Aragorn's legs ached and he felt as though he had been riding for longer than a day. His horse beneath him was lathered and sweating and its gallop was slowing quickly. To his side rode Éothain and Elfhelm. The stoic Rohirrim looked far from quitting though their steeds were in the same shape as Aragorn's. With a quick glance behind him, Aragorn caught sight of the smith, Léofwyn. The woman was surely a force to reckon with and she reminded the king much of Éowyn. The lady-smith had walked right up to Éothain and Elfhelm, telling them she was riding with them. There was no room for disagreement in Léofwyn's voice, and Elfhelm had nodded his assent curtly. She had helped the captains rally the Rohirrim and the cavalry had set off before the sun had reached its noon peak. Aragorn had left the kingdom in the care of Faramir and had promised his lady-wife that he would return.
They rode until the sun began to set behind the western edge of the sea. Elfhelm was the first to pull his mount up, and Éothain called a signal to the rest of the rohirrim. The mass of horses and humanity came to a halt and Aragorn shifted stiffly in his saddle.
"Send to the other captains to make only the barest provision as necessary. We will ride again at dawn," Elfhelm said to one of the nearby captains. The man left, quickly spreading the orders amongst the other captains. Aragorn dismounted, quickly setting to work relieving his steed of his saddle and bedroll. Those around him were doing the same, caring for their tired steeds and setting up the barest necessities. After a time of silent and grim work, someone finally lit a small fire and Aragorn sat gratefully next to its warmth. Other small fires began to dot the land around him as the rohirrim settled in for the night. across the fire, Aragorn watched the lady-smith Léofwyn. She was staring into the orange flames, her expression grim. Aragorn had heard whispers that the lady-smith was the Prince Amrothos' new lover. The fact that she had been found sleeping in the Prince's chambers early that morning had confirmed the rumors, though Aragorn was still curious as to how this woman and the Prince had found each other.
"I have heard some interesting whispers about you, my lady," Aragorn said quietly, for only Léofwyn to hear. The lady-smith's head jerked up and she looked at Aragorn like she had just seen him.
"Forgive me my lord, I did not see you there," Léofwyn made to leave but Aragorn waved her down. The lady-smith sat again, her expression guarded. There was silence for a moment as Elfhelm and Éothain walked by but they did not stop to sit at the fire yet.
"The Prince and I are nothing; at least we should be," Léofwyn finally said. Aragorn studied the lady-smith for a moment, seeing the pain in her eyes. He wondered what she had been through, and he sensed that she and Amrothos were upon different pages when it came to their relationship. When Léofwyn looked up at Aragorn, he only smiled slightly at her.
"I learned long ago that oftentimes, following your heart seems the least reasonable thing to do but most often the right thing to do. I would caution you to hold your decision making for a time less grave,"
Léofwyn looked at Aragorn, her expression still shuttered, but the pain in her eyes had dissipated some.
"I advise you rest; dawn will come swiftly," Aragorn said, standing to go find Elfhelm and Éothain.
Night had fallen and Éomer stared into the inky blackness, his nails digging into the wood of the ship's railing as he spotted the small orange dots of campfires upon the distant shore. The favorable winds had sped them along their course and they had arrived within sight of Tolfalas before sunset. They had then sailed around the cape of Belfalas and anchored in between the northern coast of Tolfalas and the southern coast of Belfalas. They had anchored only close enough to see the orange glow of the fires Lothíriel's captors sat around and anger bubbled in Éomer's chest and it took all his restraint not to jump over the ship's railing and try and save Lothíriel. But the constant watch Lothíriel's captors kept upon the shore stopped Éomer from any rash actions. There was no way to surprise the fiends and Éomer growled in frustration.
A movement to his side drew Éomer's eyes for a moment but when he saw that it was Legolas, he returned his attention back to Tolfalas' distant shore. The elf Prince was silent for some time, contemplating the distant shore as well.
"I know you, Legolas; you did not come here just to admire the view," Éomer said, his troubled soul irked by the elf's seemingly content silence. Legolas sighed and the expression sounded tired to Éomer's ears.
"Indeed, it is not the view that drew me but the one viewing,"
Éomer did his best to stifle the scornful laugh that tried to escape his lips but the noise slipped out anyways. Legolas did not seem affronted though, and merely placed his hand upon Éomer's shoulder.
