Chapter Seven

Diverging paths

In the house of healing victory was a matter of perspective.

Here it was difficult to console oneself with thoughts of glory or victory when faced with the stark reality of broken and dying bodies. To the dead and even to the injured, ideology and principle seemed to possess little meaning when eyes so previously filled with righteousness had dulled to a mute silence when they were forced to confront the extent of carnage needed to uphold it. It was hard to think of territory and moral victories when one's hands were stained of blood from another being, to know when the fatal blow was struck that all that person would ever be was now discarded into nothingness. It was ever harder to accept being responsible for it.

No matter how many battles he had fought, no matter how seasoned the troops under his command, it never ceased to surprise Aragorn how many times he would encounter this same expression in the aftermath of the fighting. It did not matter if they were men or elves, the same feeling of disillusion would fall upon them, like a man waking up from a dream and finding the reality nowhere as sweet. He saw them in the house of healing, shuffling about with their injuries, helping friend and comrades to healers whilst wearing this same mask of stunned surprise at discovering war being anything but glorious.

Unlike its counterpart in Minas Tirith which was an edifice made of stone and a building that held as much sacred reverence as the White Tower itself. The house of healing erected upon the plain before the fortress of Cordoba was little more than a large tent with rolls of bedding spread across the ground for the sick and tables for those who needed treating. The cold night have given way to a windy morning causing the tent flaps to sway about mercilessly on the current. Particles of sand and grit were scouring anything in its path and Aragorn knew that it would not be long before the flaps would have to be lowered. There was nothing more dangerous to open wounds than dirt and too much of it was being borne into the tent by the wind.

Imrahil had said little during their approach to the tent and Aragorn suspected the Prince's thoughts were fixed upon Eomer's condition. Aragorn could not blame him for he too was worried about the Rohirrim king. Eomer was one of the few people who knew him as Aragorn first, not as King Elessar. Both were known to each other before they had become kings of men and it was a friendship they valued greatly. They had come a long way together since their first meeting on the road to Rohan so many years ago and Aragorn would be grieved if Eomer were to pass this day.

Despite Imrahil's summons, Aragorn was certain there was little he could do for Eomer that was beyond the expertise of the healers tending him. The surgeons were men who were accustomed to treating battlefield injuries and considering Gondor's history during the last twenty years; their skills had been refined through sheer experience. However, Aragorn sensed that Imrahil had summoned him out of some need to feel that he was doing something to help, not being forced to wait helplessly while his friend and son-in-laws life was battling for his life. Imrahil and Eomer's friendship had been forged during the war of the Ring and only recently that friendship was sealed in familial union when Eomer had married Lothiriel, Eomer's cherished daughter.

Stepping into the wide tent, Aragorn saw the price of their victory sprawled across the ground being tended to by surgeons, healers and attendants. Even though Cordoba had been taken with a minimum of bloodshed, there was no preventing the spilling of blood in any field of battle. Seeing his men soiled with blood, bearing the mark of battle in some form of injury made Aragorn think how fortunate they were to be the victors in this conflict. As the thought crossed his mind, he made a note to inquire after the welfare of Cordoba's injured once he had seen how Eomer was faring.

The stench of blood and sweat greeted them as they moved deeper into the tent. Acrid smells of weeping and soon to be infected wounds combined with the scent of various bodily secretions produced an overpowering nasal assault that made his stomach hollow in disgust. Fortunately, this unpleasant odour was offset by the distinct scent of herbs and potions being prepared to prevent that very outcome. Aragorn was grateful that Elrond was absent because the lord of Imlardis from whom Aragorn learned most of his healing skills would not be impressed at all by their surroundings. He saw elves occupying some of the bedding and wondered how they could tolerate the odour with their heightened senses.

Somehow, fresh air had to be forced into this dank confines, Aragorn thought as he allowed Imrahil to lead him to Eomer.


"I am certain he will prevail, Imrahil," Aragorn assured Imrahil as he noted the pace the lord of Dol Amroth was setting whilst they weaved through the maze of bodies beneath the tent, "Eomer is difficult to kill even for a Rohirrim."

