A/N: Finally, an update! Want to know why it took so long? My stupid laptop deleted half of the chapter! :( Yes, you read that right. I had most of it done, and it deleted/exchanged about 3,000 words of it after my computer crashed! It had a pretty (note the sarcasm) cream screen and went dead! And it wouldn't recover the chapter! :( Good news though: I finally got a new laptop on Monday. And I now save my files on a flash drive too. Yay! (does a happy dance) Take that you piece of junk! With that being said, if parts of this chapter seemed rushed or forced, that's because it probably is. I felt like I made you wait long enough, so here's the chapter.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Chapter Twenty: What I Am
TA 2981 (30 years ago...)
Legolas sat on the edge of a cliff, breathing in the salty air of the sea. He could feel distant drops of spray tickling his face but did not move, not bothered by the cold droplets of water. After many years of absence, the elf was returning to Blue Harbor. It had been nearly fifty years since he last set foot within the trading village, and wished to look upon the town of Ciaran's birth once again.
After Drust's forced exile, Blue Harbor and its citizens had quickly recovered, ousting the corrupt man's thugs and returning the village to its former glory. The village had been prospering the last few times Legolas had gone there, and he found the town to be a good spot to just sit and relax alone with his thoughts, or observe travelers from around Middle-earth. There were no orcs, no Darkness, and no threats to speak of, the Shadow's reach not yet touching this distant edge of the world.
The assassin watched the waves clash against the cliff below him, the rhythmic roaring and thundering oddly calming to his ears. Although he had long ago heard of the "sea-longing" of the elves, he felt no pain in his heart or ache in his soul whenever he neared the ocean. He supposed it was because of his mental shields, and could not find even an ounce of his being that was not glad that he was unaffected by the sea's call.
The very thought of something trying to influence his thoughts and mind made an angry fire blaze in his chest. Nothing would contain him. Nothing would control him. He would be his own person, and choose his own path and fate. He was wild and free... much like the sea.
Below him, the sea writhed, unable to be tamed. It crashed against the cliff again and again, rolling back to gain strength before raging against the wall of stone once more. It sent shots of spray soaring into the air, tiny flecks of water spreading and drying up.
However, the ocean's depth and strength endured, moving and roaring as it would for many years to come. It crashed against the cliff he sat on, again and again and again, and while the earth was sturdy and unmovable, it chipped away slowly as the waves wore against it.
Yes, if Legolas were to compare himself one of these things of nature, he would say he was the sea. It was not in his personality to wait and endure like the earth. He fought and attacked, striking off little pieces of the Shadow that refused to fade. If he was startled, he would reel back and lash out with even greater strength, determined in his resolve to make a difference against the seemingly immovable enemy he faced.
Ironically, most of the rest of his kin would be the cliff, not the sea that they longed for. They endured, only attacking if they were attacked, riding out the storm and not taking a large part in the overall war against the Shadows. They defended their own borders but rarely went out to strike the enemy first. As stoic as stone, most of them were, but with every passing year their strength and hold waned...
At that moment, a large chunk of rock crumbled away from the cliff, landing in the sea with a large splash seen even amongst the waves. Legolas watched as the ripples the stone's plummet made vanished amongst the chaos of the ocean. The rock was gone as if it never existed made to disappear by the sea it had joined with. Just like how the elves would vanish from all thought and memory one day, as the world of Man took hold.
It seems cruel, to make the elves depart once this land is finally free of the Great Darkness, the assassin mused. It is not their fault that the Shadows that have sunk into the very pores of this world. Darkness so deep that once the time comes, all elves must leave Middle-earth, or risk fading into nothingness... All except me.
This was the disadvantage of coming to such a peaceful place. It gave him time to think. About the Darkness, about the shadowed trees, about the slowly-coming conflict, about the future... and about other topics he would rather avoid.