"You are a great man, and a true friend but the fire of your anger is one of the most dangerous forces I have witnessed in the whole of Arda,"
"What are you saying?" Éomer interrupted, bristling at the reproof in Legolas' voice. The elf prince sighed again and dropped his hand.
"Whatever happens tomorrow, do not let your anger cloud your mind. Remain watchful. You will know what to do when the time comes," Legolas then turned away, leaving Éomer mulling over his enigmatic words.
Legolas looked out across the water, his eyes focusing upon the small remains of the fires upon the shore of Tolfalas. Those upon the shore were too calm for having an enemy upon their doorstep. Something was not right, and Legolas hoped to find out what.
Saerdartha stood next to him, carefully wrapping his bow in oiled leather and Legolas passed his hands over the buckles of his quiver, tightening them one last time. The sound of footsteps behind him drew Legolas' eyes around and he saw the Imrahil walked toward them.
"You must hurry; the new watch is coming," the Prince whispered, looking behind himself to see if he was followed.
"All is ready," Saerdartha intoned, nodding at Imrahil. Imrahil nodded back, watching as Legolas and Saerdartha climbed upon the rail, swaying gracefully with the rocking ship.
"What will you do?" Imrahil asked, causing Legolas to turn slightly.
"Remember what I told you," Legolas said, turning away and fixing his eyes upon the dark water below. Then, in one accord, Legolas and Saerdartha leapt from the rail, diving into the water. Imrahil rushed to the rail, catching sight of Legolas and Saerdartha's golden hair in the moonlight as they bobbed to the surface. A cloud obscured the moon for a moment and Imrahil strained to see the elves in the water. When the moonlight returned though, Legolas and Saerdartha were nowhere to be seen.
"Valar, I pray he knows what he is doing," Imrahil uttered. Imrahil knew that he should try and sleep, though he could not pull himself away from the ship's rail. So he stood upon the swaying deck until the morning sun began to creep over the eastern horizon. The ship soon came alive with activity and Erchirion came above deck and began issuing orders to the small number of sailors aboard.
"Father? Did you not rest?" Erchirion's voice sounded over Imrahil's shoulder and he looked at his second son.
"I could not," Imrahil stated simply. Erchirion's expression was grave but Imrahil thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his stoic son's eyes.
"Everything will be fine; this is not goodbye," Imrahil said, squeezing Erchirion's shoulder. Erchirion studied his father carefully though his astute gaze was drawn away by the sound of more footsteps upon the deck. Amrothos emerged from bellow-desk, his expression serious. Éomer came next, though his dark expression of the last few days remained and he nodded at Erchirion when the Prince's eyes met Éomer's. When Imrahil saw Amrothos and Éomer on deck, he gestured for the two men to join him and Erchirion. When the two men joined him, Imrahil found he could not find the words to say. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Imrahil finally spoke.
"We will go to shore as soon as the skiffs are readied," Imrahil watched as his two sons nodded, though when he looked to Éomer, the king's eyes were wary.
"Legolas and his kinsman are gone," Éomer said lowly. Imrahil only nodded. Amrothos perked at Éomer's question, and his gaze became sharp as well.
"Yes father, where are the elves?"
Imrahil looked at the three before him, unable to answer their questions.
"You must trust they are where they need to be," Imrahil finally said. The three about him looked at him quizzically, though a moment of comprehension seemed to dawn in Éomer's eyes.
"The skiff is ready my lords," A sailor called, drawing the attention away from Imrahil. Erchirion nodded at the sailor and cast a rope ladder over the side before descending into the skiff. Amrothos followed his brother and descended nimbly down the side. When Imrahil came to the rail, he turned, fixing his eyes upon Éomer.
"Above all else, protect my daughter,"
"I will," Éomer replied. Imrahil stared at Éomer for a moment longer, and then began his descent into the skiff.
