Chapter 16

Evening had fallen by the time the Havens appeared at the darkening horizon. The fire of burning ships was still bright behind them, lighting the sky with an orange glow, but that, too, was fading as the fires slowly burned themselves out. For better or for worse the fight was reaching its conclusion but according to his brothers their ships had fared well, most of the wreckage on the distant waters were of Umbarian origin.

Before them, however, rows upon rows of ships still waited. Smaller vessels than the ones that had sailed forth to face the Gondorian fleet, but still disconcertingly many. Should these be sent to reinforce the faltering attack, the corsairs might yet win victory at the cost of many Gondorian lives.

Aragorn's thoughts were grim as he looked at the long piers, the vast stretch of coastline that served no other purpose than to shelter the corsair fleet. Behind the long planks of wood stood simple houses, way stations for the sailors that came here to board their ships. Only a small cluster of houses to the right looked like it was permanently occupied, a small village of stone houses, probably meant for the Master of the Havens and those men that cared for the maintenance and upkeep of the ships anchored here. Most of the pirates probably preferred to spend their money and forget their work and woes in Umbar itself, though the journey there was not short.

The ancient capital, the old city that had once been Gondorian but had long since fallen, was thirty leagues distant - and a free, wild, colorful market for men with coin. Here, at the Havens, from what Aragorn's scouts had been able to tell him, the Master of the Havens reigned supreme. His were the calls to go foraging on the Gondorian shore, the talks of war and the money for building ever more and bigger ships. The lords of Umbar had allied themselves with Sauron in words, but the Master of the Havens had gone much further, matching deeds to lofty promises. He was a finely honed instrument of the Dark Lord, shaped over years, hungering for war in a way that even the fallen Maia might not.

Rumors claimed that the man had Numenorian blood, a distant scion of the Usurper perhaps, though it was impossible to say whether there was truth to the claim. Most of the stories seemed to have been started by the man himself. From what Aragorn had pieced together, here was a man who had carefully hidden his ambitions and bolstered his reputation, seeking fame, glory and coin in his attacks on Gondor, all to eventually take the throne of Umbar. What better way to impress his future subjects than with a decisive victory over their enemies in the North?

Old wounds and long years of distrust had not been forgotten in the South where the Umbarians carefully cultivated their anger, their hatred for their erstwhile masters in the North. The Master of the Havens was revered for his brazen arrogance and his hatred of Gondor. He would need to be stopped - the teeth of Umbar would need to be pulled before they could rend a terrible wound.

With silent graze Egrahil steered their stolen ship expertly to an abandoned pier, far off to the side of the Havens where hopefully they would escape immediate attention. Elladan had raised the hood of his coat and jumped onto the quay to tighten their boat to the moorings.

When he returned to the little ship Aragorn spoke: "We need to strike again, here, at their ships, to diminish the threat for Gondor. Let us light a bonfire that will be seen in Umbar itself." Silently, he lamented that they had lost the backpacks he, Egrahil and Elrohir had carried across the Umbarian wasteland, dragging pitch and tinder through the glaring desert heat only to lose it all in the explosion of their boat.

It did not seem to curb Egrahil's enthusiasm: "We will decimate their fleet."

"Some of the walkways are lit by oil lamps." Elrohir's sharp gaze was already piercing the setting darkness, scanning the landings, the wood-clad shoreline. Oil lamps could provide the flame for their attack.

"Torches would be more effective for setting the boats aflame," Elladan mused. Then, throwing a teasing look at his brother, he quipped: "Unfortunately, Elrohir is fresh out of shirts we could turn into rags."

"We could always use yours," Elrohir challenged, glowering at his twin.

Aragorn just sighed and let them be. Leave it to his brothers to find the most inopportune timing for their banter. But it seemed Egrahil had spent enough time on the dhow with his brothers, and he took their whispered bickering in stride. Looking up at their mast thoughtfully, he suggested: "We could cut up the sail. It should not take too long to fashion makeshift torches."

It was a good idea, both straightforward and easy enough to implement. All they needed would be to find spare branches, to avoid detection while stealing the oil lamps and then again while setting fire to the Umbarian ships. Well, perhaps not that easy to implement, he admitted. But they had faced worse odds even today and his mind was still catching up with the fact that their desperate attack, their hastily compiled plan, had actually worked. This was little different - they needed to attack the Havens, to strike a truly devastating blow now that they were here. Gondor needed the corsairs to be defeated.