"You did not see what that child did to him," Imrahil declared with no small hint of bitterness. He knew that he was being selfish because he worried about Eomer not only as a friend but also as his son in law. Eomer's life with Lothiriel was just beginning. It was not right that they had been parted after spending only one night together as husband and wife. Lothiriel deserved a lifetime of happiness with her king and it cut Imrahil to the bone to think that she might be cheated of it because Eomer had shown mercy only to pay a hefty price for it. Serendipity had allowed Imrahil find his daughter a suitor Lothiriel truly loved.

Imrahil could not bear to see her heart broken if she were to lose Eomer.

Although he did not voice it, Aragorn was perfectly aware of what thoughts filled Imrahil's mind because he knew how much both Eomer and his daughter's happiness meant to the Prince of Dol Amroth. Any other father would have had the girl married and quickened by Lothiriel's age, particularly when the young lady had a tendency to practise magic as a pastime. However, Imrahil had tolerated it because he loved his daughter. While Lothiriel might have thought him harsh at the time because she had little say in the matter, Imrahil's choice of suitor indicated that the girl's happiness had always been his primary concern. Still, it was fortunate that Eomer and Lothiriel had come together on their own and Aragorn would hate as much as Imrahil, to see them parted so soon after their marriage.

Imrahil was unable to elaborate as Aragorn caught sight of Eomer lying on one of the beds further ahead and hastened his pace to close the distance between them. Upon their arrival, they found that Eomer was oblivious to their presence as he was quite unconscious and still under the ministrations of the healer and his attendant. The king of Rohan had been stripped to the waist by the surgeon. During their march through Haradwraith, their fair skins had been browned slightly by the cutting heat of the sun but as Aragorn saw Eomer lying across the healer's table, he was rather taken back because Eomer's skin was almost white. His amour, mail and helmet were heaped in an unruly pile on the ground at the foot of the table, smeared in blood. Aragorn felt a slight chill catching sight at the bloody spear at the physician's feet. Its size corresponding perfectly with the pierced fissure in Eomer's breastplate and no doubt his flesh as well.

The attendant was attempting to prop Eomer into a sitting position so that the surgeon could wrap bandages around the wound. Not an easy task to accomplish considering the king was almost completely unconscious and in his unconscious state was a dead weight. Aragorn immediately moved to offer his assistance, taking hold of Eomer's arm to support the attendant's efforts to keep him upright for the duration. As the surgeon leaned closer to conceal the wound in swaddling, Aragorn caught sight of the criss-cross stitches holding Eomer's torn flesh together after it had been pierced by the point of a spear. Imrahil dismissed the attendant and took Eomer's other arm as the surgeon swathed Eomer's chest in bandages.

"How is he?" Aragorn asked once the finished had secured the bandages and they had help to lay Eomer down on the surgeon's table again.

"Sire," the man bowed his head slightly before answering, "He is fortunate to be alive. Had the spear penetrated a mere fraction to the right, he would have died in his saddle. It missed his heart by a narrow margin. As it is, I have spent the several hours, attempting to sew and stem the bleeding of all the muscle and organs that were pierced when the spear was thrust into him."

Aragorn flinched involuntarily at the thought of how close Eomer had come to losing his life and offered Elbereth a silent thanks that he had survived long enough to reach the chief of his surgeon whose name Aragorn remembered was called Tynry. Tynry was one of a dozen healers that had accompanied them on this campaign to the east, having a reputation as being one of the finest healers in the House of Healing. Ioreth had recommended him for the post and as Aragorn was never more grateful of his skills than at this moment. While he himself was a healer of some repute, Aragorn had enough to do as king and commander of their armies and appreciated the presence of someone of equal skill who could tend to the sick when he could not.

"He will recover though?" Imrahil insistent, wanting a clearer answer as to Eomer's condition following Tynry's grim report.

"Yes," the man turned to Imrahil aware of Imrahil's connection to his patient, "I believe he will recover fully in time. However, for the moment he is terribly weak and in this climate, wounds infect easily. Every effort must be made to ensure that he undergoes proper convalescence."

