Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?
Ranchi Blade: Thanks for the review. Balian deserves a break, so I gave him one :P As for your question, 'how many parts will there be' to this story? Well, I have an announcement to make :D There will be a fourth instalment of the Chance Encounter series. What is it about? We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? ;)
By the way, thanks to those who pointed out to me that in the last chapter, Legolas was in two places at once. You saved me from a lot of embarrassment.
Chapter 24: Besieged On All Fronts
Aragorn followed the falling blade with his eyes, preparing to die there and then. He never felt anything. The impact of a flying spear hitting his chest knocked his attacker a few feet away, and then the Rohirrim were upon Aragorn's attackers. Knowing that they were no match for Rohan's well trained cavalry, the Haradrim retreated. "That was a very good spear throw, if I must say so myself," commented Éomer.
"How is it that you always arrive just in time?" asked Aragorn as he got back to his feet. A Gondorian guard brought him his horse, and he swung into the saddle. In the distance, the Haradrim seemed to be regrouping. They would nurse their wounds for a while, but the siege of Rohan was not over.
"I am Éomer of Rohan," said the younger king. "That is the way I am." He scanned the horizon, marred by the many flags and standards of the Haradrim. "It seems that you and I together are not enough to break the siege."
"I can only hope that we can send out messengers to summon reinforcements," said Aragorn. It was a pity that the Anduin was too narrow up here. If not, he could've found some way to ask for aid from Hector and his crew of undead sailors. Unfortunately, the Flying Dutchman was too big a ship.
Little did he know that reinforcements were on their way to Rohan as he was speaking.
Faramir glanced at his...odd following. Many of them had been infantry. He'd simply mass-promoted them. Their steeds were the ones which had been overlooked by the cavalry. If they had not been so determined to save their king, the Steward would have been afraid. However, their united goals made them strong, and Faramir was certain that the strength of their courage would be able to overcome whatever the Haradrim and their sorcerer king decided to throw at them. The man beside the steward was awfully quiet and subdued. Faramir deemed him to be no more than a boy, and he silently commended him for his courage.
From beneath her helmet, Éowyn could not help but congratulate herself. Her own husband had not recognized her. She knew he would not have approved if he had known the truth, but she wasn't about to sit in Gondor and wait while her own people were in peril.
Bahram needed to speak with Balian the Defender. He'd been in Mordor when Xerxes had died. Surely, he would know something about it. However, the young prince did not know how to approach the man. He couldn't just barge into the man's sickroom and demand answers to his questions, could he? Besides, with the Defender so badly injured, he probably would not get very coherent answers.
"Do you want to avenge Xerxes or not?" he asked himself. "Come on, Bahram. He died for you, and you can't even summon the courage to ask about how he died? What sort of brother are you?" He paced outside the houses of healing, debating with himself for a long time. Finally, he made up his mind. Bahram took a deep breath and stepped inside.
"Excuse me," he said to a healer. "I am looking for Balian the Defender. Where might I find him?"
"Are you a friend of his?" asked the healer, looking the youth up and down.
"We have a mutual friend," said Bahram. "I have urgent matters which I need to discuss with him."
The healer seemed to have some doubts, but with so many men guarding the wounded defender, what could one young boy do? He led the youth to Balian's room, and knocked on the door.
"Yes?" came a voice from within. For someone who was supposed to be 'badly injured', Balian sounded very strong.
"Someone to see you, milord," said the healer.
"Send them in," said Balian. The healer opened the door and Bahram stepped in. Balian the Defender sat amongst twisted sheets and wood-shavings. He was carving a little wooden figurine of a horse and rider. He looked up when Bahram came in.
"You are..." he said, frowning. He had no recollection of this boy.
"I am Bahram of Harad, Xerxes' brother," said Bahram. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down in a wooden chair. "I have some questions."
Balian set down his carving and looked down at his hands. He did not answer, but simply nodded. In his mind, he could see it as clearly as if it was happening before him right now.
"How did my brother die, as great a warrior as he was?" demanded Bahram.
"Great warrior he was indeed, and yet, swords cannot defend against treachery," said Balian. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. He looked up and met Bahram's intense gaze. "I wish I could say I had no part in his fall, but that would be a lie."