But that still remained easier said than done. Now that they had actually reached the quays of the Havens, the task seemed ludicrous. If only they'd at least have a bow and arrows. But lamenting what they did not have served him little and, focusing again on Egrahil, he nodded his assent. Turning the sail into torches would at least bring them one step closer to their goal.

With Egrahil's help he lowered the sail, even as Elladan set off to retrieve the lamps they would need. His own clothes had mostly dried in the warm evening light of Umbar, but now that the chill of night was upon them Aragorn briefly, irrationally envied Elladan his cloak and the fact that out of the four of them he alone had avoided a tumble into the waters of the bay. Then again, he thought as his gaze drifted to Elrohir, still shirtless and with a very makeshift bandage slung across his shoulder and chest, things could be worse. Adjusting the angle of his knife, Aragorn cut a long clean strip off the sail cloth and beckoned Elrohir to him.

The black fabric was sturdy but not coarse and it would do better than the pitiful remnants of Elrohir's shirt to protect his injury during the upcoming struggle - and he knew that there would be a struggle. Stealth would only take them so far when their very goal was to set ships ablaze in the middle of the corsairs' biggest harbor. They would literally be lighting a bonfire to draw their enemies' attention.

Elrohir let him change his bandages without comment and Aragorn worked in silence, as he peeled back the sodden material and briefly checked the wound. He wished he could replace the wadded material that served as a less than ideal dressing, but despite its sturdiness and comfort, the sail would not be nearly as clean. He left it in place. In any case, Elrohir had not bled through the dressing, reassuring Aragorn that his brother's injury was as minor as he had claimed. Long years of experience with either of his brothers or Legolas had taught him to never take their own assessments at face value. But the reassuring lack of fresh bleeding put some of his still raw worry to rest.

Only now did he let himself remember the moment of terror he had felt when Elrohir had been hit. The way his brother's body had been spun around by the force of the crossbow bolt entering his chest, the chilling realization that he could not come to his brother's aid as corsairs were swarming their boat and more crossbow bolts were streaking through the air. Despite the fact that he had seen friends and brothers get injured before, it never got any easier.

Elrohir must have sensed his lingering tension, for he raised a hand to rest it gently and reassuringly over Aragorn's own. "Hannon le, Estel." He spoke quietly, probably in deference to Egrahil's proximity, but he did not miss the opportunity to call him by the childhood name their father had chosen, once more. To Elrohir Aragorn would probably always be Estel, and he barely refrained from ducking his head, almost expecting his older brother to ruffle his hair in the way he had always done.

But Elrohir was distracted by Elladan's arrival, the older of the twins proudly brandishing four storm lanterns stolen from the gangway, and Aragorn took the moment to tighten the new makeshift bandage and secure its ends. If nothing else, he figured as he examined his handiwork, Elrohir would stand out a little less in the dark with the black sail cloth draped across his chest.

Together they returned to Egrahil and made short work of the remaining sail, each of them grabbing strips of cloth, wrapping them around pieces of broken oars or other wooden sticks that Egrahil had torn from the ship itself. In silence they armed themselves for what lay ahead. Once they set it aflame the simple black cloth would be a dangerous weapon. Aragorn grimly remembered the devastation their seafire dragon had wrought. Fire was a terrible weapon; hopefully, tonight, it would be on their side once more.

Their plan would work. It would have to. They had come too far, had passed through too many dangers to falter now. Umbar needed to be stopped. Here. Now.

"We should split up, to strike at different places at once. It will delay their response."

Aragorn shook his head before Elladan had even finished. Even though he agreed with his brother's assessment, he was not about to risk them all individually in the darkness. "We should remain in pairs," he amended and his brother agreed without further comment. "At dawn we will leave, back across the waters, towards the Gondorian fleet - no matter the outcome of this raid," he continued and looked at each of his companions, willing them to remain safe, asking the Valar to look over them this night. Because they had to get through this night, had to be able to leave at dawn, he would not consider an alternative.

