Chapter 8 – Bitter Waters
On the Northeastern Coast of the Sea of Nurnen…
The waves were gentle which lapped against the green cliffs and rocks that day as the knight looked out across its expansive waters. It was mid afternoon, though the sun still lay behind the intense cloud cover across the sky. The Sea of Nurnen was vast, and oddly appeared more clear than Sir Eric would have attributed to any body of water within the vile lands of Mordor. The smell of it was nothing like the sea air on the coast of Belfalas where his home lie. That was clean, invigorating, salty air, the same as he encountered near Cair Paravel. This air had a brackish scent to it mixed with the stench of fish and algae one would expect from such a lake. The water itself while drinkable enough was also bitter, though not truly salty like those ocean coastlines he was used to.
After the defeat of the orc forces at Lithlad, the Narnian army headed south until the coastline of the landlocked sea where the volcanic ash from Orodruin, called in the common tongue, "Mt. Doom," had accumulated over the centuries to where the ground was extremely fertile for planting crops. They had encountered two more small companies of orcs en route which had been more easily dispatched by the Narnians than the forces which they had met at the river. They saw no more nazgul in the sky the two days they were on the march, having reached the sea by the end of the second day.
Aslan had only remained with them until the morning they set the fires to the orc stronghold, and then he was simply gone, without explanation or warning. This didn't seem to be so unusual to the Narnians as it was to the Gondorian knight. King Edmond had only remarked about it that, "It's his way. Sometimes he remains for weeks, sometimes you don't see him for decades or longer. He comes and goes as he pleases, and when it suits him."
Aslan… Sir Eric hadn't spoken with the Great Lion himself. He had only seen him from a distance. He had watched with mouth agape as Narnia's one True King had impossibly ripped the nazgul from the sky and destroyed it, suffering not so much as a loss of breath from it. And after the battle, the Great Lion spoke with the kings almost exclusively all that evening before they turned in. But even from that distance, Sir Eric could feel what could only be described as benevolent, majestic power radiating from him, like no ruler he had ever encountered before. When Aslan walked among them, there was simply no question as to who was in command, not just of the army, not just of even the nation of Narnia, but of nature and even existence itself. One felt as though all the Lion needed do was speak, or even breath, and whatever he desired would come into being. Sir Eric could not help but bend the knee as Aslan passed by him in discussion with the high king and his brother.
He only overheard snippets of the conversation about there being potential friends and allies to them even there in Mordor. There had been mention of the slaves which worked the fields around the sea of Nurn for the orcs food supplies, and another ancient spirit of nature which made her home on the Isle of Nurn off the north coast of the sea. The Lion's words to the kings, "You are not alone here." resonated within him as if he had been the one to whom they were intended.
The army met some of those slaves working Mordor's fields upon arrival at the sea. All of them had been of the race of man like himself, and many were fellow Gondorians, descendants of settlers from decades or even centuries gone by, though some hailed from among the easterlings as well. They had been in chains, and overseen by a small force of orc taskmasters that did not survive their first and last encounters with the army of Narnia.
Sir Eric had never seen men so defeated, so beaten in his life. The physical scars of the orcish whips were nothing compared to the emotional anguish evident in their eyes. Even when their horrid masters had been put to the sword, they looked confused, and unable to discern that their captivity was at an end. It had only been after much encouragement from the kings and captains that they understood their torment had ended.
The knight looked out over the bluish green, bitter waters still haunted by those eyes, contemplating what kind of horrors could so break a man, as well as the horrors his own eyes had witnessed inflicted.
The contrast of this coastline with his own homeland could not have been more stark. Belfalas was dotted with neighborhoods of Numenorean architecture, gleaming towers, and noble finery. Tall ships sailed into its harbors and ports bearing the wealth of the world. Here there was only the squalor of ramshackle huts and shacks meant for the enslaved men and their families whom the orc only saw as more breeding stock like cattle. The fields around the Sea of Nurnen grew grain, though whether or not the orcs actually used it for bread or just to ferment into their viscous grog was still up for debate. The men were only allowed the barest gleanings to feed themselves, their wives, and their children.
