A/N: I've worked on this story rather sporadically
over the course of the last year, so if the writing style is rather
inconsistent (from ch. 5 to 6, particularly), don't be surprised. For
background info on this time period (or if you want to spoil the ending!) check
out Appendix A to RotK, iii and iv. Here goes nothin'!brbr
Arvedui, once the mighty king of Arthedain, was
slumped dejectedly against a cave wall in northern Ered Luin. Ever since he and
the last remnant of his soldiers were driven from the North Downs by the
Witch-King, they had taken refuge in this abandoned mine, once quarried by
dwarves.brbr
Arvedui held his head in his hands, lightly, as if
it were going to burst at any moment; which is roughly what he felt like. This
last stroke of the witch-king against his land had prostrated him... for the
moment, at least. Not that I hadn't been expecting it! he thought wryly. But
perhaps, deep in my heart, I never really thought Arnor could fall entirely...
With ample time for his mind to wander, he could not help brooding over the
strange unfoldment of the fell king's sovereignty and his own collapse. Looking
back, he could see that he perceived it with baleful clarity, each sweep of the
deadly pendulum counting down to this very time. He had observed much of the
fell king's movements, and was sometimes able to predict his next move. So
eerie, it was! Knowing these events before they came to pass, but not being
able to stop them! And all the military strategies, futilely assembling and
re-assembling companies... about as much use as shuffling a pack of cards!
True, it may have been of some use; it was lucky that we were able to stand for
even as long as we did. But the king had had quite enough of intricate tactics
during the preceding months and years, and now that he was not held to the task
by necessity, his mind slipped ever deeper into the past, perhaps searching for
some glimmer of past comfort.brbr
The tale of this last doomed battle began many
years ago, when he claimed the rule of Gondor at the death of its king and all
but one of his children. The remaining descendant was Arvedui's beloved Firiel,
whose marriage to him helped renew ties of friendship between Gondor and Arnor;
vital ties at this desperate time. Ah, those were happier times! Still the witch-king
threatened us, but from afar; not belching orc-raids into Arthedain! he
recalled. And so, the young Arvedui declared kingship of Gondor, being a direct
descendant of Isildur, and married to the late king's daughter.brbr
His claim was rejected, however, and despite a
subsequent attempt at persuasion, the crown of Gondor was taken by the popular
general, Earnil. Arvedui was disappointed, but did not begrudge him this, for
he knew better than any the importance of friendship with Gondor, the only
other island of reason among the dark swells of evil seas. I was yet a rash
young man then! he thought fondly. But not so heedless as to disregard that
essential alliance, luckily. His instinct proved him right, but he wished it
hadn't: instead of ruling Arthedain in peace and amity, he was cast out into an
abandoned cave!brbr
And although, in truth, he did not begrudge Earnil
the crown, Arvedui could not help reflecting bitterly on the as desperate men are wont to do. He almost laughed wryly aloud,
thinking, But for one fatal decision by a pack of prideful old men, I could
have been sovereign of the two greatest kingdoms ever seen in Middle-Earth.
Instead, I am rotting here in a cave, ruler of naught but a small group, and
hunted at that! And, most ironic of all, if I am to regain anything, or even
keep my own life, I will have to rely on the help of those who exacted this
doom upon me! Still, whatever my past grievances may be, I hope that Earnil has
not forgotten past goodwill! He tried to quell the rush of ferocious anger
accompanying his desperation at being cornered like an animal.brbr
Not least of his worries, and certainly more
troublesome than the loss of a kingdom, was the welfare of his wife, Firiel.