As the sun crept above the horizon, Legolas and Saerdartha looked down upon a small bay on the northeastern tip of Tolfalas. The bay had been hidden from their view upon the ship, and Legolas had found the source of the kidnapper's security. Bellow them were two battered ships. The ships bore a standard that Legolas had seen in Umbar and the sight of it made his skin crawl. It was the banner of a slave ship. His sharp eyes saw several shackled persons moving about the deck of the ships, many with whip lashes across their backs. Upon the shore were camped nearly a hundred men. The small force would be able to cut through the forest where he and Saerdartha now hid and easily overwhelm the small skiff Legolas knew would be approaching soon.
"What are we to do?" Saerdartha whispered, his expression grave. "We would be able to dispatch many of them but do we want to draw that attention here?"
Legolas studied the men bellow them, his mind working. He and Saerdartha would certainly be able to cut the ranks of slavers before them, but their numbers would soon overwhelm even their experienced skill.
"We could set their ships ablaze, draw them away from us," Saerdartha said, his eyes fixed upon the numerous barrels of black powder upon the decks of the slave ship. Legolas contemplated his kinsman's idea until one of the lower hatches opened and Legolas glimpsed the mass of humanity below. The ships had not only brought nearly a hundred men, but their holds were packed with slaves.
"Unless we free the innocents aboard, we cannot. I will not have their blood on my hands," Legolas studied the ships before them, looking for its weaknesses. They could possibly free the slaves… if only they had a distraction. Legolas studied the shore below, seeing that some of the barrels of black powder had been brought ashore. The barrels were foolishly unguarded, and Legolas smiled. They may yet get their desired distraction.
Gorbeht walked to the hut where Nauro sat, his expression dangerously angry. She did not care what the whelp was feeling though; she had felt an unnerving presence upon the island this morning. Something was not right.
"She has yet to waken," Nauro said with hostility, standing to not let Gorbeht pass. Gorbeht grit her teeth and nearly snarled at the young man.
"I do not care if she has not awoken! She tried to escape and has suffered the consequences,"
"How is she to be my wife if she dies?" Nauro yelled. Gorbeht ground her nails into her palms
"If she dies, what is that to me? One less Gondorian wench to mock our people," Gorbeht said. Suddenly, Nauro's hands shot out, grabbing Gorbeht painfully by the throat. Gorbeht was quick though, and she had her dagger to Nauro's chest in an instant, keeping him from strangling her.
"I will kill you and her now if that is what you wish?" Gorbeht rasped past the pressure in her throat, pure hate for Nauro welling up within her. Nauro stared at Gorbeht for a moment then dropped his hands. Gorbeht pressed the dagger point to Nauro's chest until blood blossomed through his tunic.
"You are a fool," Gorbeht said as Nauro stood firm.
"I will not let you touch her again," Nauro said. Gorbeht stepped back quickly uttering a curse.
"Fine! Bring her out. But know this," Gorbeht got closer to Nauro again staring into his bandaged face. "If you cross me, I will relish flaying the flesh from your bones before I send you to the halls of death," Gorbeht then stalked away, calling to one of her men angrily.
"Send for the slavers. Have them come quickly," Gorbeht said, walking farther out upon the beach. The sight of the white sails of Dol Amroth made her anger boil even more and she cursed as she saw the small shape of a skiff being dropped to the water.
Legolas stopped in his tracks, hearing the breaking of branches in front of him and Saerdartha. The two elves leapt quickly into the trees just as a man appeared before them. He was running at a fast pace for the undergrowth and as he passed, Legolas signaled to Saerdartha and they dropped from their hiding place. Within an instant, they were right behind the man. Saerdartha sprinted forward, deftly tripping the man. The man fell with a muffled yell and Saerdartha landed on top of him, twisting the man's arms behind his back and pressing his knee into the back of the man's head. The man began to struggle and utter curses causing the forest to shake with his noise.
"Silence!" Saerdartha hissed, pulling the man's arms between his shoulders and causing him to yelp a little in pain. Legolas walked up to the man, crouching to better see his face.
"Tell us what you are doing and we will let you live. Fight us and your blood is upon your own head," Legolas said calmly. The man tried to spit at Legolas even though his face was pressed into the dirt of the forest floor. Saerdartha struck the man upon the back of the head, causing him to yell. Legolas sent a quelling look at his kinsman, though Saerdartha only looked back with fire in his green eyes.
"Tell us what you are doing," Legolas ordered, his tone sharp. The man looked up at him out of the corner of his eye, seeming to weigh his options.
