answered and then asked further, “my father, is he well?”

“He is well,” Eomer replied, remembering his last meeting with Imrahil shortly before they had parted company, he for Dol Amroth and Eomer for Rohan.  “He wishes us to visit soon. I think that after a bit of rest, we will be able to accommodate him.”

Lothiriel’s smile illuminated her face and lit her eyes with pleasure, “I should like that my lord. In the meantime however, you need to be rested. Shall I call an end to feast?”

“Oh course not,” Eomer straightened up and stared at her with a happy grin, “this is the festival of the Spring Foaling. The feast is a celebration of life and there can be no better tribute for our homecoming than sharing this day with our people.”

And with that Lothiriel was happy to agree.

************

The past year for the Evenstar had been one of turbulence.

Having lost her husband to the Desert Campaigns of Haradwraith, the queen of the Reunified Kingdom found herself host to a number of guests in the wake of the attacks that had assailed the western lands of Middle earth.  From Eowyn of Ithilien to the elves of Eden Ardhon, Arwen had never thought the palace in which she resided with Aragorn could be so small.  However, the chaos of so many in that limited place were something she had become accustomed to over time and to some extent enjoyed. It reminded her a little of Imladris when Elrond had been its master.  In better days the last homely house was often home to many visitors and though Elrond was sometimes inclined to lock himself in his study and not emerge for the sake of his sanity, Arwen was certain he enjoyed the activity.

However, with the war’s end all that chaos had dwindled away into nothingness. Eowyn had been the first to depart. The former shield maiden of Rohan and the Lady of Ithilien was never happy unless she was mistress of her own home. It was even more true now that her son was born after a rather trying delivery.  Nevertheless Eowyn laboured through it as she did most things, without complaint and in usual good humour.  Though how much good humour she had managed to display when attempting to force something out of her body the size of melon through an opening so small was problematic at best. 

Eowyn had waited until her strength had returned before thanking Arwen for her hospitality and setting off with a small entourage of guards chosen by Captain Darond to protect her during the journey. Normally, this would be a redundant gesture as Eowyn had proven quite clearly that she was more than capable of fending for herself.  However, she had surprised Arwen by accepting the company of guards and confessed that it was because her son’s safety outweighed her need to prove her ability to defend herself.

Arwen had been sad to see Eowyn leave but knew it had to be.  Following the departure of the shield maiden and her new son, the elves of Eden Ardhon had also professed a similar desire to return to the woods of Ithilien.  During their stay in the White City, some had chosen to leave for the Undying Lands, deciding that they had no wish to remain in a world as cruel as the one who had seen the ravaging of their colony.  However, a large portion remained and for a time, Arwen enjoyed the company of other elves, reminding her of her youth in Imlardis and Lothlorien When the decision was made to leave, word had been sent to Aglarond for assistance.  Apparently, a number of the constructions in Eden Ardhon were the product of Gimli’s ingenuity and the elves wished those constructs to be rebuilt as a symbol of Eden Ardhon’s ability to endure.

With the departure of the elves, Arwen’s duties had come to an end and she had to confess missing her guests deeply.  It was difficult to become accustomed to the silence after Melia’s brooding, Eowyn’s temperamental pregnancy and the elves moving silently about but still managing to create a kind of chaos by their presence.  She missed them all and supposed that it was always going to be an inevitability that she found herself in this place. Arwen also realised that she missed them so much because she knew that whilst they were here, she was too busy to remember how much she longed for Aragorn.

Now that they were gone, that was nothing left for her but to wait until his eventual return.

She supposed that she was more fortunate than most because the war had ended with Aragorn surviving it unscathed.  He would be coming home as soon as matters were put in order in Haradwraith and for Arwen that day could not come soon enough.   She had never realised how empty the White Tower could be without him and while Eldarion was her one consolation in all this, she felt incomplete without her beloved Estel.

Arwen languished in the limbo of waiting, aware that the day of Aragorn’s return was drawing closer after Erchirion of Dol Amroth had set out for Far Harad.  With his wife the Lady Tarien, whom Arwen found to be pleasant enough though rather sad for some inexplicable reason, the second son of Imrahil had been honoured at the title given to him and even more so because he would the first to govern an eastern land.  Arwen knew that once Erchirion had assumed his duties in Haradwraith, Aragorn and the western army would finally begin the journey home.

The days stretched into weeks and inevitably the weeks became months. Arwen had begin to think that she would be unable to endure this endless waiting without going quite mad until news reached her that the king returned at last to the White City.  His arrival into the city would spark nothing less than a celebration in the streets and she had no wish to see their reunion take place before the eyes of all their people.  This demanded privacy and Arwen was determined to have it.  Instead of waiting his arrival in Minas Tirith, Arwen took her horse and rode out to meet him instead.