The children… This was perhaps the most heartbreaking of the sights he saw. He had certainly seen poverty before, but not like this. Not children of men living in such filth with nothing. And as he passed through those fields and through what could only generously be called a shanty-town, looking at those children it was clear not all of their fathers were men.
Sir Eric of course knew, like most men in Middle-Earth, that such unholy half-breeds existed. In his lifetime, he had seen them as well, though never openly within the borders of Gondor. Those he had encountered before had been among Mordor's patrols, and among its slave labor. Those had always been full grown adults. He hadn't thought twice about ending such orc-men. Of course, he also hadn't given thought to where such abominations came from, and how they came into life.
Their faces, eyes, and ears betrayed a more vile and fiendish breeding, born from violations of daughters of men of which they themselves were innocent. As the Narnians might put it, there appeared to be no sons of Adam among these, regardless of their forced maternity. Even at that age, there was a cunning, a twisted evil in their eyes which perverted the presumed innocence of infancy and childhood. Still, they were but children.
When they had been brought to the high king's attention, he looked as though someone had run a sword through his belly. No one had been expecting them, having seen no orc young before that point. King Edmond's reaction had been utter sorrow, knowing Aslan's command.
The order had been to put every orc to the sword, male or female, young or old.
His eyes streamed with tears at the memory of these being rounded up for the slaughter, separated from the fully mannish children, earlier in the day. Few of their mothers fought for them, but a handful did, devolving into total devastation as the demon spawned infants were torn from them, and it made it all the harder. Screaming, biting, kicking, fighting for their very lives, and terrified like any child would be. And he was not the only one to shed tears over the deaths of these half-orcs that day. The high king forced himself to watch as he gave the order, rivulets of salt water running down his own cheeks as it was carried out. The junior tetrarch could not bear it, and would not be present. Their black, orcish blood spilled on the ground as the minotaurs put them down swiftly and as painlessly as possible with both axes and daggers. None of the other Narnians could bring themselves to carry out the executions of ones so young, and many questioned the need privately, but would not openly challenge Aslan's instructions. When it was done, many had a hard time looking the somber minotaurs, who themselves were stoic and not unaffected, in the eye afterwards.
"What more atrocities must be committed to purge the land of the dark lord's stain of orc filth?" Sir Eric wondered aloud, rubbing the palm of his hand against his eyes to try and stem the flow. All he could think about was his own children, and all he could hear were the screams of the bereaved mothers.
"What more indeed?" He heard a woman's alto, lilting voice nearby. It was so out of place, so foreign to the military campaign he had found himself on that he immediately turned in surprise towards where the sound had come.
Against the sea on the rocks nearby stood tall a thin woman of highly refined features and sharp sapphire eyes in elvish gray cloak, and gray clothing plated with intricately forged armor like feathers or scales. A cowl covered all her head but her face, though he could see wisps of white golden hair promising a wealth of more beneath the cowl. Twin swords of elven make adorned her back, and the callouses on her delicate hands, indicated they were not for appearances sake. On the index finger of her left hand she bore a silver ring with bright blue glowing elvish inscription. He had seen few women like her before, and they all had ears that ended in sharp tapered points.
"What do you here, of all the most hellish places, lady?" Sir Eric asked, quickly trying to dry the rest of his tears as to not seem unmanly in her presence.
"I could ask the same, knight of Gondor." The elf woman replied. "It is a bold army that challenges the power of Sauron on his own back doorstep so openly. I have tracked this host which travels and fights under the lion's banner for the last four days. They have never been seen in Middle-Earth before. Who are they, and why are they here, Gondorian?"
Elves had their own reasons and methods, but he had never known or heard of one of the elder race with evil intent. As a rule, they were faithful and loyal to Eru Iluvatar, at least in name if not always in action. They could be cheerful and worthy companions, as well as skilled and deadly fighters. That one should just appear from nowhere in the middle of Sauron's dominion, his "back doorstep" as she had put it, brought many questions of his own.
"I will answer your question, if you answer mine, lady elf." The knight responded. "Your presence is just as unexpected as ours in a land dominated by enemies from all quarters."