"What happened? Tell me!" Bahram had clenched his hands into fists. His fingernails dug into his palms. He welcomed the pain.
"Your brother came into Mordor, and all would have gone well if he had not let his love lead him astray," said Balian. He fidgeted, and rubbed his face with his hand.
"Love?" said Bahram. "What are you talking about?"
"Sarvenaz," said Balian flatly.
"Sarvenaz? No, it can't be. She loved my brother," said Bahram. He shook his head. "You must be wrong. Why would she kill him?"
"I know what I saw, Bahram," said Balian. "She made sure I saw it, as a warning."
Bahram gritted his teeth. Now, not only was Narbazanes his target, but he also had to make sure that Sarvenaz paid for her part in his brother's death.
In the garden, Barisian was content as he played with Astyanax, Andromache, Elizabeth and Willie. Well, almost content. His papa was in bed, and he couldn't play. The little boy didn't understand why. It was day time, and people only stayed in bed during the day when they were sick. His papa was the strongest person in the world. He couldn't get sick.
The child tugged at Elizabeth's hand and then pointed in the direction of the Houses of Healing. "Me see Papa," he said.
"Maybe later, honey," said Elizabeth. "He's sleeping at the moment." She didn't know how wrong she was.
Balian was just as anxious to get out of the Houses of Healing. He was bored, and with so much going on, he simply could not rest. His friends needed him to be out there in the action, not lying here in bed waiting for news of them. The man feigned sleep until the healer left, and then he looked around to make sure that there was no one watching him. As quietly as he could, he flipped off the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing a little as the movement affected his wound. It was still sore and tender, as was to be expected. This was, after all, only the third day.
He looked around for shoes, and found none. Then he remembered. He'd been wearing clothes given to him by Narbazanes when he'd come to Gondor. No doubt those would have been destroyed, and he was glad, for he did not want anything to remind him of the hell which he'd lived in for the past few weeks.
The Houses of Healing were quiet, as one would expect them to be. He padded through the corridors, his bare feet making no sound on the cold marble floor. From outside, he could hear the voices and laughter of children. It warmed his heart and made him smile. His son was near. The man rounded a corner. There, on the grass, Barisian was running around in the awkward way of little children, lifting his legs high and holding out his arms for balance as he tried to chase Willie. The little boy was giggling as Willie made faces at him.
Balian stayed behind a pillar to watch his child play. He was growing up. Soon, he wouldn't need his father so much anymore, and the man wanted to enjoy his son's childhood while he could. There was a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around. Barbossa stood there, grinning and looking smug, with his arms crossed. "So, Master Balian," he drawled. "You've seen fit to disobey the healers and get out o' bed."
"Captain Barbossa," said Balian. "If you'd been in my place, would you have acted any differently?"
The old pirate laughed. "If I didn't have an angry Mrs. Turner watching me, no," he said.
Angry Mrs. Turner. That did not sound so good. Was Barbossa hinting at something? As if on cue, Elizabeth's voice sounded behind him.
"Balian of Ibelin, what are you doing out here?" she demanded. "You should be in bed!"
"Uh oh," said Barisian. He'd stopped chasing Willie, tired by his exertion. He watched events unfold with interest. The child wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it almost seemed as if his fearless father was afraid of Auntie Lizzie.
"I..." began Balian, searching his mind for plausible excuses. "I needed some fresh air. After having been trapped for so long..."
"You could've asked for help," said Elizabeth. Her hands were on her hips. She was not impressed. Men. They were like little children sometimes. She was certain that women had been made so that there would be someone to keep the men in check. "What if you fell and hurt yourself again?"
"I'm not that delicate," protested Balian, but Elizabeth wouldn't listen. He was 'persuaded' to go back to his chamber in the Houses of Healing. No amount of scowling at Elizabeth made her change her mind. She simply told him that his scowls were not particularly daunting, which did nothing for his manly pride.
"Can I at least see Barisian?" he asked. Will's wife's expression softened.
"Well, he's been asking to see you," she said. "I don't see why he can't come, seeing as you're awake now."