"If I betray the priestess, she will condemn me to everlasting torment. Do you think I would tell of our plans to the likes of you?" the man said. "You curs from the North tried to wipe us from this earth but we will prevail. We shall always prevail! The Black Serpent will rise again!"
Saerdartha grabbed the man's hair and slammed his face into the ground, knocking him unconscious.
"He was not going to tell us anything," Saerdartha said, in response to the dark look flashing through Legolas' eyes. "He was heading towards the Slavers, undoubtedly to call for their aid,"
"Yes, but we still did not find out their plans nor what…" Legolas stopped, his eyes suddenly catching upon a pouch at the man's belt. He cut the pouch loose, and a flint and tinder box fell out. Legolas looked at Saerdartha and his kinsman smiled cunningly.
Éomer sat in the back of the skiff, his eyes fixed upon the nearing shore. Amrothos and Erchirion rowed together through the waves and Imrahil sat at the bow of the skiff. When they had launched, Éomer noticed that the shore had become void of any activity. That made Éomer nervous and he scanned the tree-line, unable to see a living soul. They were most certainly rowing into a trap.
When the bottom of the skiff scraped the sandy shore, the four disembarked from the small craft. Éomer immediately came to Imrahil's side as Amrothos and Erchirion pulled the skiff onto the sand away from the pull of the tide. When the skiff was secured, Amrothos and Erchirion stood on either side of Éomer and Imrahil. The foursome surveyed the silent shore for a moment, until Imrahil started forward.
"Béma, I do not like this," Éomer muttered under his breath as he took in the dense forest ahead of them, leaving them only the sea if they were in need of a hasty retreat.
"All hail the Prince, Imrahil!"
Éomer's eyes whipped forward and he unsheathed his sword. In front of them, just outside the tree-line, stood a woman. She was dressed strangely, adorned in black silks and leather. Her hair was a wild mane of curls that blew in the wind, and in her hand she wielded a curved dagger. The woman's gaze was mocking though she stood alone, and her dark eyes moved unhurriedly over the four men before her.
"We have come to treat with you for my daughter's safe return; are you the one to whom we speak?" Imrahil asked, his voice strong and calm. The woman sneered at Imrahil, the expression cat-like.
"Have you come to answer for your crimes against the Black Serpent?" The woman asked, her gaze hot.
"I do not know of what crimes I have committed, save defending my people and family from those who would have them dead. None can deny the right to defend one's own, whether they stand for good or ill," Imrahil replied, his tone placating.
"Ha! The men of Gondor have no right to choose what is good or ill; what they pass as law is crime to my people," the woman's expression was genuinely angry now, and Éomer watched as her knuckles whitened upon the hilt of her dagger. "Bring her out!" the woman suddenly yelled. From one of the huts along the tree-line, a man carried the limp form of Lothíriel.
"What have you done to her!" Éomer bellowed, springing forward. Amrothos and Erchirion though, caught him by his arms, holding Éomer back. The woman in front of them smirked at Éomer and he could not stop the curse that left his lips when his eyes met the woman's dark gaze.
"She wants us to attack; hold steady," Amrothos whispered hastily into Éomer's ear. Éomer did not meet eyes with the Princes that held him but he relaxed enough that they let his arms go. Fury, black and dangerous roiled within Éomer as he gazed at the black bruise that spread across the right side of Lothíriel's face. A trail of dried blood ran from Lothíriel's eyebrow into her hair and Éomer tightened his grip upon his sword. But then, he looked to the man carrying Lothíriel and Éomer nearly charged at them again.
Nauro was carrying Lothíriel, though Éomer had not recognized him at first. The younger man's hair was cut short now, and angry looking wounds were upon his scalp and a bandage was over his left ear and the corner of his jaw. Éomer remembered the pieces of flesh he had found in Huan's mouth and the hunks of dark hair and he felt a mad smile lift the corner of his mouth.
"You smile too soon Horselord," The woman called out to Éomer. Éomer leveled a fiery glare at her which she returned boldly.
"The peoples of the North have always dumbfounded me; do they not know that their sacred Valar are mere puppets? Do they not know that the Lord of the Glorious Darkness is the true power?"