*************

Aragorn had thought seeing the White City in the distance was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.  That was until he saw Arwen riding towards him.

It had been a long journey with many of their allies having broken away to return to their respective lands. Eomer, Gimli and the Rohirrim had taken the road to Rohan and Faramir had sent the armies of Ithilien to the Fortress of the Eastern Eye. The elves of Lorien and Eryn Lasgalen, led by Haldir had departed before reaching the White City, while Legolas and Melia had returned to Eden Ardhon.  It was agreed that once they had time to rest and attend to their own realms respectively, they would gather in the White City and celebrate their victory in true spirit of the occasion.

“Undomiel,” Aragorn declared when he dismounted his horse and met her upon the south road leading into Minas Tirith.  Flanking their path home was the Anduin and like everything he had seen since returning to Gondor, it had replenished him considerably to see the great river.  However, no tonic could infuse his spirit with as much joy as seeing the woman before him.

“I am sorry,” Arwen apologised as she hurried into his arms, “I could not wait to see you.”

Aragorn did not answer because the embrace and the kiss he pressed against her lips was response enough.  He did not care that his army was watching the reunion, did not care that a king should be the paragon of propriety. When it came to his beloved Undomiel, there were no rules, only emotions and a blind subservience to his passion for her. Aragorn took greedy breaths of her scent, savoured the feel of her body against him and almost wept at how good it felt to be in her presence once again. After so long apart, the desert he had crossed to reach her had almost seemed endless but it was a journey he would take as many times as necessary if this was his reward.

“I do not care, I am glad you are here,” Aragorn said when they finally met each other’s eyes. “I would  take any minute alone with you than during the ceremony that will undoubtedly take place when I return to the city. It has been too long since I held your face in my eyes and I am happy that we can savour this moment for ourselves.”

“As am I,” Arwen smiled at him, her sapphire eyes glistening with tears and saw that while he was too much of a man to show his emotions in a similar display, his eyes betrayed the depths of his joy at being home again. “You have brought peace to Gondor and its allies Estel, as I always knew you would.  Middle earth is embarking upon a road it has never known before, a road that will herald a new age of peace.”

Aragorn did not know whether or not the war in the desert had delivered the peace she claimed but there was a noticeable hint of hope in the air since their departure from Haradwraith. For Aragorn, it was enough that the seeds of a brighter future had been planted in the eastern lands. He did not delude himself in thinking that there were no more wars ahead of him but at least for a while, Gondor would know peace.

“I would fight a thousand wars if it means coming home to you Undomiel,” he said softly.  “The age of kings can be left to my heirs, my desire for peace is so that I will never be parted from you again.”

Arwen embraced her king once more and while she knew that statement was not entirely true, she relished the sentiment behind him.

“Come Estel,” Arwen said looking at him, “let us go home.”

Aragorn grinned and replied, “try and keep me away.”

***********

It was difficult to believe that less than a year ago, the fortress of the Eastern Eye was almost in danger of crumbling to the ground. 

Looking upon it now, Faramir could see the new sections of wall that had been rebuilt in the wake of the attack by the combined forces of the Easterling Confederacy.  He could see the fresh mortar sealing cracks in walls that had not succumbed to the relentless assault by the mumakils and some parts that were constructed out of new bricks entirely.  The fortress was a patchwork of old and new brick, distinguished because weathering and grime had yet to saturate the stone.  However, despite the cosmetic flaws, Faramir was glad to see his home of the past two years restored in part to its former glory.

He had arrived in Minas Tirith to learn that Eowyn had returned home shortly after the news of the war's end had reached her. She was one of many who had departed the White City following that news. He had asked her to stay in Minas Tirith fearing her safety after the assault upon the Eastern Eye had almost killed her and their baby. However with conclusion of the war, Faramir surmised that Eowyn saw no reason to remain in Gondor now that there was no longer a threat to Ithilien by the Confederacy.  As much as his wife loved spending time with the Evenstar, she was much too wilful and independent to remain a guest in someone else's home when she had her own waiting for her.

Eowyn was not the only one to depart Minas Tirith following the news of their victory at Haradwraith. The elves led by Aloin, one of Legolas' trusted march wardens, had elected to return to the woods of South Ithilien, to restore the colony of Eden Ardhon now that it was no longer under threat from Easterling or Haradrim invaders.  A small handful of Ithilien's elves had elected to make the crossing to the Undying Lands but the large majority would not be chased away by the villains who had caused such destruction to their fledgling community.  Faramir was grateful of this because he had become accustomed to his elven neighbours and felt that they added to land of Ithilien by their presence.