"That will be no easy feat," Aragorn remarked because Eomer was not the kind of ruler that allowed others to do for him. The Rohirrim lord was accustomed to riding into battle with his men, preferably leading the charge. Eomer had been a warrior all his life and old habits died hard. Like Aragorn, Eomer preferred to walk among his people in order to understand their needs. However, Aragorn suspected that this desire was born out of his insecurity that he would be an unfit king since he had never expected to gain ascendancy of the throne to begin with. Aragorn had no doubt that Eomer's aspirations had never risen beyond serving Theodred, Theoden's only son as Marshall of the Mark. Theodred's death in the early days of the War of the Ring had thrust him unexpectedly into the role of heir, a position he had never been prepared to assume.

"He will rest if I have to chain him to his bed," Imrahil declared, "for my daughter's sake he will rest."

Aragorn let out a short laugh until he realised that Imrahil was perfectly serious and was grateful that the Prince's two sons were placed in charge of Gondor's defences during the expedition to the east. It reassured Aragorn that his country was in good hands if the boys had even half of Imrahil's resolve and intelligence.

"Make some tea of this," Aragorn instructed removing from his belt, the pouch in which he kept his store of athelas and handing it to Tynry. Athelas or kingsfoil grew in vast quantities throughout the western regions of Middle Earth but was often overlooked for its medicinal properties because it was considered a weed. "Have him drink it twice a day when he is able to take food and drink. This herb was capable of stemming the poison from a morgul blade, I believe it will help fight any infection you fear might beset him."

Tynry familiar with how the king had saved Prince Faramir following the siege of Minas Tirith took the advice without hesitation, as he was eager to improve his patient's chances of survival by any means. The king had been schooled in the healing arts by Elrond of Rivendell who was said to be well versed in herb lore and had confidence that Aragorn's remedy would do exactly what he promised.

"Immediately, Sire." He replied gratefully.

Suddenly a low groan filled the air, provoking the three men to immediately turn their attention to Eomer' who appeared to be stirring from his unconscious state He shifted uncomfortably on the table as returning clarity also brought with it the awareness of pain. As he surfaced from his limbo state, he attempted to sit up before the sensation of hands upon his person attempting to prevent this forced his eyelid to flutter open wearily before staring somewhat dazedly at them Aragorn and Imrahil.

"Rest easy," Aragorn said smoothly, accustomed to dealing with difficult patients before. Gimli and Boromir sprang to mind immediately.

"What happened?" Eomer muttered weakly as more lucidity flooded back into him briefly. "Where am I?"

"You are in the house of healing," Aragorn answered automatically. "You appeared to have met a spear that disagreed with you," the king said with a faint smile.

"Oh," Eomer remarked, his brow furrowing as he searched his memory, "I forgot."

Unfortunately, his loss of memory did not last long because when he did remember, the images returned to him like a tidal wave and each recollection was steeped in pain. He remembered the boy child staring at him, barely an adolescent, wearing mail that was too big for him; his face filled with fear because he thought Eomer was going to take his life.

Eomer remembered thinking himself fortunate that he had a choice of whether or not he had to take this boy's life, unlike Legolas who had been forced into it by accident. In the face of that, he had chosen to show compassion. Eomer had seen what taking a child's life had done to the Lord of Eden Ardhon and he had no desire to endure that torment himself. Turning his back on the boy, Eomer had lowered his guard and learnt most painfully that there was little room for compassion on the field of battle when sharp blinding agony had ripped through his body.

"He almost killed you," Imrahil declared, filling in the vague spaces in his memory that pain and injury had blocked from his mind.

"I am still here," the king of the Mark responded, his consciousness fraying rapidly before their eyes. However, a singular thought surfaced just before he crossed that comforting threshold causing his eyes to flew open and stare at Aragorn, with surprising clarity.

"Did we take the fortress?" He asked.

"Cordoba has fallen, yes," Aragorn nodded.

"And my men?" He probed further, his voice escaping him in a barely a whisper. He was having difficulty remaining awake but he could not rest easy until he knew for certain the welfare of the Rohirrim.

"They fought well," the king of Gondor answered, grateful that he did not have to lie. "The Rohirrim under Carleon's lead were instrumental to the swift fall of the fortress."