Even in Mirkwood he had no trouble keeping busy and not-thinking about things. There were always things to do, people to see, and enemies to fight. Legolas looked down at the roiling sea and laughed bitterly to himself. It seemed, no matter where he was, he could not find serenity for long. Here, he had time to think. In Rivendell, there were the Shadowed Elves to worry about. Lothlorien was too bright and high-class for his tastes. And Mirkwood... Mirkwood was not the same place it had been to him years ago.
He was glad that he had revealed himself to the shadowy forest's inhabitants, he really was, but there were downsides that lingered even after all this time. He loved roaming the woods with Aglar, pranking with Fael, reading and debating with Barhad, and teasing Megilag about his cooking. He loved whenever Thranduil would walk with him, talk with him, and oddly enough act like a parent to the violet-eyed elf at times. He loved to watch the warriors spar, and eat the sweet-cakes that Cook always made for him.
But all of these things were not enough to make him want to stay in the palace or even near it for long periods of time. For some reason, he found the place disturbing. The walls seemed to close in around him, the people seemed to stare and want to much, and no matter how hard Legolas tried he did not feel safe there.
It was not because of Bereneth, although the Princess's behavior had remained cold, mocking, and angry towards him. Her punishment for harming him many years ago had been almost worse than exile to Bereneth. Her sentence had been extended indefinitely, and she was bound within the palace and the grounds. No patrolling, no fighting, she was not even allowed to spar anymore. To the proud warrior Princess, one might as well have taken her right arm and be done with it. Legolas felt slight sympathy for Bereneth, but all of his attempts at being friendly were met with anger and sneers. He found it better to avoid the Princess completely if he could.
But wariness of Bereneth was not what made Legolas unnerved and edgy in the palace. The reason was deeper, much deeper in his subconsciousness, and only with a thorough internal inspection did the elf realize what bothered him so greatly that he was on edge in the Elvenking's home.
He felt like they would not let him leave.
The thought was ridiculous and completely unfounded, but for an unknown reason, Legolas felt like the elves of Mirkwood would force him to stay there. That they would not let him step foot outside of the palace grounds if he was not careful. But why would he think that? Why would he believe that the elves would one day trap him in the palace, and would not let him go..?
Legolas stopped this train of thought before it could continue. The assassin sighed, serenity completely forgotten, and rose to his feet, turning his back on the sea. Musings and thoughts were useless now, and as such were not worth thinking or worrying about. All he needed to be concerned with was here and now. Not the future or the past, or anything else. He was just going to Blue Harbor, and there he would get away from it all.
Or so he hoped.
The violet-eyed elf wandered slowly through the forest, head tilted back and eyes closed. The trees rustled their golden, orange, and red leaves, the first signs of autumn crossing the land. The emerald greens of the forest were now the colors of a sunset, beautiful ambers, oranges, and reddish-pink leaves molding and ranging from leaf to leaf. It was as if the trees were determined to give one last beautiful thing to the world before they entered the deep slumber that took them during the cold winter months.
Although autumn saddened Legolas because the trees would be silent, he also loved the season, for its colors and the coolness of the fresh air. He breathed it in now, the scent he associated with the season and coming snow entering his nose. The leaves beneath his feet were crisp but did not crunch beneath his feet, and he ghosted through the transformed forest like a spirit born there himself.
Around him, the trees whispered softly, filled with joy that the only elf they had ever met had returned once again. Elves never came to this wood. To come here was to risk getting the sea longing. Any elves that approached the sea went further south, and their only intention was to leave. As first the trees had not known what to do with the not-glowing star-child that they had found in their midst, but eventually they spoke to and accepted him as readily as a tree would in a realm the elves commonly passed through.
Legolas only half listened as the trees murmured to him, greeting him, speaking of the sea, and whispering to each other about benign, calming things. He listened as they sang of nature, not as beautifully as the Golden trees in Lothlorien but still wonderful and sweet.
These trees, though not as Light as some he had met, brought peace to his heart, for they knew nothing of the Darkness— not yet— and were as innocent and free as trees could be. In a way, they were almost like the hobbits that made their home further south. Content, ignorant, and in a realm of absolute peace. The elf prayed that the peace would last here a while longer.