Moments later, Barisian toddled in. "Papa!" he said, running into his father's open arms and climbing into his lap.
"Oomph," said Balian. "Easy, mon petit." He made a face as Barisian bumped the almost-healed wound. "Madame Elizabeth would not be happy if I got hurt again."
Barisian planted a wet kiss on Balian's face, giggling as his father's beard tickled him. "Pwickly," he said, placing two small hands on his father's face.
Balian hugged his son closer and placed a kiss on the top of the boy's head. He smelled of milk and soap. "Yes, it is prickly, mon petit bonhomme," he said. "You are a very clever boy." Barisian felt so warm and solid in his arms. He couldn't believe he'd almost left him behind. Being separated from his tiny child was unimaginable. A lump came to his throat even as he thought about it. If he had died, then Barisian would've grown up with nothing but vague memories and his name. He would've forever lived in his father's shadow, but Balian would only have been a distant figure, like the people in history.
"Papa?" said Barisian. He could sense his father's change of mood, and he was confused by it. "What bad?"
"No, nothing," said Balian, forcing himself to push away those pointless and melancholic thoughts. He was alive, and he was with his son. That was all that mattered now. "Everything's fine, mon petit bonhomme."
"No wed," agreed Barisian. He believed his father, and the nasty wet red stuff was gone. All was right with his simple world.
Aragorn and his troops rode into Edoras alongside Éomer's Rohirrim. The people of Edoras greeted them as saviours of Rohan, even though Rohan was not out of danger. In fact, all Aragorn seemed to have succeeded in doing was to put more strain on Edoras' dwindling food supplies. "What now?" he heard Achilles muttering to Legolas.
"Pray that we can send out for reinforcements," replied the elf.
"I don't pray," said the Greek. "I'm a warrior, not a priest."
"Well, you don't say, Laddie," said Gimli. "That was marvellous fighting. How many do you think you got, eh? Legolas here once got sixty-two, a score which I did not agree with, but that held. I would like to see his face if you bet him."
"Score?" said Achilles. "I don't count those who die by my blade. That's morbid."
Éowyn saw the dark line of Haradrim soldiers on the horizon. Somehow, they had known that Gondor would come, and they were waiting. Their spears glinted dully in the sunlight, like grey steel teeth. Behind this barricade of men and orcs was Edoras. Her brother was there, and so was her king.
Faramir could sense that the young soldier next to him was very tense. He gave the boy a small smile to reassure him. The soldier only looked down, which was odd, but the Steward had more important things to worry about than the less than normal behaviour of a soldier. "Spread out," he commanded his men. "Make our lines as long as theirs. That way, they won't be able to flank us so easily, and have archers at the wings. If they do attempt to flank us, shoot them."
Guy watched the Gondorians organize themselves. This force was bigger than the previous one, and if those inside Edoras decided to come out and help, he was doomed. However, he could not go back to Mordor without even having fought.
Shouts were raised as the two armies prepared for battle. In Edoras, the two kings and their commanders rushed to see what was going on. "It's Faramir!" said Legolas. "He's come with reinforcements! How did he get here so quickly? We only sent out the messenger three days ago."
"I don't know," said Aragorn, "but I will not question our luck. I am just happy that there are reinforcements."
"Not to ruin your mood, Sire," said Achilles, "but if Faramir is here with reinforcements, then who is in Minas Tirith?"
"I don't know," said Aragorn. "The best thing we can do now is to defeat Guy and then return to Minas Tirith as swiftly as possible."
The two armies faced each other; wall of shields against wall of shields. Men were arranged like pieces on a chessboard, forming straight rows and columns. Tension filled the air. Each side was waiting for the other to charge; no one wanted to make the first move. It was the Gondorians who first tired of this inaction and launched an offensive. Seeing that their enemy's centre was just as strong as their flanks, if not more so, Faramir sent troops to flank Guy's army while he and the main force of properly trained soldiers held back, waiting for Guy to take the bait. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Guy leapt for it, doing everything that Faramir had hoped he would do.
He sent his troops to the flanks to aid his men against the Gondorians, leaving his centre vulnerable and open to attack. The Steward of Gondor took this opportunity and charged at the enemy's exposed centre, just as a flood of Gondorian and Rohirrim warriors rushed out of Edoras to join the battle.
Attacked on two fronts, and with his troops in complete disarray, even Guy could see that he was losing, and unlike last time, he could not run. This time, Éomer was not about to let his quarry escape, and to make matters worse, Gimli seemed intent on getting Guy as well. The two warriors converged on the Frenchman. His horse was cut down from beneath him and Éomer grabbed the former king with a gloved hand just as the animal toppled over.
Éowyn cut down enemies left and right; her blade was merciless. She pushed her womanly compassion to the back of her mind. Her country, her people and those whom she loved were at stake, and the Shieldmaiden was willing to risk everything to protect them. She did not seek glory and renown in battle; that was behind her now. Instead, she focused on keeping an eye on Faramir, guarding his back and making sure that he did not come to harm or get himself killed. Men were liable to do that. Faramir, meanwhile, was unaware of this. He was trying to get to Aragorn, not that the king was actually in need of aid.
Achilles and his Myrmidon were once again on a rampage, leaving a trail of blood and death behind them. They made straight for the main Haradrim contingent .The men moved as one, advancing like a thrown spear, cutting through enemy ranks. There was no stopping this war machine of flesh and steel.
Within an hour, the battle was over, with the West once again emerging as the victor, despite all odds. Gimli was gleefully restraining a struggling and very frightening Guy. "We all get what we deserve in the end, laddie," said the dwarf. "There's no escaping that."
"I must say, you and Éomer are the winters of this round," said Legolas to Gimli as he cleaned his bloodied blades with one of the Haradrim standards. "You caught Guy."
"So you finally admit defeat," said Gimli. "Never expected you to concede so quickly, but you managed to surprise me as always, you pointy-eared elvish princeling."
"You won this round," said Legolas, "but overall, I am still the winner."
"Maybe you should get Balian to judge again..." Éomer began, but his voice trailed off as he remembered what the man in question had become.
"Mahal's anvil," said Gimli with a sigh. "I do miss that wee lad."
"Which 'wee lad' are we talking about?" said Faramir, joining in.
"Balian, of course," said Legolas. His heart was heavy. Faramir raised an eyebrow at that tone.
"Wee lad?" he said. "The man's got his own son. By the way, I have forgotten to tell you, seeing as we were fighting a battle, but we've gotten Balian back; the real Balian."
"How?" demanded Legolas.
Faramir grimaced as he remembered the sight of the dying man with blood flowing freely from his broken body. It had been utterly heart-wrenching when little Barisian had tried to coax his father to get up. "The blade," he said. "May the Valar bless Imad. That man has a strong will."
"Eru," whispered Legolas in chock. Balian, dead? And at Imad's hand?
"May he rest in peace," said Éomer. Silently, he bid his friend farewell.
"Rest in peace?" said Faramir. He knew what they were thinking. "I think not. If I know Balian, which I'm sure I do, he'll be complaining that he's bored with staying in bed by now, and that he is feeling perfectly hale. Hopefully, Éowyn is keeping him in check. I love the man like a brother, but I know how impossible he can be."
"You mean he's alive?" said Gimli, not daring to believe what he'd just heard. "And he's back to normal?"
"Yes, he's alive," said Faramir with a smile. "He was the one who told me that the King was in danger, because Boromir told him."
"Bless the laddie," said Gimli, grinning. "And he saw Boromir too."
"I guess everything is fine then," said Achilles. He was covered in blood —not his— and rather pleased with the outcome. He'd actually put his skill at battle to good use, for a change. This was the first time he'd fought a war for someone other than himself, and he felt as if he'd been remade.
"My Lord Steward," said the captain of what had formerly been known as the Gondorian Elite Guard, "there is one young warrior who has caught my attention. With your permission, I would like to recruit him into the ranks of the Myrmidon."
"He must be very good then, if he can elicit praise from you, Achilles," said Faramir. "Name him, and I will ask the King to promote him here and now."
"I can't name him, but he's over there." Achilles pointed at the young Gondorian soldier who had seemed very nervous right before the battle. Even now, he stood alone; a silent figure on the battlefield. Faramir sent for him, and brought him before Aragorn.
"Take off your helmet, so I may know the face of the one who has impressed even the lord of the Myrmidon," said the king kindly.
"I think it would be better if I remained unknown," said the soldier. His voice was soft and young, and it seemed strangely familiar, but no one recognized it.
"That is an odd reply," said Aragorn. "Is it not the desire of every young warrior to gain renown and glory, and to carve his name forever in the annals of history? Take off your helmet, please. I insist, for you have kindled my curiosity. If it is not glory and renown which you desire, then what do you fight for?" The soldier looked and sounded young, but Aragorn sensed there was deep wisdom hidden inside him.
The soldier reached up. His hands were very slender, and did not look like those of a fighting man at all. As he removed his helmet, long golden hair, mussed from being trapped under that piece of metallic headgear, tumbled down. There was a collective gasp. Éomer rolled his eyes.
"I fight for my people and for those whom I love," said Éowyn with a smile on her lips. "There was a time when I would have died for glory and renown, but now I've found something better, and I would much rather fight for him." Her gaze met Faramir's. The Steward was speechless. His own wife. She'd been there all the time, and he hadn't recognized her. What sort of husband was he? With the gift of hindsight, he suddenly realized how easily she could've been hurt, or worse, killed.
Achilles' shock had robbed him of his power of speech. A warrior lady. Yes, he'd known that Éowyn could fight. She'd been the one teaching Briseis how to use a sword. However, he had never thought that he would actually see her in action. If she'd been a man, she would have made a formidable general. He would not want to be her enemy.
"Dear sister," said Éomer, embracing Éowyn. "I see that the wedded life has not tamed your spirit. Then again, I wouldn't expect anything less, considering what you did at the Pelennor Fields and that business with the Witch King."
"Well," said Aragorn, who had finally recovered from this most unexpected surprise, although why he had not suspected it, he would never know. "Now that all confusion has been dispersed, I have a feeling that I ought to be going back to Gondor. I don't believe that the Royal Gondorian Naval Pirate Fleet should be left unsupervised."
In his room in the Houses of Healing, Balian heard shouts coming from outside. "What's happening?" he demanded of a young healer.
"I'm not sure, sir," he replied. "Would you like me to go and find out?"
"Yes," said Balian. "And do it quickly, please."
The young healer bowed. Balian tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially since Minas Tirith was very empty at the moment, with most of its forces in Rohan. Moments later, the healer ran back in. His face was flushed and he was breathing harshly. "The Haradrim are at the walls," he panted. "They're going to besiege the city!"
Balian threw off the covers, not caring if he tore the healing tissues of his wound or not. "Get me up," he commanded. "And find my sword!" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and searched for his boots.
"My lord, you're not well enough," protested the healer. He fell silent when Balian fixed him with a glare.
"I shall decide whether I am well enough or not," said Balian.
"You will do no such thing," came the authoritative voice of a lady. The healer bowed.
"Your highness," he said. Arwen stood at the doorway, a majestic presence to behold. Her belly was just starting to round, and she had the commanding presence which only a mother could have.
"Lady Arwen," said Balian. "Gondor is in peril. Do not expect me to lie here and do nothing while my friends bleed and die. Let me redeem myself." There was an underlying pleading tone to his voice, and he meant every word. However, that seemed to have no impact on Arwen. She was much too old and wise to fall for such things.
"How can you redeem yourself if you put all our efforts to waste and get yourself killed?" said the queen. "Gondor will be defended. Do you think you are the only one who knows how to defend a city, Balian? Do not forget, there are other men here."
Balian winced at his own arrogance. Of course, Will, Jack, Imad, Paris and Barbossa were still in Minas Tirith, not to mention Hector was just outside. "So you promise that you will stay here?" said Arwen.
"Yes," said Balian.
"See that you do, Defender." She gently tilted his head up so that she could stare directly into his eyes. "I know you are anxious to help, but know that while the time will come when you can redeem yourself, it is not now."
"I need to do something, milady," he said. "It's just..."
"Well, if you insist," said Arwen, "you may help with the grinding up of herbs for healing salves."