-o0o-

Elrohir tugged once more at the edges of Elladan's coat, trying to keep the glow of the storm lantern in his hand hidden behind the thin fabric, and to use the cover provided by the coat without letting it impede his movements. Most of all he tried not to be annoyed with his twin. Elladan had not only insisted on giving him his Lorien coat, he also still hovered close, seemingly checking that Elrohir was not lagging behind every few steps. His injury was painful, he would admit as much, but it hardly warranted the fuss both of his brothers were making.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes as Elladan turned again, reminding himself that he had survived his brother's ceaseless fussing before and would do so again. As long as his foolish twin remembered to watch out for himself as well, this time. He shuddered at the memory of Elladan rushing the ringwraith, throwing himself between Elrohir and that loathsome enemy - and paying a terrible price for his reckless heroics. By all rights, it was him, Elrohir, who should have the right to fuss.

He sighed inaudibly. It always had been Elladan who had felt the need to carry the responsibility of being oldest, who felt most keenly the despair of failure, of seeing his siblings hurt. If it would make his twin feel better, Elrohir knew, he would suffer through all of Elladan's hovering. It still irked, however, and when Elladan turned once more he could not prevent himself from rolling his eyes in truth. Perhaps, Elladan would take the hint - though history suggested that that was unlikely.

At least it was only a few more steps that would see them to the corner of a new pier. Its wooden planks ran deep into the bay, stretching forth like long fingers into the dark waters. Silent ships bopped on quiet waves, tied fast to their moorings and - as was the corsairs' wont - to each other, in search of additional strength and solidity. Elladan gestured for them to slide around the corner of a small shed, either a shelter for tools or for weather-beaten guards. Safely ensconced in the shadow of the wooden structure, they could search the pier more thoroughly. Nothing moved. Apart from a few men that had lit lamps and then disappeared inside a small guard house to escape the chill of the spring night, they had seen no one at all. Watch houses lay for the most part deserted, tools were strewn around the wooden gangplanks as if left behind by a thoughtless toddler.

Elrohir knew the signs for what they were: the aftermath of a hasty call to arms. This part of the Havens was abandoned because this was where the large war vessels had been anchored. Here its sailors and soldiers had boarded the ships, leaving everything else behind in their rush to respond to the threat of the Gondorian ships. That was why half the pier in front of them and all the ones they had passed before were empty of ships.

"We should continue", he said to Elladan, gesturing further down the shoreline of the Havens, to where more light beckoned, a sign of continued activity. Estel had gone that way with Egrahil and if possible Elrohir would stay close to make sure their little brother did not do anything reckless. Estel might have picked up Elladan's penchant of fretting, had possibly even earned the right to worry about his older brothers, but that did not mean Elrohir would not stay close if he could. The thought of Arwen's disapproval if anything were to happen to Estel came unbidden to his mind and he had to suppress a smile. His tongue-tied, lovestruck human brother had not even finished the letter he owed her.

Beside him Elladan nodded in agreement. "Come."

Side by side, they continued further into the heart of the Havens, in search of more bountiful prey than the half-empty pier. They did not need to walk far. As they followed the wharf, the view before them soon changed. More and more boats were sitting on the waves, more lanterns and lights illuminated the wooden planks of the piers. Here, men were still working, few and far between, but working none-the-less. Late night repairs, preparations for a possible sending of reinforcements, gawping soldiers that followed the blazing inferno on the horizon with morbid curiosity or possibly terrible dread. There were simple fishermen also, setting out on more mundane tasks, despite the still blazing fires that must have been too close for comfort for any of them. Elladan and Elrohir slid past them all without a sound, without a single look being thrown their way.

"There", Elladan gestured ahead at a new target, a bounty ripe for picking: Docked along a seemingly slim pier were dozens of boats. Some few were tied to the pier but more still to each other, building bridges out of the boats themselves. A logistical nightmare just waiting to unfurl if the boats decided to leave in a different order than they had arrived in - Erestor would not have approved.

But it fit what he had seen of the corsairs so far: rash and brazen, with little thought for consequences or strategy. Even with what little light there was Elrohir recognized the shape of the boats, the same model of dhow that Elladan had captured on the Anduin. Spy vessels. And some of them were equipped with the telltale bulk of a seafire weapon at their front.

Elrohir nodded. This was a worthy target. But before they could move he reached out a hand to stop Elladan as his eyes spotted movement in the dark ahead. "Guards."

Elladan froze, waited. "Three of them," he confirmed. "And three more at the next pier – within earshot."