Dawn was freshly broken when Faramir entered the fortress. In truth, he had chosen this hour for his return because he had no wish to deal with the fanfare that would ripple through the common folk residing in the fortress at his arrival.  He wanted no ceremony to mark his return for Faramir was not one who tolerated a great deal of attention. He supposed it had to do with his youth where he tried to avoid Denethor's gaze by remaining as anonymous and then later as a Ranger, where it was necessary to blend into the background to go about unnoticed.

Slipping quietly into wing of the fortress that was allocated as his personal residence, Faramir walked through the quiet halls taking in the sensation of being home again. He ran his fingers along the hard stone; pausing briefly at the hallway to observe the painting of Henneth Annun he liked so much before resuming his journey towards his bedchamber.  It was still dark within the corridors and not many were about except for a handful of household staff whose duties required an early start. He somehow managed to avoid them all as he reached the door leading into the suite of rooms belonging to the Prince of Ithilien and his lady.

Stealing into the room with the skill possessed only by Rangers or elves, Faramir was greeted with the soft illumination of candles burning in the lamps throughout the suite.  The rooms was bathed with an amber glow and he delved deeper saw Eowyn on their bed, sleeping fitfully against the softness of quilts and mattresses.  For a moment, he just stared at her, revelling in the sight of her golden hair framing her face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes that gave him concern for it was a sure sign of exhaustion. She gave no indication of being aware of his presence, which was a testament to her weariness. His wife was as alert as any battle-hardened warrior. Only exhaustion could allow her to permit anyone to catch her unawares.

He was about to take a step forward when a small sound from the corner of the room halted his advance. Turning slowly to the direction it had come, Faramir’s breath caught as he remembered his family no longer comprised of himself and his wife.  In his happiness to see Eowyn, he had forgotten the new life that had come into this world while he had been leagues away fighting the enemy. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Faramir approached the polished wooden crib on Eowyn side of the bed.  The sounds repeated, happy chortling noises of an infant who was clearly not asleep like his weary mother.

The babe was very much awake, mesmerized by an odd construct of coloured birds dangling over his crib It seemed to move with the direction of the wind, making it seemed as if the birds were in flight.  There were intricate designs upon the toy and Faramir surmised quickly that this was a gift from the elves for it was dainty and fine and looked like something the elves would fashion.  Blue eyes followed the movement made, drawing an delighted chortled from the infant who was waving his arms about in excitement.  Faramir stood there for a moment, simply staring.

This was his son.

The child turned an unsteady head towards Faramir, sensing his presence. Familiar eyes connected with him across the short distance. Faramir saw his own blue eyes staring back at him but his son’s features were an amalgamation of the people he loved. The shape of the face and the fine gold hair was his mother’s, but when the infant stared at Faramir trying to decide who this new person was, his brow knotting into a serious expression of scrutiny, Faramir’s breath caught because he saw Boromir there too. Suddenly, Faramir had come to understand what emotions had been driving Aragorn when Eldarion was born. One could spend hours simply looking into that face, trying to discern the secrets behind those innocent eyes that saw the world as something new and wonderful.

A set of arms slid around Faramir’s waist and he felt Eowyn’s body pressing against him from behind as she rested her chin upon his shoulder, sharing the moment with him.

“Is he not beautiful?” she said with pride.

“He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Faramir managed to answer, his voice escaping him with more emotion than he had intended to show.

“On that we agree,” Eowyn said breaking away from him. She had awakened to see him standing before the crib, thinking for a moment that she was dreaming but when she saw Faramir’s eyes misting with emotion, she knew that he was no dream. Dreams did not weep.  Eowyn leaned over and reached into the crib, sweeping her son into her arms before turning around to present him to his father.

The child upon recognising the familiar scent of his mother, bounced happily in her grip as Eowyn drifted to her husband’s side. “This is your son, Boromir.”

Faramir took the child from her gingerly, uncertain if he had handled anything as precious in his life. The babe stared at him critically and once again, Faramir was struck by the resemblance of his expression to Boromir’s frown whenever something suited him ill.  Faramir planted a gentle kiss on his forehead and noted that his son’s scent was a mixture of newborn infant, milk and his mother. It was intoxicating.

“I should have been here with you,” he said to Eowyn, wishing more than anything that he could have been here after seeing his son for the first time.

“You are here now,” Eowyn leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, careful of the babe between them.

“I have missed you beyond my ability to describe,” Faramir replied in a heartfelt confession. “There was not a day that passed where you not in my thoughts. I wish I could have been here with you to see our son into the world. I cannot express my regret that I could not share the occasion with you.”