The elf woman then gave a half smile and answered, "Fair enough. I am Eltariel, the Blade of Galadriel who rules in fair Lothlorien. I have wandered these lands since the fall of Minas Ithil on her orders to hunt and contain the nazgul. I was tracking the movement of one such when impossibly I saw it fall from the sky, attacked and killed by what looked to be a lion like no other I have ever seen; a lion which managed to kill the unkillable." She left the last sentence to hang in the air to emphasize the extraordinary nature of the event. "And under this lion's banner I have not only seen the most unusual of armies march, I have seen even mice serve and fight like ghost assassins to render an entire fortress destroyed. Now you, knight. Explain these miracles to me."
"And to the Lady you serve as well, no doubt. There are few who have not heard the name of Galadriel either in song or story. It would surprise me greatly if she were not somehow aware of this very conversation." Sir Eric replied.
Eltariel said nothing in reply, there was no point affirming or denying his correct suspicion, but stood there waiting expectantly for him to give an answer.
"I am Sir Eric of Belfalas," he replied, "and this great host comes from a country so far to the east it borders the great ocean itself as do Eriador and the gray havens in the west. They are from a land called by them 'Narnia,' and the Great Lion you saw slay the ringwraith is their ultimate and True King, called only Aslan. They march here on his instruction and information that Isildur's ring, the ring of power cut from Sauron's own hand by the shards of Narsil, has been found and is being quietly slipped into Mordor to be cast into Mt. Doom's furnace to be destroyed. They mean to draw the attention of the bulk of Sauron's own remaining forces in the black lands around Barad-dur away from the path of the ring bearer to achieve this."
Surprise and amazement flew across the elf woman's face as she briefly glanced at the strange jewelry on her own hand before returning her gaze to the man in front of her. "I have walked this land since before you drew breath as a babe, sir knight, and I have heard nothing of this plan. Whoever this ringbearer might be is completely unknown to me, and he must either be a warrior of great skill and courage, or a great fool."
At this the knight allowed himself a smile, and then a bit of a laugh at the thought. "Indeed. I know not who it is, or of what race. But I do not doubt the source of the intelligence. It comes from the Great Lion himself whom you and I both saw slay the nazgul as though a spring calf."
"And the slaughter of the half-orc infants?" Eltariel questioned, "what great sin did they commit other than their parentage?"
"This too was the Lion's command. No orc is to be left alive with our passing, young or old, male or female. They are to be fully purged from our path." He told her, whatever trace of mirth which had been on his face disappearing once more. "It was not done lightly, or without remorse, but it was obeyed."
"Without mercy?" She questioned, still clearly disturbed.
"Only the mercy of a swift death." The knight confirmed. "They suffered no more than that necessity."
Eltariel considered this, as well as the seriousness of the knight's disposition. There was pain in his eyes from it, a memory he could not unsee and could not fully justify or comfort himself from even though his own hand had not wielded the blade.
"So the time of the orcs is to meet a swift and total end at this Aslan's orders?" Her tone of voice changed. "That is ambitious."
"It is. But before the battle at Lithlad, I would not have thought a ringwraith could be struck down so easily either." He told her.
"That is true enough." She conceded, many thoughts racing behind her deep blue eyes. Then, as though receiving instruction from some unheard voice, she told him, "Bring me to this army's generals. I would speak with them on my lady's behalf."
"As you wish, Lady Eltariel." Sir Eric responded.
At Cair Paravel…
Queen Susan received the most recent list of casualties and her brothers' reports from the campaign by way of the griffin's dispatches. She read every name they could gather, being sure to do so, and to pass them along to their families with her sincerest condolences and shared grief. She did this with poise, patience, control, and grace alongside her sister, Queen Lucy, who oversaw the return of those not yet dead, but too wounded or maimed to continue the fight. These continued to trickle in by wagon or horses dedicated to that effort from the west.
Once her royal business was concluded that afternoon, she politely excused herself from the throne room, made her way slowly and with dignity to her apartments, entered and then shut the doors behind her. Only when she was entirely alone did she allow herself to break down into great, uncontrolled wracking sobs, collapsing onto her bed, for all those families who would not see their loved ones again, and for all those who returned with less of their bodies than they had gone to war with. Her sobs were for them, and for her brothers, grateful beyond words that their names had not been included, and the letters were still in Peter's handwriting and not another's.
She pulled one of her pillows from her bed, and screamed her rage into it. She raged at the orcs for their vile violence which necessitated it. She raged at the man of the west who had brought this war upon them albeit unintentionally. She raged at her brothers for terrifying her that she might receive a letter about their deaths, or that it might happen and she might receive no news at all. She raged at herself for being so scared for them all.
As she lay there, the face of a woman not unlike her own reflection came to her mind. She remembered scenes of this woman doing the same upon hearing news of another war, years ago and far away. She too would accept the news stoicly, do what needed to be done in front of her children, and continue on with a "stiff upper lip." But then when she thought her children were not looking, she would dissolve into tears. When she thought they could not hear, she would allow herself the release of the sobbing in hers and her husband's bedroom. The husband who had not yet returned from said war.
The memories were fragmented, and the images she could not reconcile with her life in Narnia. They were from a different world, with different rules, and different countries. It was almost as if from a dream, and yet she knew it was more than that. She knew that the woman was her own mother. She knew her name, Helen.
Is this how my mother felt? Susan wondered upon the realization. She had no idea where "Helen" was, or even if she was still alive. But in that moment, she felt closer to this mysterious memory-woman than she had ever been.
On the Northeastern Coast of the Sea of Nurnen…
High King Peter was not a drinking man. True to his word, he had shared a pint of beer with both dwarves and minotaurs upon their victory at Lithlad. He hadn't spent much time with them, and was still uncomfortable around them, but he had started to develop a respect for both races where their strengths and talents lie. Outside of this, he might occasionally have a cup of wine with his dinner, though he was not fond of the taste unless it was mulled and hot during Christmas. He was not otherwise, however, a drinking man by nature. But after the events of earlier in the day, after witnessing his orders being carried out, he sat at a table in his command tent having finished off two mugs of dwarven beer and still nursing his third trying to dull the pain of the memory.
It wasn't working.
What have I become? He asked himself. Again, he had tried to remind himself that they were orcs. It had not been his instructions, but Aslan's, that all orcs were to be put to death. But that did not comfort him, or keep him from having to replay the scenes in his mind.
He had forced himself to be there. He was the high king. It was his responsibility to see it done, even if he didn't wield the knife himself. He envied his brother who took his leave to be elsewhere, and did not hold it against him. But he would not shirk his duty. Those slaves that had watched the slaughter did so with less emotion than he had felt. Even the mothers that he had seen had been seemingly without pity for them, though he had heard from the minotaur captain of others who did not give up their half-orc bastards up willingly.
Every orc. He reminded himself. Every orc.
Outside of this, the arrival at the Sea of Nurnen had seen much less conflict than their previous two days. He had hoped to remain for at least one more night to give his troops time to rest and recover before their march to the northwest where, he was told, the pass into the black lands lay. The liberation of the human slaves and the granaries from their orc taskmasters had provided the army with grain which could be added to their own food stores. Of course, Peter would not leave those sons of Adam and daughters of Eve with nothing. They would leave more than enough for those slaves who had worked to grow it, and deprive the orc armies of their own supplies.
"Your majesty?" A familiar voice called out to him from the entry to his tent.
Peter considered the owner of the voice for a few brief moments. The truth was, he wasn't inclined to talk to anyone about anything official or related to kingly duties just then. He himself didn't feel very royal or dignified at all. He considered sending the knight away, but then reconsidered it. Perhaps having someone to commiserate with would help.
"Yes, enter Sir Eric." Peter finally called back. "Join me. Pour yourself a cup of beer if you're so inclined. The dwarves have been generous with what is left of their reserve." The high king offered.
"Thank you, your majesty, I just might accept." The knight responded candidly. Then he added, "Your majesty, I have brought an ambassador of sorts. From the elves." Sir Eric announced as he stepped further into the tent.
"From the mysterious elves I have heard so much about?" The high king replied, surprised and just a little annoyed. He stood up from where he had been sitting, quickly checking himself to assume his royal persona as much as he could muster at that point. "Please, show her in."