This seemed to give Eomer some comfort at his absence on the front line and he nodded weakly, before relaxing once more. His eyelid blinking to a gradual close as the tension eased from his face and the bliss of unconsciousness took him away.

"I should have been at their side. I knew there was a reason I did not like children," Eomer uttered finally before the need for slumber claimed him again.

Aragorn exchanged a glance with Imrahil and stifled a smile before Tynry interrupted.

"He must rest now Sire," the surgeon insisted.

"Yes of course," Aragorn withdrew and gestured Imrahil that it was safe to leave Eomer for the time. The younger man needed his rest and they had a great deal to do in their occupation of Cordoba. Fortunately, it would take weeks for them to march to Mahazar through the Splinter and hopefully the interlude would give Eomer the time needed to recover his wounds. Knowing the Rohirrim king as well as he did, Eomer would be extremely annoyed if he were forced to sit out their final battle with the enemy.

"Come Imrahil," Aragorn placed his arm upon the shoulder of the Prince of Dol Amroth, who appeared reluctant to leave Eomer's side. "He is in good hands and we have much to do. If you remain, you will only worry yourself needlessly until he awakens."

"I suppose you are right," Imrahil had to concede the point. The surgeon was confident that Eomer would survive and he had duties to fulfil at his king's side.

Once again, Aragorn saw Imrahil had swiftly placed the needs of the man beneath that of the prince. Imrahil had ruled in Dol Amroth longer than any other leader in Middle Earth, save the elves. He was not only a skilled diplomat but also an able commander in the field who hid beneath his aristocratic manner, the heart of a true patriot. His love for Gondor was almost as fierce as his love for his family and there were times when Aragorn believed there was little difference between the two that in Imrahil's heart.

With Legolas starting to return to some semblance of himself and the news of Eomer's recovery, Aragorn was starting to believe that things had finally taken a turn for the better.

*************

The gentle lapping of water against the side of the craft belied the urgency of their situation.

Even as Faramir unfastened the vessel's moorings in order to cast off, they could hear the approach of soldiers growing in momentum with each passing second. Footsteps pounded against the paved streets, voices growing in tempo, spoken in the language of the Haradrim that Faramir was beginning to understand after weeks of travel in enemy territory. For the last hour, they had been steadily preparing their departure from Mahazar, hoping they could avoid the soldiers when the search finally reached the riverfront and the collection of vessels moored to the dock.

"We best hurry," Pallando declared suddenly, breaking the silence of their labours.


The wizard stood upon the stern of the ship, his gaze piercing the curtain of darkness in an effort to see the soldiers advancing towards the docks. He had yet to sight them but his keen senses were aware of how many were coming. He could hear their approach with each step they took. They were speaking amongst themselves now, issuing orders to spread out across the riverfront, to begin a search of all boats since deserters must be attempting to flee the city if they had yet to be caught. All routes out of Mahazar were being cordoned off and if Pallando and his companions did not sail out now, they would never leave the city alive.

"Kirin!" Faramir looked over his shoulder to see the Easterling lowering the sail down the mast. The fabric was soon caught against the light breeze sweeping through the air and billowed outward. Faramir was forced to find a handhold as the deck shuddered beneath him as the wind and sail forced the boat to move a little.

Kirin hurried to the rudder to angle the craft as he navigated it past the other vessels moored to the dock. The bow of the ship turned towards the middle of the river where it was clear and drifted forward at a languid pace. The craft's progress was slow but steady. Unfortunately, the sounds that only Pallando could hear a moment ago was now becoming clear to all of them. Footsteps and voices were growing in intensity, giving issue of the danger that was coming swiftly at them. The instant their pursuers saw their vessel attempting to sail, they would be discovered.

"Faramir, I need you on the oars!" Kirin cried out, hoping that the combination of oar and sail would provide them with the speed they needed to escape.

Faramir hurried to the oars without question, taking up the task of pushing them away further away from the riverfront. The voices were becoming louder and it was with utter certainty that he knew they would not escape unseen. The sound of water splashing grew louder as Faramir rowed and both he and Pallando exchange anxious glances while their eyes remained fixed upon the shore. He did not need to look over his shoulder to know that Kirin's attention was similarly placed.