"We did not come here to discuss the Powers that be," Éomer interrupted. The woman looked at Éomer with a hateful look and fell silent for a moment.
"You, Imrahil, killed my firstborn, the great Chieftain of the Black Serpent, leaving the fate of my peoples in the hands of a lesser son! You have doomed our line to falter and you have doomed us all to die!"
Around the woman, a ring of men formed. They crept out of the trees, some wielding swords and some bows. Éomer cursed under his breath, counting and seeing that they were outnumbered. There were at least twenty men advancing toward them and Éomer could not see if there were more archers hidden in the trees. He heard Amrothos and Erchirion unsheathe their swords but Imrahil still stood with his hands at his sides.
"Your firstborn made a choice to follow darkness; his blood is upon his own head," Imrahil answered, his tone for the first time sounding defensive.
"His blood is upon your hands and yours alone! And now you must die!" the woman's voice rose dramatically and she raised her hand to signal her men forward. Before she dropped her hand though, Imrahil turned his gaze upon Nauro.
"Did you have a hand in your father's death, Nauro?" Imrahil called out to the younger man. Éomer watched as Nauro's face paled and his mouth opened in shock.
"He was found in your home, his throat slit. All his hounds were killed, and there was none there to aid him," Imrahil's voice barely carried over the sound of the surf but its effect was not lost on Nauro. The younger man's face contorted in pain and Éomer could see his arms shaking as he held Lothíriel.
"Tell me Nauro, are we to add another count of murder to your charge?" Imrahil asked. Nauro's expression was tortured and he looked to the woman with rage in his eyes.
"You did not say you were going to kill him!" Nauro yelled, barely holding onto Lothíriel's limp form. The woman looked at him scornfully, a cat-like smile upon her face.
"He denied my invitation to return to his people and he denounced the blood of his line. There was nothing left for him save death,"
"He was my father! He was your husband; how could you do that to him?" Nauro yelled again.
"How soon you forget what was promised to you," the woman sneered. "Perhaps I was wrong in finding you; perhaps you should have perished with your cowardly father?"
"Look," Amrothos whispered beside Éomer. Above them, a great plume of smoke was rising from the forest to the eastern end of the island. suddenly, a sound like a thunder clap echoed about them, and the plume of smoke grew. Another explosion like thunder echoed across the island, sending the dark men into disarray. Éomer seized his chance and charged forward, cutting through the men. He did not know what lay to the East of them, but it was burning and it was causing Lothíriel's captors to flounder.
As Éomer cut through the men, he looked for Nauro's mangled face, though he saw no sign of the young man or Lothíriel. As quickly as the skirmish had started, it ended and an unsettling calm fell upon the beach. Éomer looked around frantically, meeting eyes with Amrothos and Erchirion. The brother's swords were stained red and they were searching for their sister as well.
Nauro scrambled through the trees incoherently, his mind a blur and his arms still clutching Lothíriel. Gorbeht had killed his father and the Horselord had looked upon him with such fiery hate that Nauro knew there was no going back. Not now, not ever.
Nauro ran as fast as he could, trying not to look at Lothíriel's bruised face. He knew he was responsible for her pain, he knew he would pay for his crimes one day. Bur for now, he only wished to get away from this place, take her somewhere safe.
He did not knowingly choose to, but as small pieces of ash filtered through the trees, Nauro found that he was running towards the plumes of smoke. Gorbeht had said that there were slave ships moored in a small bay just east of them. perhaps Nauro would be able to escape aboard their ships with them and he could take Lothíriel somewhere safe.
The trees about him began to thin, and the plume of smoke was now blowing through the trees, making Nauro cough and causing his eyes to burn. Lothíriel coughed weakly in his arms making Nauro hold her tighter and press onward. When he finally broke through the trees, Nauro saw what had been burning. All about the shore, shackled slaves were cheering and laughing as two ships in the small bay burned. Oily black smoke belched from the wreckage, and another earsplitting explosion rocked the beach. The bodies of men floated in the bay and several lay in their own blood upon the shore. Nauro looked around frantically, his hope for escape almost gone when his eyes fell upon a skiff moored in the sand. Those upon the beach paid him no heed, and Nauro crept toward the skiff. Suddenly, a green arrow struck the sand next to his feet and Nauro stopped, nearly dropping Lothíriel. when he looked up, an elf stood some way from him, his bow drawn tight next to his soot-blackened face.