His own peace, however, was not destined to remain.
Like a feather brushing against his mind, he sensed six men approaching. They were not on horses but their pace was harried and fast, heading steadily towards him. Legolas did not even stop to think, leaping up into the trees and peering down through the branches, waiting for them to come.
Loud and abrasive, shattering the serenity of the forest, the men trampled into view, five gathered around the sixth and hurrying him along. The man was cloaked, gagged, and bound. A prisoner. The assassin only needed to touch the presences of the men to recognize the captive.
It was none other than Aragorn.
If the men were orcs, or they were closer to a land more touched by Shadow, Legolas would have killed them all and freed Aragorn immediately. As it was, the only close town was Blue Harbor. For all the assassin knew, the Ranger may have been arrested for a minor offense.
Still, the way that the men were rushing along and glaring at Aragorn worried the hidden assassin. All of the men were dressed in travel-worn clothes, but moved with a diligence and unity that spoke of training. Were they guards or soldiers of some type? Legolas would follow and observe to try to find out more about the situation.
Keeping up with the men's rushed pace, the elf followed silently in the treetops like a ghost flitting among the leaves. Below him, Aragorn did not struggle against his captors, letting himself be forced along. His hair was slightly disheveled and there was a bruise on his cheek, but other than that, the man was unharmed.
However, although the Ranger's expression was carefully neutral, Legolas could spot the confusion and alarm in his eyes. The man may have become better at hiding his emotions, but the assassin was much more skilled than he, and could see through his mask easily. How could he not, when he so commonly wore a facade of indifference himself?
The men did not shove Aragorn, but they did try to drag him along, not pausing even if he stumbled. There was anger in their postures and coldness in their eyes, and Legolas began to question his decision to stay out of it until he knew more. He decided that, this time, it would be better to wait than to attack preemptively.
However, the men's path soon veered away from the direction of Blue Harbor, going further inland. So the village was not their destination after all. Concern mounting, the silent observer stalked them, unnoticed and unseen even by his friend.
Soon, the presences of seventy other men entered his awareness, and he realized that they were headed towards a camp of some sort. The men could have merely been traveling through the land, and not wished to pay for a hotel in the trading village, but Legolas doubted it.
They came to a large camp set up just a few miles from Blue Harbor. Legolas stayed above the men he stalked, watching as men— all armed— walked about the camp, speaking to each other and preparing for... something. A quick sweep of observance revealed blades being sharpened, bandages being rolled, and maps being pored over. These men were expecting a battle. The only question was, with who?
The elf counted the men once more, calculating in his head, and his dread only increased. There were over seventy men here, and although Blue Harbor was well off, it only had twenty soldiers for protection. It was wealthy but small, and defending itself was not one of its strong suits. It normally would not have to fight against an enemy force of this size.
The assassin's attention returned to Aragorn and his captors as they entered the camp. The men around them paused as they passed, confused expressions appearing on many faces. Then, abruptly, their moods would change, turning into ones of disgust, rage, and anger as their eyes fell upon the Ranger. Most glared at the man, others turned away, but some spat at Aragorn's feet.
Legolas could think of two reasons as to why the men were acting this way. They either knew Aragorn and— for some reason— hated him personally, or they hated Rangers in general. Added to the fact that they were most likely planning to invade a peaceful town, the elf's timid belief that they may be honorable, good souls faded into nothing.
If it had not at that time, it would have vanished when one of the men stepped forward, striking the Ranger across the face. The elf's hands twitched but he refrained from grabbing his bow, forcing himself to watch with burning violet eyes as the man sneered down at his friend.
"Ranger scum." the man spat.
His arm rose again, and none of the men around them even twitched as he prepared to strike Aragorn once more. Above them, Legolas put an arrow to his bow, not drawing it back but ready to shoot nonetheless. He did not care that he was heavily outnumbered. If that Delorcion touched his friend again...
"Enough." a deep, cool voice said.