"We must lose ourselves in the darkness," Kirin declared as the boat began to gain speed though not enough.

It seemed fortune was with them because the wind was gaining strength and they were soon moving quickly to the middle of the river. The shore became distant and for a moment, it appeared as if they had made good their escape when suddenly four Haradrim warriors appeared at the edge of the dock. Their breaths caught in their throat as they waited in anticipation for the inevitable to unfold as the enemy, so far unaware of their departure, approached the flotilla of moored vessels. The full moon cast its glow across the water, creating a myriad of light across the surface and betraying them to the enemy when its illumination shone upon them.

The soldiers surveyed the river for signs of activity and it was only a matter of time before they caught sight of the boat gliding across the water, the sounds of waves lapping gently against its sides. There was a brief interlude of time between discovery and recognition that seemed to stretch into an eternity before their presence finally registered upon the minds of the enemy soldiers. Once this threshold had been breached, there was no turning back. The secret departure they had hoped to achieve disappeared with a sharp cry that rang through the air like the ringing of a bell from the highest tower.

"HALT!"

The order was issued only once but once was all that was needed to draw the attention of every other soldier scouring the riverfront.

"Curse it!" Kirin swore loudly and turned to Faramir. "Faster! We must gain some headway before they come after us!"

Faramir did not have to be told twice as he doubled his efforts, working the oars with all the strength he could muster. The effort behind his labors corresponded with the increased speed of the boat that was gaining considerable assistance from the wind. He did not look up to see where the soldiers were because he could hear them. More and more footsteps were approaching the shore as the alarm was raised across the docks that the deserters had been found. He heard another demand for them to return to halt but none of the vessel's complement was paying heed to that order.

"Look out!" Pallando suddenly shouted and pulled Faramir to the deck.

The Prince of Ithilien let out an indignant cry until he realized that Pallando had saved him from an arrow. The soldiers, in an effort to keep them from gaining any more distance, were assailing them with a barrage of projectiles. Had Pallando not pulled him away when he had, Faramir would be dead by now if the trajectory of the arrow lodged in the wood was any indication of where it would have struck him. Kirin was trying admirably to avoid being hit and still maintaining his grip on the rudder but he was wide open and Faramir knew the only reason he had yet to be struck down was because of sheer luck and nothing else.

Scrambling towards his belongings, Faramir took up his own bow and arrow, carefully concealed by his cloak for most of his journey into enemy territory. He armed the weapon quickly and took aim, painfully aware that he was hopelessly outnumbered but hoping that the presence of returning arrows might give the enemy reason for caution. Perhaps they would pause long enough to reconsider their strategy and allow the boat the margin of time it needed to escape. Kirin was keeping his head down low to avoid presenting too easy a target for the enemy but the action was making it difficult for him to steer the craft effectively. Their lives depended on how fast they could clear this stretch of river, before the flanking buildings on either side of the waterway posed too much of an obstacle for the enemy.

Faramir released one arrow towards the shore and heard a cry of pain an instant later when the arrowhead met its mark. He was nowhere as skilled as Legolas in the field of archery but Faramir had fired enough arrows in his time to be considered a master nonetheless. No sooner than one arrow had flown, he was re-arming his bow and sending another forth. This time, he heard a loud splash seconds after its release and hoped that the one action corresponded with the other. Another arrow flew past him and he felt it tear through the fabric over his shoulder, barely missing skin before slamming into the mast behind him.

"Pallando get down!" Faramir ordered, seeing the wizard staring intently at the shore, watching the soldiers running along the riverfront, determined to keep them in sight. Pallando did not trouble himself too greatly with the exchange of arrows but the soldiers commandeering the other boats on the water did give him reason for concern. They could not afford to be pursued down the Sanara River. Their return to their comrades depended on their ability to move stealthily through the Belt.

"This will not do," the wizard frowned as he crouched low beside Faramir. "They are attempting to follow us!"

"Can you do something?" Faramir turned to him and asked.

