Dear Strider, Chapter Fourteen
Eldarion leads his forces against the Sons of the Corsairs in the Battle of Pelargir.
Author's Note: I have been absent for a long time, for which I apologize, especially with this story being so near the conclusion I have planned. I hope that this chapter will provide some level of restitution.
The morning sun shone bright on Eldarion's mithril breastplate. The gleam was enough to give him a headache, but he did his best to ignore the discomfort. He sat astride his horse, Roheryn, on a hill overlooking the city of Pelargir. Anduril hung heavily at his side. His armies stood in formation behind him, small clouds of steam momentarily obscuring their view each time they exhaled.
Beregond, ever faithful, rode to the right of Eldarion. He wore the trappings of a citadel guard.
Ostoher and Belecthor were on his left. Ostoher shrewdly eyed the city's defenses while Belecthor looked sadly down at his occupied home. Firiel had been wroth to be left behind, but Belecthor had insisted that if anything were to happen to him during the coming ordeal, it was imperative that she should be safe in order to lead the people of Lebennin. She had stomped away muttering something about, "pulling an Eowyn," and Beregond had pursued her and talked her down from that idea.
The city was quiet. There were no signs of commotion or unrest. The standard of the Sons of the Corsairs, a black ship on a red field, hung over the gate, and a few black-cloaked watchmen were visible over the battlements of the city wall. Small, grey lines of smoke from chimneys throughout the city rose above it all like the sinister pikes of a ghostly army.
A high, melodious horn-call came from the south, and up the road trod Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth and his Swan Knights, singing as they came to join the army of the king. Adrahil rode at the head of his company, his Swan Knight armor glittering in the cold, morning light.
Eldarion and his captains rode towards them while the rest of the army remained in place.
"You're a welcome sight, Adrahil," Eldarion said, clasping his brother-in-law's forearm when he was close enough.
"Dol Amroth is at your command, my king," Adrahil said. "I don't see the coward Gimilkhor."
"Gimilkhor and Ohtar are restoring order in Umbar as we speak," Eldarion said. "That way, when we have routed the rebels, they will have nowhere to run."
"Not without severe consequences," Ostoher said grimly.
"I don't see Elboron. Are we still waiting on him?" Adrahil asked.
Beregond chuckled. "He's probably just over the horizon waiting to make an entrance now that you're here."
Surely enough, a sonorous note sounded from the north, and the company from Ithilien rode to join the host. Prince Elboron rode at the head of his force, and his troops, mainly rangers equipped with bows and short swords, marched quickly behind him. The rangers wore black leather armor emblazoned with the White Tree, and Elboron wore his father's breastplate, polished to a reflective gleam. He trotted towards Eldarion and Adrahil.
"How much did you have to stretch that breastplate in order to fit?" Eldarion quipped wryly. Elboron chuckled and shook his head in response.
The six captains repositioned themselves as the head of the force. Ostoher noted that some of the cloaked watchmen had descended into the city, but those nearest the gate stood fast.
"Shall we begin, my kind? Ostoher asked, placing a hand on the grip of his sword.
"We will offer the chance to negotiate," Eldarion stated firmly. "Surely, if they see the strength of our force, they will see reason and dissipate. Heralds!"
Three young heralds brought forth their horns and galloped out ahead of Eldarion's army. Receiving a nod from his king, Beregond followed on horseback. When they had reached the halfway point between the army and the gates of Pelargir, the heralds blew a loud note, and Beregond cried, "Sons of the Corsairs, your king has come upon you. You are hopelessly outnumbered. The king, in his mercy, offers you the chance to parlay with him and receive justice without bloodshed."
The watchmen near the gate descended into the city. For a while, there was no other sound or sign, until at last, the gates were seen to open, and three riders on black horses galloped out of the city. Eldarion and his entourage rode forward to meet them.
The riders looked to be at the start of middle age. Their hair and beards were rich and brown, and they set their brows in haughty defiance of the king.
"I take it you are the leaders of this insurrection," Eldarion began primly.
"Insurrection?!" the man in the center spat. "We are a revolution. King Elessar is dead. We are no longer afraid of ghost armies and ancient bloodlines. Gondor has made us pariahs while Rhun and Harad go free."
Eldarion frowned. "Umbar has been given the same rights and privileges of any other city or region in Gondor, which is something that Rhun and Harad do not enjoy."