His ire soon fled before tender anguish on his wife's behalf. Firiel! His mind
reached out to her across miles of darkened countryside. I would gladly lose
all the kingdoms in the world for a guarantee of her safety! She was hidden
away in a haven devised years before, and he hoped fervently that the witch-king
would not seek out the ingenious queen who had been greatly responsible for
staving him off for so long. As the years passed, king and queen had been
brought ever closer in the joint ruling of Arthedain, and they depended upon
each other for the reason and objectivity so vital to those who rule. Suddenly
severed from her, Arvedui's instinct urged him to plunge heedlessly back into
the woods and wilds of Arthedain, and return to her immediately. But common
sense held him back, and he could only hope that a more roundabout route would
allow him to return to her in a more prudent way. And so the task at hand was
to keep himself and his company alive, and find aid that would allow them to
return to their homeland.brbr
By the moonlight spilling frostily through the
mine's entrance, Arvedui kept a protective vigil over his faithful followers.
he sighed into the chill night, Would that I could look
just once more upon my homeland. I fear that the last time I beheld it may be
the last I ever shall.Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn, offered a voice behind him,
suddenly. Arvedui turned to see Anador, most trusted of his soldiers, standing
behind him.brbr
Ever since he was of age to participate in army
activities, Anador had quietly joined his elders to practice military drills
every morning in the castle yard. It had not taken Arvedui long to notice the
young boy through the forest of taller men, and how soberly he performed the
drills: correcting his own clumsy mistakes and trying not to attract the attention,
and therefore ridicule, of the more senior soldiers. The king noticed that,
even in play with his peers, the boy was almost comically grave and serious.
When playing war games, Anador's tiny brow would wrinkle solemnly in
consideration of the against the other boys.brbr
As Anador grew, however, and inevitably became a
leading officer, the king found that he was not as grave as first impressions
had conveyed. Indeed, he had an unflaggingly hopeful spirit and was often
deeply sentimental. In a short time, he served as not only officer, but also
advisor and confidant, second in importance only to Firiel. The king often
worried about him as though he was a son, and took interest in his personal
affairs. In Arvedui's opinion, it was high time that Anador found himself a
maiden to love; because, for all his proficiency in war, it was plain that he
was loving by nature. For now, though, Arvedui wondered what troubled the young
man enough to awaken him in the dead of night.brbr
Good evening, Anador, he said solemnly.
And what rouses you from sleep at this late hour?The unnatural cold of these mountains seeps into my very bones,
Anador shivered, And I, too, long to behold Arthedain. But have hope,
king. We may yet find a way out of this predicament.br
Arvedui laughed despite his troubled broodings, How is it that you never
cease to be hopeful in all manner of plights? He gave a last chuckle and
sighed. Ah, well, whatever its nature, I must admit that I am grateful
indeed for your optimism, especially when we are all so out-of-place and bent
out of shape!Out of place and bent out of shape,
indeed! Anador exclaimed, suspiciously eyeing the low ceiling, on which
he had recently bumped his head; being, after all, not one of the dwarves of
old.brbr
This time, Arvedui completely abandoned thoughts of
his present quagmire, and let peals of laughter burst from his throat. The
ringing merriment was almost unfitting to the bleak surroundings, and despite
both men's improved spirits, the king fell silent after a few moments. Lines
signifying many careworn years crept back into his face. A more sober
atmosphere settled over them, and Arvedui continued in a more serious vein.brbr
We can only hope that there are more
opponents of the Witch-King in these bleak areas than just our people, staunch
in courage though they be. Arvedui's gaze traveled over the sleeping
company. Soldiers and scouts all, except his beloved daughter Allanora,
shieldmaiden of Arthedain; they looked strained and militant even in repose.