Pallando met his gaze understanding his meaning instantly. His eyes shifted towards the boats once more and saw that they pushing themselves from the dock and making their way to the middle of the river in pursuit. The soldiers on board were rowing vigorously in an effort to reach the fleeing craft before too much distance was placed between them. Pallando knew that their escape from the Belt depended on the ability to slip out of its borders unnoticed, a task that could not be accomplished if they were dogged by the enemy at every inch of the way. It was imperative that they returned to the armies of Gondor and Rohan, to report the information they had acquired thanks to their fortuitous meeting with Kirin.

"Yes," Pallando nodded somberly, "I can do something."

"We do not have much time," Faramir stared at the wizard, aware that Pallando had not wanted to use his powers in such an open display but they had little choice. With the Variags and the Easterlings marching three days away from the Belt, it was vitally important that they returned to their army and warn them of the reception that would be awaiting the western army when it finally reached at the Belt. However, since the news had come to him, Faramir found another consideration had to be taken in regards to the coming battle.


The Easterlings and the Variags were sending all the troops they could muster to halt the threat of the elves at the Sanara Belt, as was the Haradrim. After their incursion into the western lands, the Easterling had lost as much of their warriors as the Haradrim and the Variags had been hard pressed to enter the conflict. The folk of Khand remembered their defeat during the War of the Ring and the only reason they had sent troops at all on this occasion was out of fear the elves would sweep into their country in vengeance for Eden Ardhon. There were rumors according to Kirin that the people of Khand were on the verge of retreating into their own lands and developing an isolationist view in regards to their foreign policy.

If the two armies met at the Sanara Belt and Confederacy was defeated it would not only mean an end to the war but it would effectively disable the Easterling and Haradrim capacity to wage battle for the next twenty years. Time enough for the Reunified Kingdom and the allies to nurture a climate of peace. A defeat would also ensure that the Variags would withdraw from any further aggression to their own borders and Gondor would be in a favorable position to negotiate a lasting peace. The spirit of unification between all the races of men that Aragorn had so desired might actually be possible for the first time since the war had ended.

However, none of that would come to pass if they did not escape Mahazar.

"Pallando, we need to get back to the others," Faramir insisted as he saw Pallando debating what was to be done. Soldiers were perched on the bow of the ships pursuing them, continuing the assault with arrows. Kirin was doing a remarkable job of steering and avoiding injury but his luck could not hold indefinitely. "If we do not escape and tell Aragorn what is awaiting him when he arrives here, all could be lost! We have a chance to end this conflict, not merely for this war but for all time!"

Pallando was not so certain of that claim since men always found a reason to fight about something and he did not think that this war would alter things so dramatically. However, the peoples of Middle Earth, not merely the Reunified Kingdom and its allies but all the races of Arda deserved some measure of peace. Sauron and Morgoth's evil designs had caused centuries of conflict and bloodshed. It time, well past it as a matter of fact, for all that to stop.

Pallando stood up suddenly, unafraid of the arrows and faced the enemy on the stern of the ship.

"Wizard, stay down!" Kirin shouted from behind him but Pallando was not listening.

Pallando could die and he could be hurt but his body was a shell and buried beneath flesh and bone was a Maiar spirit who knew death would only return him to his masters in Valinor. He closed his eyes and raised his staff slightly as he whispered the words that would allow them their escape. He did not need to see with his eyes what would happen because he could see it in his mind's eyes and was directing the progression of his spell from that secret place.

Faramir offered Pallando no warning because he knew istar was more than capable of protecting himself. Instead his attention was turned upon the enemy at whom he was continuing to shoot arrows, to protect both Kirin and Pallando as the wizard prepared to exert his powers over the situation. His arrow flew through the gap between the boats, there was at least three in pursuit of them now, striking the archer at the bow of the nearest craft. He uttered a sharp groan of pain before falling headfirst into the water, his body making a loud splash before it was submerged beneath the waves as the boat surging past him.

Faramir dropped when he saw another arrow coming towards him and this one was halted by the billowing sail, the rush of air causing it to fall harmlessly against the ground when it struck the uneven surface.

"Pallando!" Faramir called out. "If you are going to do something, now is the time!"

The wizard did not answer but then he did not need to.