The knight then entered into the tent completely, approaching where the king sat at the table which had been set up. Three more chairs had been arranged around it, and there were just as many more mugs on the table near an open cask which smelled of hops and barley.
The elf woman was armed, wearing seemingly delicate and intricately detailed plates of armor over her gray clothes. She pulled back a gray cowl from her head to reveal long, light blond hair braided up high. Her poise suggested nobility and grace, and her deep blue eyes suggested a life with years that far surpassed his own, and had seen perhaps darker things than he would ever experience.
"Your majesty, I present to you Eltariel of Lothlorien, the Blade of Galadriel." The knight introduced her.
"Greetings, Eltariel." Peter told her. "I am High King Peter of Narnia, and I welcome you to our camp, such as it may be."
"Your majesty," Eltariel began, curtsying politely as she spoke, "I bring greetings from the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, rulers of my people."
"I accept your greetings, Lady Eltariel, and offer my hospitality such as I can offer under the present circumstances." Peter replied as sincerely as he could. "Please, won't you both sit? Were we at home in Cair Paravel, I could offer you a banquet, quarters, and whatever else you might require. As it is, this beer is the best I can offer until the cooks are done with preparing supper for us all. I hope you will forgive me. I don't normally drink, especially while it is still daylight, but the pressures of kingship today have been especially… unforgiving."
"So I observed." Eltariel responded, a hint of empathy in her voice, and, accepting the king's offer of hospitality, she poured herself a mug of the frothy brew. She put it to her lips and drank it down in one gulp before putting the mug on the table and wiping the froth from her mouth. "I see dwarven beer holds the same quality in your country that it does in ours." She remarked. "Though my people tend to prefer sweet wine to beer."
Peter gave the beginnings of a smile at that remark, the first time he had done so that day, set at ease by her less than formal manner in the martial setting. She appeared to be one that was comfortable in a military camp and among soldiers. He knew that his current state of affairs at their first meeting would certainly not bring the epithet "the magnificent," as some kind souls had previously granted him, to anyone's mind. But the elf woman did not appear put off by it.
"So, to what do I owe the honor and pleasure of your company, Lady Eltariel?" Peter asked.
"First, let me assure you that we have the same goal, your people and I. The final defeat of Sauron, and the destruction of his forces." She began. "I understand there is a plan in motion to accomplish this very thing."
The high king nodded, waiting for her to proceed.
"You wish to draw the bulk of Sauron's armies away from Orodruin and Barad-dur, yes?" She asked.
"Yes. That is the plan." Peter replied. "We need to clear a path for the ringbearer to accomplish his mission."
"You will need to get his attention. Moreso than you already have. After his defeat at the Pelennor Fields, he is garrisoning all of his forces behind the Black Gate. The dark lord lost hundreds of thousands before the walls of Minas Tirith, but he still has easily another hundred thousand in the black lands protecting his strongholds." She went on.
"This much we knew though without so much detail. It was thought that a sizable force through his less fortified eastern flank would draw him out." Peter replied.
"I have watched Mordor for hundreds of years." The elf replied thoughtfully. "I have fought Sauron's forces. Dealt with them. Seen how the enemy thinks. If he deems you enough of a threat, he will send forces, no doubt. But he will not send them all. He has enough troops yet remaining in Gorgoroth alone to meet you three to one on the battlefield with just as many remaining fortified in between the Black Gate and Orodruin. He is a patient strategist. He has time on his side, or so he thinks. No, you will only draw maybe half of his forces to crush you while the rest remain unmoved unless..." She paused, still considering her next words carefully.
"Unless what?" The high king asked.
"Unless you get his attention with something that he wants desperately. Something he would send every last orc to obtain if only he knew where to find it." She told him, bringing up her left hand and spreading her fingers before the high king to make the unusual ring she wore even more apparent. As she did, both king and knight noticed that the normal ring and little finger shone with a strange, ethereal energy like magic. And then it became apparent that there was something not usual with them at all.
"What is that?" The high king asked her, really noticing the silver ring for the first time.