The throng of men that had gathered around Aragorn, his captors, and his abuser parted, a blue-cloaked figure walking through their midst. He was flanked by two more invaders, and Legolas could tell he was the leader. There was a confidence in his posture and a command in his voice that could only be found in rulers. He was used to being obeyed, or else.
But the thing that struck the assassin most was that he was dangerous. Something about the man— hidden under the surface like magma under a layer of stone— put him on edge. Underneath the calm leader was something nasty and vile, oddly dormant but waiting to break free. It was not like the Shadow he could sense in some, but was a different kind of evil. The natural evil of a corrupt, angry man. An evil brought out by one's own actions and thoughts, created by someone so overcome by hatred and rage they were lost...
In a world so greatly affected by the Darkness, it was easy to forget that normal evils and bad men existed. Not all cruelty came from the Shadow, and not all evil was borne of Darkness. Sometimes, the natural corruption of a person was enough to make them as bad as any orc. That was what the assassin sensed in this man.
Eyes not leaving the newcomer, Legolas shifted the path his arrow would take. The leader was the biggest threat. If he so much as moved threateningly towards Aragorn, he would be dead before he knew he had been shot.
Aragorn's captors forced the Ranger down to his knees, the leader looming over him. The cloaked man stared down at Aragorn, and the silver-eyed man glared up at the leader. Then the leader's hands lifted, and he pulled back his hood, revealing his face.
For a heart-pounding moment, Legolas swore it was Drust. The man standing there had the same black hair, brown eyes, facial shape, and features. Only a closer inspection proved it could not be Ciaran's brother— other than the fact that the man would be over four hundred years old by now. The man glaring down at Aragorn was taller than Drust, with slightly broader shoulders and a small dark mark on his cheek under his eye, most likely a scar.
"Who are you and what are you doing here, Ranger?" the man said coldly.
Aragorn was dignified and firm despite being forced to kneel in the mud. He stared right into the man's eyes, unimpressed and unafraid. "My name is Strider. I was merely traveling through this realm when your men arrested me."
The leader's lips curled and he looked down at the Ranger as if he were dung he had found on the bottom of his boot. "Rangers are not welcome in this realm."
"Who are you to decide who may travel through these lands?" Aragorn asked.
His voice was not confrontational, exactly, the man hiding any disbelief or scorn at the leader's arrogance behind a facade of careful neutrality. But anger still flared to life in the leader's eyes, and his features darkened dangerously.
"I have more of a right than anyone. I am Riagán, grandson of Drust. My grandfather the last Lord of Blue Harbor. After his father died, he was wrongfully usurped and exiled by a Ranger."
Legolas looked upon the newly-introduced Riagán with understanding, shock, pity, and disgust. So you are related to Drust... You have your grandfather's image, and his desires it seems. I wonder, was it your mother or father that raised you to hate Rangers... and embedded the need to regain your "rightful place" in Blue Harbor. Based on your personality and these men that follow you...
"Let me guess. You wish to claim your grandfather's old position." Aragorn said. His silver eyes moved over the men before returning to the leader. "And you plan on invading and conquering to do it."
"Of course." Riagán responded coolly. "I seek to regain my family's throne. You must understand my desire to have what is rightfully mine. After all, aren't one of you descended from the line of Kings, and meant to ascend the throne of Gondor?"
Aragorn stiffened but did not respond.
Riagán noted his silence with disdain, scoffing lightly. "That is what I thought. I know what you're thinking. That is different. If and when Isildur's Heir regains his throne, he won't use violence... Yes, this is different. I'm afraid that I have run out of patience, and the only way to reclaim what is mine is through force. Fear is the only way to have absolute control, and what better way to inspire fear than to invade, with a force that wipes out their foes..."
There it was. A hint of the dangerous menace lurking behind Riagán's guise of coldness momentarily shone. His eyes changed, a dark gleam appearing in their depths, and for a moment it was like a warg was staring out at the Ranger. Then it vanished once more like it never existed, but Legolas found himself feeling oddly disturbed. There was something very wrong with that man. Aragorn seemed to sense it as well and kept his silence.