"Do not move any further, Nauro," the elf said, the point of his arrow aimed steadily upon the small part of his chest that Lothíriel did not cover. "If you surrender now, I will see that you are treated fairly and…"
"Your words are empty, there is nothing left for me!" Nauro cut the elf off, panic and dread making his voice hysterical.
"If you repent of your crimes, you may yet be spared," the elf said again. The slaves upon the beach had now seen the standoff happening behind them, and most were frozen, watching in rapt attention. Nauro began to back towards the forest slowly when suddenly, a fiery hot pain stabbed through his side. He dropped Lothíriel onto the sand as another fiery hot pain stabbed him again. As he fell to his side, he saw a flutter of black silk as Gorbeht stepped over him. He watched in growing dread as two of Gorbeht's men followed her, one picking up Lothíriel and holding a dagger to the unconscious princess' neck.
"Lothi…" Nauro whispered as darkness surrounded him.
Legolas stared at Gorbeht, his arrow trained upon the woman's chest. She stared back at him with frantic dark eyes.
"Let us pass, Elven Filth, or the Princess dies,"
Legolas looked between Gorbeht and her men, watching the one that held Lothíriel shake the princess and press his knife menacingly to her collarbone. The man's knife made a small trickle of blood upon Lothíriel's skin but that was not what worried Legolas the most. Lothíriel was unconscious and too still. There was a bruise upon her face and Legolas saw that dried blood was upon her temple and matted into her dark hair.
Gorbeht crept slowly past Legolas, making her way to the skiff. The one man holding Lothíriel entered the boat after his mistress and the other quickly pushed the skiff into the surf. All the while, Legolas kept his arrow trained upon the dark woman. His elven eyes spotted a golden flash near the edge of the dark woman's boat as it neared the breakwater. Suddenly, Saerdartha's head broke through the water, and he stabbed a knife into the back of one of the dark men, pulling him into the water. Legolas let his arrow fly then, striking the other man who held Lothíriel. The man's body fell backwards like a stone and he pulled Lothíriel with him into the water. Gorbeht screamed, clawing at Lothíriel, trying to pull her back into the boat but Saerdartha was too strong, and he slashed at Gorbeht's hands, making the woman jump back with a hiss. Gorbeht's lurching movements made the skiff rock dangerously until she too fell into the water. Saerdartha was already a safe distance from the woman though, swimming with his arms around Lothíriel. Legolas trained an arrow upon Gorbeht as she swam away, though something urged him to stay his strike and he lowered his bow. He turned his eyes upon Saerdartha instead, was now standing in the water, lifting Lothíriel from the waves. Legolas tucked his arrow back into his quiver and ran to his kinsman. He took Lothíriel from Saerdartha's hands, laying her upon the dry sand.
"Lothíriel, come back to us," Legolas whispered, holding fingers to her neck and placing his ear upon her chest. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her pulse and heard her take a breath. But her breaths were shallow and her pulse was quick, causing Legolas to worry.
"Does she live?" Saerdartha asked, kneeling on the other side of Lothíriel and taking her wrist. The elf frowned and looked at Legolas.
"Her skin is burning with fever. She may have been poisoned, or worse," Saerdartha said, his voice grave.
"That is what I fear," Legolas said, starting to run his hands over Lothíriel's' bruised face. Saerdartha suddenly stood from the sand, and looked to the trees.
Éomer tore through the trees, Amrothos and Erchirion behind him. their swords still drawn and glinting with blood. Éomer's eyes fell upon the fallen body of Nauro and some of the fire died in his eyes. He searched the shore frantically, his eyes falling upon Lothíriel's limp form in Legolas' arms.
"What have they done to her?" Éomer roared, sheathing his sword and running to Legolas. He knelt next to Lothíriel, his hands hovering over her but he did not touch her.
"We do not know but she needs a healer, now. I can only do so much," Legolas said, sitting back on his heels.
"I will take her back to the ship," Éomer said, sliding his arms under Lothíriel's shoulders and legs before anyone could answer. When he turned, Amrothos and Erchirion looked at Lothíriel's limp body with horror.
"We need to find a healer," Éomer said, walking resolutely through the trees. Amrothos quickly ran ahead of Éomer and Erchirion guarded his back. Legolas stood from the sand, nodding to Saerdartha. The two elves followed the men through the trees, leaving the smoking slave ships behind them.
Gorbeht collapsed upon the sand, coughing up sea water. Her vision blurred and she lay, incoherent upon the sand for some time. She had failed; she had been outwitted by the Gondorian filth and she had disgraced the Glorious Darkness.
Cool water washed upon Gorbeht's feet, rousing her from her stupor. She raised her face from the sand, seeing the last rays of the sun sinking below the western horizon. She crawled to all fours, nearly dropping to the sand again. She searched in her belt, pulling a small flask from its edge. She clumsily opened it, drinking the contents quickly. The strong drink burned down her throat, making her stomach feel like it was on fire. But it seeped some strength back into her limbs and she was able to rise from her knees. She stood, beginning to walk, following a finger of the Anduin, heading inland. She would not be able to cross the delta of the Anduin until she came to more narrow waters. She walked all night, startling at every sound, yelling curses into the darkness. She felt utterly alone, the presence of the Glorious Darkness absent from her.
When morning dawned, Gorbeht was near collapse. She had covered a fair distance through the night, though she would still not be able to cross and head south until she had gained back strength. Gorbeht cursed, furious tears springing to her eyes. Why had she been given such a shameful life? Why, she, one of the last of her kind, was not blessed by the Glorious Darkness? Gorbeht could stand no longer and she sat upon the edge of the water, drawing her knife from her belt. She placed the tip of the knife into the point of her collarbone. She took a deep breath steeling herself when a familiar horn call echoed through the foggy morning air. Joy surged through her veins, giving her strength. She heard the horn call again and she rose, uttering an exultant cry as the large shapes of two Mumakil appeared out of the morning fog. She ran as best she could, stumbling over her weakened limbs, calling out to her brethren. But then, a wind blew away the fog and Gorbeht turned to see a dark line of horsemen at her back. At the head, the cursed king of the North himself. Gorbeht forced herself into a run, the line of horsemen following her but not giving chase. Fear spiraled through her and Gorbeht's heart raced and she gasped for breath. She stumbled and fell, looking behind herself in fear.
"Disgraced Priestess of darkness, surrender yourself!"
The Northern king had separated himself from the body of the horsemen, and was approaching Gorbeht. Three riders sat behind the king and they looked at Gorbeht with anger in their eyes. One of the riders was a woman and she looked at Gorbeht with a fierceness she had rarely seen. She floundered upon the ground, raising herself with difficulty and limped toward her kin.
"You dare order me when I am amongst my kin? All the Northern peoples will pay their just due to the Glorious Darkness" Gorbeht yelled to the Northern king as she hobbled towards the Mumakil. The Northern king's face betrayed no emotion but one of the riders behind him, a ruddy man with broad shoulders smirked.
"I would look again upon your kin, for they do not seem to share your zeal," the Northern king called to Gorbeht. She looked at the man angrily then turned back to look at the towering Mumakil. Disbelief and fear spiraled through her as she saw the white banners of peace upon the Mumak's tusks. Through the fog, she could see rows of warriors, all wearing white.
"Traitors! Fiends! Lovers of the Northern Abominations!" Gorbeht screeched. Her fear mounted, making her frantically turn in circles, brandishing her knife at her kin and the Horsemen before her.
"You will all die! The Glorious Darkness will spare no one! You will pay with the blood of your children for your…" Gorbeht gasped, her words stopped short as a shuddering strike hit her in the chest, driving her backwards. She looked down at her chest incredulously bringing a shaking hand to the black shafted arrow that pierced her body. Her kin had betrayed her, shot her with their own arrow. Darkness ringed her vision and she fell to her knees, struggling for breath.
"Why?" Gorbeht gasped, falling into the dust. She had seen a vision of victory; she had trusted in the Glorious Darkness. Why had the Glorious darkness betrayed her?
A/N: I apologize for the long wait. My computer died and it took some time to procure a new one. Thank you all for your reads, reviews, favorites, and follows!