Eowyn took the babe from his arms and settled the infant into his crib once more, her heart pounding with as much emotion as Faramir was feeling. Once little Boromir was settled in his bed, Eowyn turned to her husband.

“I wish you could have been there,” she said unable to deny her feelings on that matter. She took his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. “However, it matters little because the event is behind us and we have our whole lives ahead of us.”

“You are far wiser than I wife,” Faramir said drawing her to him.

“That goes without saying,” Eowyn laughed and allowed her husband to take her into his embrace.

There was so much to look forward, so much promise in the breaking dawn outside their window. As she felt his arms around him, Eowyn knew that today would mark the beginning of the future they intended to share together.

A future with their son.

***********

Eden Ardhon endured.

The colony was much devastated by the attacks of  fire, the rampage of the mumakils and the Easterlings alike but the elven community still remained..  It endured even if it was left somewhat tarnished from its battles.  Despite the violence that had almost destroyed it, Eden Ardhon was no less beautiful to the ones who had put heart and soul into its construction or the Prince who had first conceived the idea of making a home for the elves in these glorious woods. Yavanna had blessed the forest with her gifts and though many of the trees still bore the scars of flame, the wood had survived and thrived in the wake of the recent calamity.  They had suffered the ravages of war with an almost defiant spirit and when the elves returned to Eden Ardhon, they found the forest bearing its injuries with a blooming passion for life that would not be denied.

Many of the buildings were still standing but an equal number had also been destroyed.  Fortunately, they had returned to find that Aloin, supervising the business of rebuilding the colony. The work was being undertaken with a fierce passion by all the elves whom were determined to show that it would take more than the Easterling Confederacy to break their spirit.   Nor were they alone in this effort. Aware of the great love that existed between their own lord and the Prince of Mirkwood, the dwarves of Aglarond had been more than willing to volunteer their assistance.  Legolas had smiled, remembering the great pride that crossed over the Gimli’s face when he learnt of this gesture by his people. He had almost been tempted to remain behind and helped with the construction if Legolas had not ordered him to see his lady at the Glittering Caves first.

“There is much work ahead,” Legolas stated as he and Melia surveyed the damage.  

“True,” Melia agreed, forcing away the memories of fire and cruelty that had revisited her repeatedly since returning to Eden Ardhon.  However, she forced it away because it was time to move on, time to get on with the business of living instead of becoming mired in memories of darkness that served no purpose than drain a mending soul.  There would be a day when her thoughts of Anna would not entirely be mired in regret.  The child deserved better than to live in her heart as a tragic memory.  Melia wanted to remember the privilege of knowing Anna, even if it was for a short time.

“Are you alright?” Legolas asked, seeing the distant gleam in her eye.

“Yes,” Melia nodded, grateful for the arm that snaked around her waist and pulled her to his side. “I was just thinking of how glad I am to be home with you..”

“It has been a difficult road Mia,” Legolas confessed, thinking of the journey he had taken this past year, the dark places he had  found himself and had fortunately, found strength to escape.  He was a little more tarnished than he used to be but perhaps the humility resulting from it was not such a bad thing.  His opinion of himself and his world had changed. Perhaps he had fallen a little from grace but it did not make him any less, simply more aware that he was allowed his mistakes like any other person.  “I wish Nunaur were here.”

“He is,” Melia said resting her head against his shoulder as she looked at the elves working to rebuild Eden Ardhon. “He exists in your heart and you will carry him with you forever.”

“As I will carry you,” he answered kissing her forehead gently.

“Do you think of that day Prince?” Melia raised her eyes to his. “The day when I am no longer with you?”

“Yes,” Legolas nodded, wondering if she knew just how much he feared the inevitable end of their life together. “However, I have learnt that I cannot change what must be, so I will savour every moment with you that I can and be satisfied that it is enough. I have come to learn of late that it is the now that matters most of all because tomorrow is filled with uncertainties.”

She saw the shadow in his eyes, the sadness over what he had been driven to do in Haradwraith and knew that it would be a long time before her Prince could truly feel absolved of his actions.  He had brought himself back from the brink but Melia suspected he would always be ashamed of allowing himself to go so near to the edge to begin with.

“You can be certain of one thing,” Melia put her hand on his face and made him look at her. “I love you and I will never leave you.”

“So you say now,” he teased, “I’ll probably wake up tomorrow and found that you have fled again. This time to Valinor most likely.”

Melia gave him a look, “you are impossible.”

Kissing her once more, Legolas remarked with a smile, “I am not the only one.”

THE END

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