Riagán took a deep breath, and the calmness snapped back into place. He glanced at the sun, then looked to the men that still guarded Aragorn. "I'm afraid we are out of time for now, Ranger. Take him to a tent and tie him up. Leave him there, guard him, and give him nothing. We will continue this conversation later."
Stunned by the abrupt dismissal, the Ranger did not resist as the men dragged him away. Instead of following, Legolas stayed where he was, narrowed eyes staying on Riagán. The man was a confusing enigma, explaining yet not explaining his purpose and desires, yet something about him bothered the elf deeply. It was not that he looked like his grandfather, not at all. It was deeper than that. There was something decidedly off about Drust's grandson. The assassin just could not put his finger on it...
Disregarding this worry, the elf turned his thoughts to trying to figure out how to rescue Aragorn and take care of the threat that the soon-to-be-invaders posed on Blue Harbor. A solution was quick to come to mind, as it was wont to do for Legolas.
The plan was simple. Silent and deadly. Quick and without a fuss. A touch of death, without fanfare or flair. That was the way an assassin killed, and once Legolas thought about it, it was how he had not killed in... quite a while.
Perhaps that was why he felt a single millisecond of uncertainty before he scoffed at himself and squashed it, hardening his resolve. He supposed, with a shadow of the past haunting him, it would only make sense for him to return to his roots as well.
The assassin reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, simple vial.
A vial which held death.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Aragorn could not believe his luck. Or lack of it, to be more specific. He was tied to a post in one of the many tents in the invaders' tents. The ropes were wrapped firmly around his torso with his arms pinned to his sides, preventing him from moving. All of his weapons had been taken from him, and no matter what he tried he could not get free. The bonds were tight, not enough to cut off his circulation but still quite uncomfortable. In other words, he was stuck.
The Ranger leaned his head back against the wooden pole, sighing deeply. He had to think of a way out of here before Riagán decided to deal with him. He did not know why the man had halted his conversation with his captive, but whatever the man had gone to do would not last long. Aragorn knew that Riagán would not let him go, which left him who knew how long to get himself free. Three hours had already passed, and he was making no leeway.
I should have known better than to look into this alone, the Ranger silently berated himself. Rumors usually tend to end up being more than that, and I should have known not to go looking for a large group of men by myself. I did not even tell anyone where I was going, and none will notice if I go missing. Rule One for investigating potentially dangerous situations: Tell someone that you are investigating said situation.
Aragorn closed his eyes, thinking up and discarding plans to escape the situation he had found himself in. It was not like an ally would magically appear to assist him—
"You have terrible luck, do you know that?" a soft voice asked.
If he were not tied to a pole. Aragorn would have jumped a foot in the air. His head jerked and he stared at the figure that stood in the doorway of the tent. Violet eyes seemed to gleam out of the darkness before Esgal stepped into his sight, hood up and face-mask covering his lower face.
Aragorn closed his eyes tightly, head hanging in defeat. "...Just get me out of here."
The assassin nodded and cut his bonds, the irritating ropes falling away like nothing. The Ranger stumbled to his feet, wincing slightly. He quickly stretched the kinks out of his muscles.
"Where's my—"
Esgal handed him his weapons.
"...Thank you."
He glanced at the tent flap suspiciously, wondering how much time they had before someone stumbled upon them. Then again, no one had entered the tent since the men had tied him up in here.
"What's your plan for getting out of here?" Aragorn asked the elf.
The assassin did not respond.
The man blinked and turned to his friend. "Esgal...?"
Esgal looked at him, and Aragorn froze. The elf's eyes— his normally bright violet eyes— were dark, more like a dark plum than the brilliant purple that the man was used to. His eyes were cold, and more detached than the Ranger had ever seen, the apathy in them sending a chill up Aragorn's spine.
The assassin did not speak, merely swept out of the tent. Aragorn, wary and uncertain, followed him... and halted in his tracks just outside. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and fear made his heart pound wildly in his chest. For a moment he could not think or breath, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing. It was so unexpected and shocking that for a moment he could not respond to the sight he beheld.
After nothing but mind-numbing shock, Aragorn managed to choke out a single word. "H-How...?"
Because around him, laying in the fallen leaves, mud, and dirt, every single man in the camp was dead. The Ranger was suddenly struck by how silent the camp was. Unnaturally, tensely silent. The silence that camp with a lack of life. Only the wind made a noise, whistling softly through the camp of the dead, the occasionally rustle of cloth being the only noise within it.
Aragorn had seen more bodies at once in his life, and those in much worse shape, but this sight chilled him like an icy winter night. The men showed no wounds, and many had their eyes closed as if they had merely fallen asleep, but the paleness of their skin and the stillness of their chests showed that they would never wake. More than seventy men, all alive and whole earlier, were now dead.
And Aragorn had had no idea.
Esgal observed his reaction with the same blank expression he had been wearing, not reacting to his friend's horror and shock. In a flat, cool voice he responded to the Ranger's question. "They had lunch two hours ago. It was easy enough to slip poison into their food."
"They're all dead?" Aragorn murmured distantly. "You killed them all."
"Yes." the assassin stated.
"But they... That's not..." The Ranger's eyes were wide, a youthful confusion entering his eyes that had not been seen in years.
Esgal remained distant and detached. "What is it?"
"You... You didn't give them a chance." Aragorn said at last.
The assassin regarded him with those icy calculating eyes. "I understand. I know what you are thinking. You think that I should have confronted them like a warrior. You think I should have done what you would have done. You, and any warriors, would have escaped. You would have knocked out or killed the guards, and stolen a horse. Then you would ride off, your enemies shooting at and chasing after you."
"Perhaps you would have escaped, perhaps not. If so, you would have sought out Blue Harbor, then warned them about the threat against them. They would rally behind you, and you would defend the town against the invaders. Maybe you would win. Maybe you would not. But the point is, a battle would take place, and your enemies would be given a "chance". That is the way that warriors defeat their foes."
Violet eyes pierced Aragorn, pinning him in place. "Assassins are different, and an assassin is what I am. We work alone and eliminate threats, sometimes before they can become ones. We are not leaders. We do not seek out other to aid us and do not wait for open battles to strike. We strike from the shadows, and we do not give "chances". We kill."
The cold mask that Esgal wore cracked, and the dark color of the elf's eyes seemed to change into a sadder, lighter hue. "You are horrified by this. You were raised to find glory in face-to-face battles. You forget that I am not like you. I am not only a warrior, but an assassin. If I see an opportunity to eliminate my enemies, I take it."
Aragorn peeled his eyes away from the dead men around him, looking into the elf's solemn violet gaze. It was in that moment that he realized that the elf truly was saddened by the death around him, and with that came the knowledge that the coldness and apathy was a defense mechanism for the elf. He had to detach himself in order for him to carry out the terrible mission he had to complete. He was an assassin, and sometimes that meant doing things no normal warrior would have the strength or vitality to do.
"I understand." the Ranger said softly. "I apologize for judging you. I forget that you are an assassin at times."
Esgal's eyes softened further, becoming their normal bright violet, but the sadness lingered in his expression and gaze. "I never forget that I am."
No more words needing to be said, the assassin walked away, and the warrior hurried after him.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
Riagán walked slowly back towards his men's camp, thoughts clear and calm after his stroll through the forest. It was always helpful to have a place to go clear his head, especially when his thoughts began to cloud with rage and vengeance. The man did not know why his mind played with him like this, forcing him to separate himself into two in order to remain the collected leader his men needed to see.
His anger was a terrible thing, and could become a blinding and unstoppable lust for blood if left unchecked. He hid it behind a mask of calm and power, the traits of a proper leader, but still the rage simmered at the back of his mind. Riagán did not know what caused it, but when the anger overcame him he wanted nothing more than to make people suffer.