They slept soundly despite the cold, scattered down into the twisting halls of
the mine. Moonlight illuminated their faces and glinted off sundry armor and
weapons, painting everything in soft, if frosty, shades of blue and grey. The
king knew every one, though they were many; he knew their strengths and
weaknesses, their joys and sadnesses (indeed, he had shared many of them!), and
in that moment he smiled, so great was his love for his people. The King's
Companions, his officers were called, and aptly named!brbr
But Anador had eyes only for Allanora. Something in
his steady nature longed for the companionship of the impulsive shieldmaiden,
and he had looked upon her with loving eyes long before this night. In the soft
moonbeams, her small form took on an almost elven beauty. Warmed slightly by
her presence, Anador was lulled to sleep by the soft mountain silence.br
And the king kept his lonely watch 'till the grey dawn.brbr
over the course of the last year, so if the writing style is rather
inconsistent (from ch. 5 to 6, particularly), don't be surprised. For
background info on this time period (or if you want to spoil the ending!) check
out Appendix A to RotK, iii and iv. Here goes nothin'!brbr
Arvedui, once the mighty king of Arthedain, was
slumped dejectedly against a cave wall in northern Ered Luin. Ever since he and
the last remnant of his soldiers were driven from the North Downs by the
Witch-King, they had taken refuge in this abandoned mine, once quarried by
dwarves.brbr
Arvedui held his head in his hands, lightly, as if
it were going to burst at any moment; which is roughly what he felt like. This
last stroke of the witch-king against his land had prostrated him... for the
moment, at least. Not that I hadn't been expecting it! he thought wryly. But
perhaps, deep in my heart, I never really thought Arnor could fall entirely...
With ample time for his mind to wander, he could not help brooding over the
strange unfoldment of the fell king's sovereignty and his own collapse. Looking
back, he could see that he perceived it with baleful clarity, each sweep of the
deadly pendulum counting down to this very time. He had observed much of the
fell king's movements, and was sometimes able to predict his next move. So
eerie, it was! Knowing these events before they came to pass, but not being
able to stop them! And all the military strategies, futilely assembling and
re-assembling companies... about as much use as shuffling a pack of cards!
True, it may have been of some use; it was lucky that we were able to stand for
even as long as we did. But the king had had quite enough of intricate tactics
during the preceding months and years, and now that he was not held to the task
by necessity, his mind slipped ever deeper into the past, perhaps searching for
some glimmer of past comfort.brbr
The tale of this last doomed battle began many
years ago, when he claimed the rule of Gondor at the death of its king and all
but one of his children. The remaining descendant was Arvedui's beloved Firiel,
whose marriage to him helped renew ties of friendship between Gondor and Arnor;
vital ties at this desperate time. Ah, those were happier times! Still the witch-king
threatened us, but from afar; not belching orc-raids into Arthedain! he
recalled. And so, the young Arvedui declared kingship of Gondor, being a direct
descendant of Isildur, and married to the late king's daughter.brbr
His claim was rejected, however, and despite a
subsequent attempt at persuasion, the crown of Gondor was taken by the popular
general, Earnil. Arvedui was disappointed, but did not begrudge him this, for
he knew better than any the importance of friendship with Gondor, the only
other island of reason among the dark swells of evil seas. I was yet a rash
young man then! he thought fondly. But not so heedless as to disregard that
essential alliance, luckily. His instinct proved him right, but he wished it
hadn't: instead of ruling Arthedain in peace and amity, he was cast out into an
abandoned cave!brbr
And although, in truth, he did not begrudge Earnil
the crown, Arvedui could not help reflecting bitterly on the as desperate men are wont to do. He almost laughed wryly aloud,
thinking, But for one fatal decision by a pack of prideful old men, I could
have been sovereign of the two greatest kingdoms ever seen in Middle-Earth.
Instead, I am rotting here in a cave, ruler of naught but a small group, and
hunted at that! And, most ironic of all, if I am to regain anything, or even
keep my own life, I will have to rely on the help of those who exacted this
doom upon me! Still, whatever my past grievances may be, I hope that Earnil has
not forgotten past goodwill! He tried to quell the rush of ferocious anger
accompanying his desperation at being cornered like an animal.brbr
Not least of his worries, and certainly more
troublesome than the loss of a kingdom, was the welfare of his wife, Firiel.