She withdrew her hand, but did not hide the ring which adorned it as she said, "Centuries ago, a second ring of power was forged in the fires of Orodruin with the intent of challenging Sauron's power, a ring like his own but without his malice and corruption. A perfect ring. That challenge nearly succeeded, but was defeated at the last moment, and I barely escaped with it, keeping it from Sauron's grasp. This ring is all but unknown outside of these lands, as is the original bearer of it who was lost to the grip of the darkness." There was a personal sadness and regret in her voice at this. "So have those who know of it kept this secret from the rest of Middle Earth. But the dark lord knows of its existence, and he knows I am its surviving bearer. If he cannot have the ring he forged, he would do anything to obtain this one, send any number of troops. Show me to him, and he will come. Show him this ring, and he will send the full wrath of Mordor upon you to obtain it."
Peter listened to her intently, contemplating what she was saying and all of its implications. He was quiet after she finished, and resumed sipping his warm beer.
"A second ring of power? Equal to Sauron's own?" Sir Eric said, incredulous and angry. "We could have used this power to destroy the enemy, we and your people. We could have razed Mordor to the ground centuries ago and none of us would now be having this conversation."
"We tried, Sir Knight." The elf woman replied, her voice weary with the memory. "We raised armies within Mordor the likes of which you have never seen. We fought Sauron himself at the height of Barad-dur. We almost defeated him. We had him. And then… it was all gone. There was a reason why Sauron waited this long to strike Gondor with the force he now has. He was still recovering from our secret war against him. A war which saw a good man corrupted by the darkness, and which allowed your children to be born, and you to be able to sleep at night. But that route failed us as it would have failed your people. No. The only way to truly defeat Sauron is to destroy the ring to which his life is bound. You destroy Sauron's ring, you destroy the dark lord forever." There was a fire which rose in her voice as she spoke. It began tired and weary, but grew into a passionate flame as she ended. Her eyes were lit with the memories of all that she had fought for, and those that she had lost in that struggle.
"May I see it?" The high king asked, stretching out his hand expectantly.
In spite of his seemingly mild intoxication, the elf woman sensed no malice or ambition from the king, only a curiosity, and the weariness of wearing his crown even when it was not physically on his brow. Perhaps unwisely, but sensing she could trust the human with her charge, she removed the ring from her hand and placed it in his palm. As she did so, the ghostly fingers disappeared, and were replaced with long healed, scarred stubs.
The king held the ring in his hand and stared at it, contemplatively. "So this is what would draw his attention. You say it contains a power to rival his own. A power to command and conquer nations, and bring the world to one's knees. It seems such a little thing to wield so much, and trouble so many."
"Your majesty, with that ring, we could bring all of Mordor to its knees, and need not lose a single life more." Sir Eric told him, also staring at it.
"If what the lady says is true, Sir Knight." Peter replied, still fascinated by it. "What does the inscription say, lady elf? I cannot read it."
Eltariel, becoming more concerned by the moment at the human holding the ring, and beginning to regret her decision to allow him to examine it replied, "It is in the ancient tongue of my people. It means, 'One ring to rule them all. One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all, and in the brightness bind them.' The one who forged it left it clean of Sauron's original foul verbage."
Peter examined it, fascinated for several minutes more. He then stretched out his hand, and gave it back to the elf, saying, "Here. It looks better on your hand, Lady Eltariel, than it ever would on mine I'm afraid. I've never been much for jewelry." He gave her a reassuring smile. To the knight he said, "I've no desire for power, Sir Eric, much less conquest. I desire a world where war isn't a necessity, where mothers don't have to worry about their children not coming home, where disputes are settled over good food and good wine, and where peace is a given. I only wish to go home once all this is over, and learn to live with myself again after today. You heard the lady. They tried using it your way, and failed. I'd like to think failure is a great teacher. It tells us when not to repeat the same mistakes others have made."
The elf woman replaced it on her left hand, causing her missing fingers to reappear as she flexed them. She nodded at the high king, a new respect for the man rising within her.
"If you are willing, you will accompany us northwest, and we will announce ourselves to all of Mordor. We will wave this ring in front of Sauron's face until he can no longer stand it. With Aslan's blessing, we will clear a path for the other ringbearer miles wide." The high king told her. "And then Sauron will fall, and we can all rebuild our lives."