At these times he did not care about being a leader. He did not care about regaining his family's honor. He wanted to show his power. He wanted to show that he was one to be feared. Deep down, that was what he wanted: Fear. Fear, control, and to strike down any who opposed him...
Riagán blinked and breathed slowly through his nose, out through his mouth. The facade of calm was back in place, though it had been strained close to breaking earlier. The mere sight of the Ranger making the man want to strike him down, to watch and laugh as his lifeblood spilled on the forest floor. After all, it had been a Ranger that had caused his grandfather's exile, and who had denied him of his birthright. In Blue Harbor, he would have fear and control, and maybe then the rage inside him that he did not understand would be sated.
The man stepped into the camp boundaries, and halted as abruptly as a bird flying into a window. His brown eyes roamed the area before him and his knees trembled, giving way. He fell to the dirt, pain shooting through his kneecaps, and looked around him with befuddled confusion.
His men were lying haphazardly around the camp, silent, unmoving, and most definitely dead.
"No..." Riagán whispered, staring blankly at the corpses around him. Then his expression twisted into one of pure rage, and he screamed in anger. "No no NO!"
He rose to his feet, tearing through the camp, pushing objects and bodies aside as he raced to the tent where the Ranger was being kept. He ripped the tent flap out of the way, revealing a space that was empty except for cut ropes. He picked up the ropes, gripping it in his hand, before shouting his fury and throwing it away in disgust.
The Ranger had escaped. The Ranger had killed his men. The Ranger had thwarted his plan before Blue Harbor even became aware of it!
The rage bubbled up, boiling and red, and for once Riagán did not try to hold it back. How dare that Ranger defeat him, after he had worked so hard to gather the forces he needed to regain his throne! He had been so close! The invasion had been tomorrow! But now years of work and planning were gone, having died with his men! His men. No one had the right to kill his men except him!
The Ranger— Strider's— face was burnt into Riagan's mind. Dark hair, silver eyes, and a proud chin were all recalled with perfect clarity, searing themselves into the man's very soul. His anger focused, screaming for blood, for fear, for vengeance.
"I'll kill him..." Riagán snarled, eyes dark with hate. "I'll kill him..."
The Ranger may have thought he won, but the strength of his ancestors ran through Riagán's veins. His grandfather had failed to regain his power and honor. Drust failed to get his revenge against the Rangers that ruined his life. Riagán would not be a failure. He would hunt the one who shamed him until his last breath, and when his path crossed "Strider's" again, he would be sure to greet the silver-eyed man warmly... with a sword to the heart.
LOTRLOTRLOTR
A/N: Two antagonists revealed. One to go.
Riagán will make more sense later. Next time you see him, he is going to be a LOT more dangerous... and ruthless... and slightly deranged... and bent on revenge... and he'll be killing people. A lot of people. (Is that a spoiler?) In future chapters he kinda scares me a little... O_O' By the way, he is a Dunedan. That means he has a while left to live.
A note you may want to take note of: I just realized how much of a difference seven years makes for some characters. As such, I will be increasing a couple people's ages a little when I hit "The Present". Pippin, Merry, Sam, Eowyn, and Eomer will be aged up a couple years. Let's just say that the AU caused them to be born a little earlier, shall we? I'm really annoyed cause I didn't think that seven years would make such a difference for some characters. Then I found a timeline and it showed when people were born... (scowls) I won't mention exact ages unless someone asks later on. This is just for my peace of mind. :) BTW: If you calculated you would see that "The Present" happens in Third Age 3011. Canon LotR was in Third Age 3018.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Sorry, but I'm not doing review responses for last chapter now. Quite frankly I don't have the patience right now to scroll through the pages to find the Guest reviews. In other words, I'm majorly irritated right now. :( I'll try to respond to Guests who reviewed for last chapter in the next chapter. Sorry that I didn't respond to you. All reviews are greatly appreciated, and I love you all. (hugs) :)
Next chapter is in TA 2991. The chapter after that is "the Present". And the chapter after that marks the start of Part Two.
Please review!