His ire soon fled before tender anguish on his wife's behalf. Firiel! His mind
reached out to her across miles of darkened countryside. I would gladly lose
all the kingdoms in the world for a guarantee of her safety! She was hidden
away in a haven devised years before, and he hoped fervently that the witch-king
would not seek out the ingenious queen who had been greatly responsible for
staving him off for so long. As the years passed, king and queen had been
brought ever closer in the joint ruling of Arthedain, and they depended upon
each other for the reason and objectivity so vital to those who rule. Suddenly
severed from her, Arvedui's instinct urged him to plunge heedlessly back into
the woods and wilds of Arthedain, and return to her immediately. But common
sense held him back, and he could only hope that a more roundabout route would
allow him to return to her in a more prudent way. And so the task at hand was
to keep himself and his company alive, and find aid that would allow them to
return to their homeland.brbr
By the moonlight spilling frostily through the
mine's entrance, Arvedui kept a protective vigil over his faithful followers.
he sighed into the chill night, Would that I could look
just once more upon my homeland. I fear that the last time I beheld it may be
the last I ever shall.Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn, offered a voice behind him,
suddenly. Arvedui turned to see Anador, most trusted of his soldiers, standing
behind him.brbr
Ever since he was of age to participate in army
activities, Anador had quietly joined his elders to practice military drills
every morning in the castle yard. It had not taken Arvedui long to notice the
young boy through the forest of taller men, and how soberly he performed the
drills: correcting his own clumsy mistakes and trying not to attract the attention,
and therefore ridicule, of the more senior soldiers. The king noticed that,
even in play with his peers, the boy was almost comically grave and serious.
When playing war games, Anador's tiny brow would wrinkle solemnly in
consideration of the against the other boys.brbr
As Anador grew, however, and inevitably became a
leading officer, the king found that he was not as grave as first impressions
had conveyed. Indeed, he had an unflaggingly hopeful spirit and was often
deeply sentimental. In a short time, he served as not only officer, but also
advisor and confidant, second in importance only to Firiel. The king often
worried about him as though he was a son, and took interest in his personal
affairs. In Arvedui's opinion, it was high time that Anador found himself a
maiden to love; because, for all his proficiency in war, it was plain that he
was loving by nature. For now, though, Arvedui wondered what troubled the young
man enough to awaken him in the dead of night.brbr
Good evening, Anador, he said solemnly.
And what rouses you from sleep at this late hour?The unnatural cold of these mountains seeps into my very bones,
Anador shivered, And I, too, long to behold Arthedain. But have hope,
king. We may yet find a way out of this predicament.br
Arvedui laughed despite his troubled broodings, How is it that you never
cease to be hopeful in all manner of plights? He gave a last chuckle and
sighed. Ah, well, whatever its nature, I must admit that I am grateful
indeed for your optimism, especially when we are all so out-of-place and bent
out of shape!Out of place and bent out of shape,
indeed! Anador exclaimed, suspiciously eyeing the low ceiling, on which
he had recently bumped his head; being, after all, not one of the dwarves of
old.brbr
This time, Arvedui completely abandoned thoughts of
his present quagmire, and let peals of laughter burst from his throat. The
ringing merriment was almost unfitting to the bleak surroundings, and despite
both men's improved spirits, the king fell silent after a few moments. Lines
signifying many careworn years crept back into his face. A more sober
atmosphere settled over them, and Arvedui continued in a more serious vein.brbr
We can only hope that there are more
opponents of the Witch-King in these bleak areas than just our people, staunch
in courage though they be. Arvedui's gaze traveled over the sleeping
company. Soldiers and scouts all, except his beloved daughter Allanora,
shieldmaiden of Arthedain; they looked strained and militant even in repose.
They slept soundly despite the cold, scattered down into the twisting halls of
the mine. Moonlight illuminated their faces and glinted off sundry armor and
weapons, painting everything in soft, if frosty, shades of blue and grey. The
king knew every one, though they were many; he knew their strengths and
weaknesses, their joys and sadnesses (indeed, he had shared many of them!), and
in that moment he smiled, so great was his love for his people. The King's
Companions, his officers were called, and aptly named!brbr
But Anador had eyes only for Allanora. Something in
his steady nature longed for the companionship of the impulsive shieldmaiden,
and he had looked upon her with loving eyes long before this night. In the soft
moonbeams, her small form took on an almost elven beauty. Warmed slightly by
her presence, Anador was lulled to sleep by the soft mountain silence.br
And the king kept his lonely watch 'till the grey dawn.brbr