"We aren't going to negotiate like that weak Gimilkhor. Your father set his family up because he knew they would fear the crown. The Umbaran people do not fear as he does, and we will no longer pay for the excesses of monarchy."
"If you don't intend to negotiate," Eldarion said coolly, "Why did you ride out?"
The Umbaran on the right chuckled nastily.
"We wanted to see if you were as unimpressive as we've heard," the leader said. "You did not disappoint us."
"Impudent knaves," Beregond snapped. "You are outnumbered and outmatched, and still, you reject the king's mercy."
The leader scowled. "Come and fight us, then. Show everyone how the line of Isildur crushes its foes." He motioned for his companions to turn and follow him back to the gates of Pelargir. As they rode, the man on his left blew a high, shrill note on his horn, and the gates opened to receive them.
Eldarion drew Anduril from its sheath and held it aloft, crying, "Forward!"
The armies of Gondor marched forward towards the gates, which had closed behind the negotiating party.
Eldarion looked for some sign or archers or assailants from the walls of the city, but none came. The gates remained unguarded. He beckoned to Belecthor, who rode closer to him.
"Is there something I am missing about the defenses of the city walls?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" Belecthor frowned.
"Why are no archers firing? Are there other traps?"
"No other traps, my king," the lord of the city replied.
Eldarion looked up and saw a grey head appear above the battlements. "Who stands atop the gate?"
"My name is Beren, my king," an old man hollered down. "I am a man of this city. The men who were standing guard over my family fled deeper into the city."
"Can you open the gate?" Eldarion asked.
"My daughters will open them now," Beren said.
After a pause, the gates to the city creaked open, and Eldarion and his companions rode inside with soldiers in tow.
Beren and three younger women, presumably his daughters, descended from the wall to speak to the king. "One of those pirates was pierced by an arrow, and the rest bolted with a cry."
"Where did the arrow come from?" General Ostoher inquired. "Is there resistance in the city?"
"Doubtful," Beren said. "The pirates confiscated all of our weapons and locked them in the gatehouse."
Eldarion addressed his troops. "Search the city. Find where the Sons of the Corsairs have fled to and see to it that the people remain safe and out of the way."
"My king," one of Beren's daughters said, "Allow us to aid your soldiers. Let us find our weapons and help to drive their host from our home."
"We can rally our people," another replied.
Belecthor smiled at his citizens. "I will go with the people of my city and raise those who are willing to aid in our liberation," he announced.
Squads of soldiers began to fan out down the different streets that the gate square opened to. Elboron and Adrahil joined Belecthor to inspire the people of Pelargir to fight.
"Show me this pirate," Eldarion said to Beren, dismounting to walk alongside the man. Beregond and Ostoher followed closely.
Beren led them around the corner to his stone house, where a black-clad man lay with a white cloth over his face. An arrow was embedded firmly in his chest.
"This fletching is not like any found in Gondor," Ostoher said, examining the arrow closely. "Someone else is fighting off the pirates within the city."
"But who?" Eldarion wondered.
The citizens of Umbar were pleased that their lord had returned, and they gathered on the steps of the citadel to hear him speak. Gimilkhor quieted his people with a wave of his hand. "As we speak, the king is routing the Sons of the Corsairs in Pelargir. They will be brought to justice for their occupation of the city. Anyone who is shown to be aiding and abetting their organization will face similar justice. Our people have had a troubled history with the crown, going even as far back as Castamir the Usurper. It is not the time to rebel. Umbar remains a loyal subject of Gondor."
"You would keep us under the thumb of those who hate us?" a bold citizen shouted.
Gimilkhor raised his dark eyebrows and a chill seemed to fall. "Our people will continue to enjoy the benefits of membership in the kingdom for as long as your lord deems it to be helpful. I maintain a working relationship with King Eldarion in order to ensure continuation of those benefits. I present to the people of Umbar the king's nephew, Lord Ohtar of Arnor."
Ohtar emerged from the line of councilors behind Gimilkhor. "People of Umbar," he announced, "I am here to listen and to learn, to aid my uncle in best supporting this proud city in which the blood of Numenor flows."
Ohtar and Gimilkhor clasped each other's forearms as though making a pact, and the people murmured their assent. The two men waved as they moved back towards the citadel.
Belecthor and the daughters of Beren had gathered nearly two-hundred Pelargirians to help rout the invaders. Elboron found that weapons of the city folk were being guarded in a pavilion in the park near the center of the city. When the small force of pirates saw the lords in their glittering armor and seemingly endless squads of soldiers approaching, they cast down their weapons and surrendered rather than being slain.