Elrohir threw his twin a grin. "You had better be silent then." And before Elladan could reply he snuck forward, leaving only the storm lantern behind. Holding the Lorien cloak tight around his shoulders, the hood up to cover his hair, he was no more than another shadow in the darkness of the Havens. But one carrying knives.

He reached the edge of the firelight beyond which the guards were hiding, well hidden in the deepest dark just beyond the reach of their own fire. It might have been on purpose, but Elrohir found that hard to believe, more likely the battle on the bay had drawn them to the edge of the pier and away from their well-lit station.

He trailed the edges of the light himself, careful to remain hidden until he came close enough to strike. His sword gleamed but gave no warning to the first of the guards, who fell without a sound. He drew back his sword arm, using the momentum to drive his elbow into the face of the second guard, who gasped in pain, his ruined nose preventing any louder sound. Another strike from his sword-holding fist, brought him down as well. Elrohir turned towards the next guard, only to find Elladan had effectively dispatched him with a strike of the pommel of his sword to the back of his head.

"You took your time."

"No, you did", Elladan challenged, "I expected you to draw their attention sooner. I was starting to grow quite cold."

Elrohir grinned, relieved to finally be rid of his brother's worried gaze, even if it was replaced by his teasing. This was much more like them, this seamless understanding in battle, this ease of communication.

"Let us light the fireworks then."

-o0o-

Panicked shouts broke the silence beyond their hiding place. The deep shadow of one of the guardhouses was keeping them concealed as many feet thundered past, drawn off to the west where a new fire rose into the sky, much closer than the one dying out on the bay. Aragorn's lips were a grim, tight smile as he recognized his brothers' handiwork.

Now it was time for him and Egrahil to act. Bells rang out, but the rush of responders had stopped and, gesturing for his lieutenant to follow him, Aragorn snuck out of their meager cover and crossed towards the main pier.

It was studded with ships. Large ships, small cutters and dhows and a dozen other types that he could not even name. Many of them were intricately decorated, with plush furs lining seats and benches, and decorative metal engravings lining the hull and stern. These were the ships of wealthy and important men. The ships of the Lords of Umbar and of the Havens, though Aragorn doubted anyone could have a taste for quite this level of flamboyance, as he moved past a ship whose every surface seemed to be draped in red fur.

He smiled. It would burn like tinder.

Nodding to Egrahil he unwound the pack of hastily wrapped torches and the still burning storm lantern. Its wick was short and the flame small, but its oil reserves were well stocked. He turned the small metal wheel at the base, raising the wick further and the light of the lantern came alive. Its flame danced as if in eager anticipation and Aragorn was only too happy to oblige it. He opened the covering of the lantern, thrust the dangling edges of a wisp of sailcloth inside and watched them slowly come alight. One burning torch lit many more and with a few well placed throws they scattered the burning torches onto the nearest boats. Egrahil was carrying his further down the pier, his aim true when he threw first torches and then finally, the storm lantern itself onto the lavishly decorated ships.

Aragorn had spared his last torch for the fur monstrosity he had spotted before and he took cruel pleasure in seeing the red fur set ablaze, in watching the flames eat their way across the deck, engulfing the entire ships in moments. Glorfindel would have been proud - bad taste should not go unpunished.

As silent as they had come, he and Egrahil retreated along the wooden gangplank. The water beneath them a gentle bob of movement, lapping at the pillars that held the pier up. The sound of it was drowned out by the hungry crawl of the flames, the crackle of bursting wood and the hiss of flames rushing higher. Behind them the pier was burning.

And as the fire grew it illuminated the wharf and the Havens, the circle of its light strengthening and spreading - and revealing at last the grim man that was waiting for them on shore.

-o0o-

tbc...

A/N: dun dun duuuun... As promised, Aragorn finally reaches the Havens of Umbar and there lights a bonfire that will not soon be forgotten. But who is the grim man hiding in the shadows? I am pretty sure you can guess, but if not - stay tuned for next week. In the meantime, as always, thank you to everyone who has left a message and if you have a minute to spare I would love to hear your thoughts, comments or encouragements. Thank you!

"[...] [Thorongil] came to Umbar unlooked-for by night, and there burned a great part of the ships of the Corsairs."

- The Return of the King, LoTR Appendix A, Annals of the Kings and Rulers: Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion