Chapter 12
The many candles in the room filled the air with a heavy warmth, as their light cast flickering shadows against the walls, dancing, taunting. The room was a mass of tense expectations and fraying tempers, desperate men discussing a forsaken mission.
It had always been the plan to remain undetected, to remain hidden until it was too late for Umbar to field a counterattack. Finding the majority of Umbar's fleet at anchor in their Havens had been the goal, the one circumstance that would grant them even a chance at success.
All for naught.
Their carefully laid plans of raiding the fortifications at the mouth of the Umbarian Bay, of coming upon their enemies at night with little warning and no restraint, had all come to nothing.
The riders they had seen would take time crossing the desert of Harad, but still they would reach Umbar well before their caravel could even reach the bay. A warning from the city of Umbar towards the corsair havens thirty leagues east would only take another day. The corsairs would know of their coming.
Their caravels were only now setting sail for the first time in days, the carpenter finally convinced that the Zimrabel would stand up to the strain of the ocean waves. And they were still three days from the Havens.
"Open combat will be upon us. We have lost the element of surprise." Elrohir's voice was calm as he made the assessment. His sighting of the retreating riders had alarmed them to the Umbarians - too late to do anything about this failing of their plans. At least they knew of their disadvantage.
Callon snorted. "We cannot risk open combat with the entire fleet of Umbar. They will tear us apart. We only have eight ships," he glanced at Elladan and then added, in his usual, peculiar humor, "and a half."
"We should turn back," Baluron agreed. Callon's second in command was a slim, honest man who hailed from Pelargir. But he was a sailor first and foremost, not a warrior and he held no great love for battle.
"We have come too far to turn back." Egrahil retorted, "The southern provinces and Pelargir call for retribution. It is our duty to see it complete."
Aragorn frowned. Already their gathering was about to turn into a clambering of discordant voices, a collection of bickering children; everyone arguing for their own opinion, none willing to consider the other. Only his brothers remained silent after Elrohir's assessment of their situation earlier, though their faces were grim. The circumstances were not in their favour.
Had they really come this far, had they faced wraiths and Nazgûl only to now be deterred by a few riders on horseback? There had to be a way to salvage their mission, to still grasp victory from the maws of defeat.
Aragorn raised a hand to ask for silence and the room stiled. "Callon," he said, turning to the old sea captain, "if we find the corsairs prepared and waiting for combat, will we stand a chance?"
The old man did not even blink. "None. Captain." Aragorn nodded, thoughtfully, but Callon was not finished. "Their heavy chains will cut our masts and puncture our hulls. If they expect us, they will be irresistible."
"Their chains will hinder their own maneuverability, we could evade them! Our caravel are faster than anything they have," Egrahil insisted. But for all his experience aboard ships, he had never seen naval combat and Callon merely shook his head in response.
"Not if they have as many ships as we expect. They'll meet us near the strait. There'll be no way to get behind them, no way to use our speed."
Get behind them – something tickled at the back of Aragorn's skull, the inkling of an idea stirred to life by the words of his lieutenant and fellow captain. Maybe there still was a way. The table below his hands was covered with a large map of the Gondorian and Haradrim coast, and now he looked down, studying it. Measuring distances, gauging feasibilities.
Eventually he looked up with a grim smile. "What if we can get behind them?"
Incredulous looks met his eyes from across the room, many of them trying to look at the map, to see the same thing he had.
"What do you have in mind?" Elladan asked.
"We cut across land!" He raised a hand to forestall the protest that would likely follow and continued. "Not the ships, nor even the men. Just a small force, a few men, to cross the upper Umbarian Peninsula. Here." he drew a line on the map with his finger, cutting directly down the peninsula, a straight path as the eagle would fly. "It is only a day's march by foot, though it will take our ships twice as long. We commandeer a ship in Isigîr. Once the Umbarian fleet moves to intercept ours we will attack from behind, striking at their flank. Once tied together, one ship sinking will doom many more - even a single vessel behind them would spell disaster. Any break in their formation would open space to use our fleet's maneuverability - and our ballistas."
Silence met his proposition. The others were still studying the map, but he knew the distances were right. This plan could succeed - in theory. Yet, he knew that it was a desperate ploy, bold but filled with many uncertainties. Not the least of which would be the fact that the men on the ships would have no word from the smaller group traveling over land. Failure to reach Isigîr, failure to find a combat ready ship at anchor there, would doom them all.
"We should turn around." Callon's lieutenant repeated, not convinced of the feasibility of Aragorn's plan.
"To flee now is to admit defeat." Elladan replied, his tone grave. "The enemies of Gondor will only grow stronger if left unopposed. If you don't strike now, all of Southern Gondor may pay the price."
Aragrn could practically see the collective shudder run down the backs of the men of Gondor; Foreboding rang in the voice of the son of Elrond. And whether his commanders liked it or not, Elladan was right. They would need to face Umbar now. Now, before it grew too powerful - and they would need to be united to do it. Only united would their small fleet stand a chance against these terrible odds.
The silence deepened. He could see reluctant acceptance on the faces of the gathered men. In lieu of a better plan, they saw that this was indeed their only option.
Once more it was one of his brothers breaking the lingering silence. "I will join you, Captain Thorongil," Elrohir declared.
Aragorn suppressed a smile. Of course Elrohir knew him well enough to know that Aragorn would send nobody on a mission so potentially dangerous if he was not willing to go himself. It was a balm to stand at the edge of disaster, on the eve of battle, and to know that he would always have the stalwart support of his brothers. That they would willingly go into peril with him.
He looked up gratefully, seeing his brothers share a glance, a silent agreement, an entire conversation in the span of a look. Elladan said nothing, though he did not look happy. His injuries would prevent him from joining the expedition across the peninsula, lest he slow them down. Once more, his brothers were going to split up to see him safe. Not so long ago the thought would have exasperated him, would have him willfully defend his ability to look after himself, but now, amid this dangerous mission, this time of upheaval, he was only grateful for their support.
"I will come as well." Egraghil said, lending further support to his hedgling plan.
But silence followed his lieutenant's words as the remainder of the men still hesitated, still remained caught in indecision. It was Callon who eventually cleared his throat and spoke. "We will still need to think about the fortifications at the mouth of the bay. At our current speed we will arrive there before the corsairs. If they're coming for us anyway - let's make 'em angry."
Aragorn nodded, giving the grisled sea captain a grateful smile. For, just like that, it was decided. There were no further discussions, no more objections, just a silent, grim determination. The gathered men turned towards the map, turned to planning their new strategy, fleshing out the details. It felt good to have overcome the feeling of certain failure, even if they had replaced it with a plan that would likely have the same result.
But for now it mattered not. For now they had a plan. They would need provisions, would need to determine the distances to be crossed, both by boat and by foot across the Upper Peninsula. Timing would be vital, stealth equally so.
The ships of their small fleet sailed on, further along the Haradrim coast, while he and his men prepared, discussed and deliberated. The Bay of Harnen grew distant behind them as the caravels rocked on the waves of the Bay of Belfalas once more. Anor passed into the East and completed her slow descent towards the horizon, lighting the sea aflame in glorious gold around them. Elbereth's stars twinkled into existence and Earendil, the star of high hope rose to light their path towards an uncertain future.
-o0o-
The dhow, Elladan was forced to admit to himself, really was only half a ship, just as Captain Callon had joked. Eight rangar were barely any distance at all - pacing the length of the ship repeatedly had driven that lesson home with cruel insistency. He turned once more, his feet crossing the deck between the rowing benches, up the small steps toward the foredeck and around the forward mast.
He halted when he rounded the wooden pole and was confronted with the silent form of his brother, waiting for him like a heron poised to strike at his prey. The smile that tugged on one corner of Elrohir's mouth did not reach his eyes. His twin was just as tense as he was.
"You will tear your stitches."
Elladan shrugged as far as his injured side allowed. "Walking is unlikely to cause me any damage." There were times when he could put up with Elrohir's ceaseless fussing, but tonight was not one of them.
Elrohir actually laughed. "I seem to recall differently. There was that time when you walked off the talan in Caras Galadhon…"
Deciding that to ignore his brother was the best course of action, Elladan turned. It made little difference in the end which path he chose to circumvent their small vessel, its limited length would still prevent him from getting far enough from this new source of irritation.
A hand suddenly grasped his, halting him before he could continue his ceaseless steps and he turned around to face Elrohir grudgingly. He would rather not listen to a retelling of further past mishaps.
But it seemed that his twin had changed tactics. He was silent, waiting for Elladan to speak his mind. An old and certain tactic. Elladan knew that his brother had the patience to wait for the mountains to shift where he was concerned. There was not a secret or grudge that could lie hidden before Elrohir's searching gaze and his undivided attention. Through their bond he could feel the gentle nudge of Elrohir's mind against his own, careful, reassuring and unguarded.
Elladan appreciated the irony that he had longed for this very change in Elrohir for days after their hasty flight from Minas Tirith and now that his brother had finally relented it was him who had built walls of his own, keeping his anger and dejection to himself. But that exactly was the crux of things. It had been too short a time since Minas Tirith, since their last fateful decision to split up. He had not been able to protect Elrohir then, had been hundreds of miles away in Pelargir when his twin had been in peril, had needed him. Now he would be parted from both his brothers, trapped onboard a stolen ship, half an ocean away, while they headed into danger.
Elrohir knew all this of course, understood implicitly what he felt - but he still waited for Elladan to say the words. The older twin sighed.
"Get the wine," he relented at last, resigning himself to yet another defeat.
As his brother disappeared below decks, Elladan's eyes turned upwards, searching the sky, until finally arresting on Ëarendil. The star of High Hope, brightest of lights and stalwart defender of all that was good. He sent a prayer to the heavens, asking his grandfather to keep his brothers safe on the perilous journey they had chosen. The journey that his own injuries prevented him from walking alongside them.
As Ëarendil continued his path across the heavens, Elladan shared a glass of wine with his twin. He had found the words Elrohir had expected him to say and now they sat in silence, taking comfort from simple companionship. Further words were not necessary, they each knew the other's mind, lived the same fears, lived with the same regrets. Both of them understood the path they had chosen, the dangers that would await.
The wind was blowing their dhow gently along, proud and defiant it remained - despite its smaller size - ahead of the Gondorian caravels. The Valacirca rose into the sky on the Eastern horizon and Elrohir sang softly of the glory of Elbereth, of the beauty of Arda and the everlasting stars.
Elladan drank up the moment of tranquility. The uncertain future, the knowledge that both his brothers would embark on a dangerous path that he could not protect them on, was a lingering shadow, but for tonight he would allow Elrohir to lift his spirits. And perhaps tomorrow he would send his brothers on their way with a lighter heart.
-o0o-
A/N: I apologize for not posting last week. Things have been crazy at work while I finished up one project and started the next only to have my boss throw two more at me, and that's not even counting all the small things that I also still need to wrap up. Long story short, something had to give and - alongside the laundry which is piling up - writing, editing and updating fell by the wayside. But here is the next chapter. Our heroes and their fleet have a new plan, one peppered with a hefty dose of "we have come all this way" and perhaps a fine sprinkling of "I'm the author and I say so" :D
I hope you enjoy this chapter and its relative calm before we the (proverbial this time?) storm. As always I would love to hear your thoughts and comments.