Jack was becoming less and less amused. There was a huge army with large catapults and siege towers coming towards them, and he had no place to run to. Why did Gondor not have cannons? As the army drew closer, he swore he could almost feel the foundations of the city shake with the pounding of the enemy's iron-shod feet.
"Whelp!" he said. "You're the Admiral! What are we gonna do?"
"You're asking me?" said Will, looking at the advancing Haradrim armies with a daunted expression. "Why, I have absolutely no idea! I've never been besieged before! Captain Barbossa! You're the one who's usually doing the besieging! What do you suggest?"
"I be runnin' out o' good ideas at the moment," said Barbossa, lowering his telescope. Even the sarcastic old pirate was looking grim. "Without cannons, I can do nuthin'. Master Norrington, you be the military man. What say ye?"
"I'm a naval man," said James. Besides, he had never dealt with siege towers and battering rams and catapults before. If it had been modern warfare, then he might have been able to deal with it, but he knew nothing about medieval style weaponry. He was just as lost as the rest of them. "What about you, Imad? You've besieged cities."
"Yes," said the Arab, "but I've never actually done the planning. Paris? Do you know anything about defending? Your city was besieged."
"Hardly," said the prince. "Agamemnon forgot his machinery. I am not going to lead the defences, and I am definitely not sending men to their deaths with my incompetence. Would that Hector could come on land..."
"Someone's got to know something!" said Elizabeth. "Oh, to hell with it. Load the catapults! Ragetti, Pintel! Tell the men to get ready to fire, on my signal!"
All eyes turned to Elizabeth. How did she know anything about siege warfare? "And someone go get Balian because I have no idea what I'm doing!" she snapped.
Will was somewhat relieved to hear that. He would have been rather frightened if his wife had all of a sudden turned into an expert of medieval warfare. "Right," he said. "The queen told him to stay in bed and out of trouble, but I'm sure he won't mind disobeying her." With that, he ran off for the Houses of Healing. Gondor needed the Defender.
—
A/N: Next chapter—Hero showdown! I love those. :P Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Stay tuned...
A MYTH WHICH SURPASSES MEMORY AND TIME...
In the dark bowels of the Papal palace in Rome, a cardinal is reading an old scroll.
A TREASURE WHICH HAS DISAPPEARED INTO HISTORY...
Balian: Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul over four hundred years ago.
Legolas: If he's destroyed it, then why is someone convinced that you know where it is?
A CLASH OF TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WORLDS...
Legolas peers out from beneath a hood at the Colosseum. Gimli hides behind him and tries to remain unnoticed.
AN AGENDA WHICH THREATENS THE SOVEREIGNTY OF NATIONS...
Cardinal Ambrosius de Magio: The Irminsul shall be mine, and no bastard blacksmith from France can do anything about it.
A NET OF TREACHERY AND DECEIT...
Barisian is screaming as someone carries him off.
Jack grabs Will by the shoulder.
Elizabeth is holding a monk hostage.
Paris rescues scrolls from a burning monastery.
A GROUP OF COMRADES AGAINST THE ROMAN CHURCH...
Gimli dispatches a Templar.
Jack steals golden chalices from the altar.
Barbossa dusts his hands as a chapel explodes.
Anna-Maria is dressed up as a nun.
Achilles winces as he examines a scene of the crucifixion.
AND A MAN, MARKED BY GOD...
Close up of Balian's hand opening, to reveal his palm where there is a burn mark in the shape of a cross.
ALLEGIANCES WILL BE TESTED
Balian is talking urgently with Philippe Auguste, King of France.
Legolas pushes Barisian behind him and points his drawn bow at an unknown aggressor.
Jack clutches a small chest.
Balian: Marc, take Barisian to England. He'll be safe there.
DANGERS WILL BE REVEALED
Barisian panics and runs into the forest. There are inquisitors on his trail, and his guardian, Marc, is nowhere to be seen.
Balian falls to his knees.
A group of inquisitors ride through a village on their way towards a stone castle, trampling anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way.
People scream and run as their homes are burnt down.
Villagers try to fight off the Inquisitors.
Jack shoots an Inquisitor and blows on his pistol.
From the author of Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth comes
Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age