"Where are your leaders?" Belecthor demanded.
"The docks," a younger pirate said. "They spread the word for all of us to move towards the docks and prepare to set sail. We were waiting until they called again so the people didn't take up arms against us."
"Send word to the king," Elboron commanded the soldiers nearby, and two ran off in search of Eldarion.
Eldarion was several blocks away. He had faced down several of the pirates who attempted to attack him, but they were no match for the sword of Isildur. Beregond and Ostoher flanked him on either side.
When the two soldiers Elboron had dispatched reached him, Eldarion rallied every soldier in earshot and marched southeast at speed to reach the docks. No less than a hundred corsairs lined the dock near a large, black ship. The leader of the rebels stood atop the deck of the ship with a grim smile.
"I don't see many of your men aboard your ship, pirate," Eldarion shouted.
"Do you think the Sons of the Corsairs aren't willing to give up their lives in service of their ideals?" Several of the pirates along the dock shifted their feet.
"I don't think that you are," Eldarion replied. "Why do you cower behind your men?"
Some of the pirates turned to face their leader, their faces askance.
"I challenge you," Eldarion declared, pointing Anduril towards the deck of the ship, "To single combat. If I defeat you, you will surrender yourself into the crown's custody."
The leader laughed, but his eyes flicked nervously down to the human barrier he had placed between himself and the king. "And if I defeat you, I will have helped to wipe out the line of Elendil."
The Sons of the Corsairs parted their line so that their leader could disembark from the ship and face Eldarion. It seemed that he was wrestling with coming down or not, but the cold stares of his men won out, and he drew his sword and approached the king.
Elboron, Adrahil, Belecthor, and the people of the city came streaming through the streets but stopped to silently take in the scene.
Eldarion stood on guard as the muscular rebel came near enough to strike, and strike he did. The corsair lunged forward and slashed at Eldarion's left shoulder, but Anduril parried, glittering as it struck the dull steel of the enemy weapon. Eldarion brought his sword down to attempt to disarm his foe, but the corsair twirled to the left to avoid it.
Both the pirates and the armies of Gondor watched breathlessly as the king and the corsair attempted to land blow after blow on each other. Beregond let out a gasp as the corsair kicked Eldarion in the stomach, causing him to double over. The corsair raised his sword high to bring his blade down on Eldarion's head, but the king brought his sword upwards, knocking into the pirate's arm and causing his elbow to go numb. He cursed and dropped his weapon, which Eldarion's booted foot kicked out of reach.
"Surrender," the king panted, pointing his blade at the corsair's chest. Clutching his elbow, the pirate struggled to his feet. Raising Anduril aloft, he cried, "Pelargir is free, and the Sons of the Corsairs will lay down their arms."
The armies of Gondor cheered as the pirates threw their swords to the ground.
Eldarion turned to face Beregond and Ostoher to give further instructions, but he was nearly knocked to the ground. The leader of the rebels had lunged forward as soon as he turned his back, drawing a concealed knife, which he attempted to hold to the king's throat. In the struggle, the knife slashed a gash in Eldarion's cheek, hot blood streaming from the cut.
The corsair laughed as Beregond and Ostoher drew their swords. "Now, you will answer to MY terms." Before he could give them, an arrow flew from behind the Gondorians and pierced the rogue's neck. Eldarion freed himself from his grasp, whirling to face the pirate, who sputtered and fell and spoke or moved no more. The arrow in his neck bore the same, mysterious fletching from arrow in the pirate found beforehand.
"That was an excellent shot," Eldarion panted, raising his hand to the bleeding gash on his cheek.
"Would you expect less?" a light-sounding voice came from above.
Everyone looked up, and there, on top of a nearby house, stood a tall figure wearing a grey-green tunic and leggings. He had long blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and sharply pointed ears.
"Legolas!" Eldarion cried. "You are the one who was driving off the pirates!"
Legolas laughed and slid down the drainpipe of the house, drawing murmurs of awe from those near him. "I received word of the situation in Pelargir and reasoned that you might need an elf on the inside."
Eldarion quite forgot the bleeding of his cheek and embraced his old friend, leaving a few spots of blood on the pristine tunic, but Legolas, returning the embrace, did not seem to care.
"As for all of you," Legolas turned to the pirates, stepping over the body of their leader, "Didn't your people learn your lesson last age? Attacking the Kingdom of Gondor will never end well for you. You'll all have plenty of time to think about that, though." He gestured gracefully in the direction of Ostoher.
"Alright, Sons of the Corsairs," the general of Gondor shouted, "Time to go home to mother. Onto the ship."
The pirates wordlessly obeyed, and Ostoher gestured to a company of soldiers to join him in sailing the rebels back home to Umbar.
The Pelargirians cheered as the black ship began to sail away from their city.
Belecthor rushed to the king's side and, taking his hand, raised their arms in the air. "People of Pelargir, let us show our gratitude to King Eldarion, who has freed us as once did King Elessar!"
The people clapped and cheered, and Eldarion, catching Legolas's approving eye, could not help but smile.
Elboron and Adrahil approached. Elboron embraced Eldarion. "Our fathers would be proud," he said. "And I have to admit," he gestured to Eldarion's cheek, "The scar will be a great conversation starter."
"I sent Gimli on ahead to Emyn Arnen," Legolas said. "We have business in Ithilien."
"We shall set this city aright, and then we will all join you there and celebrate this victory," Eldarion replied.
Ohtar and Gimilkhor met Ostoher at the docks of Umbar. Ostoher's troops escorted the rebels to the dungeons under the citadel.
"Was it messy?" Gimilkhor asked, his eyes following the lines of prisoners.
"Nothing we couldn't handle," Ostoher said.
"And Pharazon?"
Ostoher frowned slightly. "Dead. Defeated by the king in single combat and slain by the elf Legolas when he tried to hold the king hostage."
Gimilkhor had no expression. "The king turned his back, didn't he?"
"He did," Ostoher said. "We leave the rebels in your charge. The king trusts that you will deal justly." The general bowed his head and followed his troops and the prisoners.
When they were nearly alone, Ohtar asked, "Who was Pharazon?"
"My brother-in-law," Gimilkhor said. "I told him it was folly to take up arms against the kingdom. He was too prone to rage to listen."
Gimilkhor and Ohtar walked in silence to Gimilkhor's study. The walls were decorated with various weapons from different ages of Middle Earth.
"I need to write to the families of the rebels," Gimilkhor said. "We won't keep them locked up indefinitely, but I need to impress the seriousness of what has occurred."
"Let me write to them," Ohtar said. "I will keep my words plain. You should be with your wife."
"Thank you," Gimilkhor said. "See that you do keep the words plain." He swept from the study.
Ohtar realized quickly that he should have asked where to find parchment. He opened several drawers of Gimilkhor's desk before he found a box. It was constructed of dark wood and was emblazoned with a black tree, almost an inverse to the white tree of Gondor. He drew the box from the drawer and opened it.
The box was filled with lineages that connected Gimilkhor to his ancestors who had come from Numenor and unrecognizable drawings of faraway places and things. The final sheet in the box was a withered piece of parchment which held writing in dark red ink.
Ohtar began to read.
1 March 3019
Lugburz
Balakhor-
The time of our conquest is nigh. Saruman the White moves from Isengard to assail the witless horsemen of Rohan, and our great lord rallies his forces to sweep westward across Gondor. The men of Rhun and Harad swell the ranks of our forces, but we require your fleets to weaken the coasts of the Anduin the ease the passage of our greater force through Osgiliath.
Move your ships south of Osgiliath and cut off aid from Dol Amroth and the other, pathetic fiefdoms in the south of Gondor. When our lord reigns over these lands, you and your house shall remain in command of Umbar in perpetuity. Should you choose not to aid us, there are others whom we could support in your city who will. Our lord will send a winged messenger to provide you with further instruction.
Make no mistake, you are the blood of the true Numenoreans, among the greatest of our lord's servants, and he shall reward his faithful with the power they truly deserve.
Our time is near at hand. See that you play your part in ushering in our new age.
Dulgabeth, The Black Word
Mouth of Sauron and Lieutenant of Lugburz
Wordlessly, Ohtar placed the letter back in the box, closed it, and placed it where it belonged. The Umbarans couldn't help it, he thought. Sauron would have destroyed them had they not cooperated. It's a new age, and Gimilkhor is not his ancestor. That last thought he clung to as he looked around at the sharp, shining blades hanging from the walls.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading this latest chapter! If you enjoyed it, please follow, favorite, and review.