No sooner than he had spoken, Faramir felt a gust of strong wind against his cheek. It was cold and far too different in consistency and temperature to be customary for this climate. If he did not know better, he would say that a stray current from Caradhras had found its way here. The wind became a gale and suddenly the sail was at full spread, the rush of air propelling the boat forward with even greater speed than before. The craft began to widen the distance between themselves and their pursuers. The buildings were moving past them so quickly that Faramir could not tell where one had begun and another had ended.


Kirin was struggling to maintain control of the vessel with this sudden burst of accederation. The people of this land were more than accustomed to gale force winds but they were usually a product of a violent desert sandstorm and more often than not, such incidents were reason enough for any boat on the water to pull into shore. However, it was clear that this was not sandstorm. The air was cold, almost icy, like it had come from the top of a mountain rather than the depths of the desert. The scouring of sand against the skin was also non-existent. In this realm, wind was always accompanied by sand. It was a fact of life that was no longer even questioned, simply accepted as one would accept the sunrise.

It was more than just the wind that Pallando was conjuring; Faramir realized when he saw the enemy become tiny in the distance. A thick fog had suddenly rolled in from the shore, seeping through the buildings and the streets to flood the river behind them. Thick clouds of white began to obscure the features of the city behind them, thinning out clearly defined shapes into vague, obscure images that offered no recognition. The fog lingered in the rear of the ship, making no effort to overtake them as if it were held at bay by the gale that was forcing their vessel out of Mahazar as quickly as possible.

The strong wind continued until the buildings flanking the river on either side thinned into the outskirts of city. Buildings and streets became sporadic until finally, the company was staring at trees swaying in greeting as the gale swept past. It was only after they saw the lights of Mahazar dimming considerably by the strange fog that had settled over the city, did the strange phenomenon of wind ceased and the sail boat slowed to a more reasonable pace. Kirin appeared grateful when they were finally travelling under their own power, instead of forces he could not even begin to comprehend. For the first time since meeting these strangers, could Kirin truly believe that Pallando was a wizard of great power.

"That was timely," Kirin remarked, trying to conceal how unsettled he was but Faramir was able to see past the façade since he was suffering the same affliction himself.

"I would have preferred to escape using means other than magic," Pallando frowned. "I do not know how long it will take them to reason out that our escape and the strange weather was connected but the Haradrim are not fools, they know there are wizards in the West."

Faramir nodded in understanding, seeing where Pallando was headed with his concerns. "They will no longer be searching for deserters," he met Kirin's gaze. "They will be searching for spies."

"I do not think you have to worry," Kirin answered, a good deal happier now that Mahazar was behind them. "Dallanar cannot afford to waste his troops on an extended search for us. In three days, the armies of Rhun and Khand will arrive in Mahazar. He will need to coordinate all their forces if he is to repel the attack by the west."

"Will he be able to?" Faramir asked since Kirin appeared to know the machinations of the Haradrim king better than most.

"I doubt it," Kirin answered truthfully. "The faith they showed in him when they followed his lead to the western lands has been greatly eroded by their defeats and the leaders of Rhun and Khand blame him for provoking the elven wrath at Eden Ardhon. They follow him now out of necessity because they fear the elves more than their lack of faith in Dallanar."

"The actions of the Eldar are a double edged sword in this conflict," Faramir commented. "On the one hand, Legolas had ensured the terror of the entire Confederacy and on the other, he is destabilizing their alliance. I never knew that there could be so much complication in provoking an elf's wrath."

"I'm sure Morgoth felt the same thing after the taking of the Silmarils," Pallando muttered.

Faramir could not disagree with that statement before regarding Kirin once more, "how able are your forces of keeping their entry into Haradwraith a secret?"

"Quite able," Kirin said confidently, "if it is one thing we have learned to do in our history, is to thread lightly and strike hard."

"Good," Faramir nodded, "if we can make the enemy believe they are facing a battle on a single front, then when the time comes for the Bors to make their presence felt, we can give the Confederacy a little surprise."

************

There was a part of Melia that had somewhat suspected that the outcome of her lord's presence in Axinar.

Since Minas Tirith, she had been assailed by this terrible feeling of dread she could not define. At first she had attributed it to what had happened to her at Eden Ardhon, the brutality of her rape, the guilt of being unable to save Anna and her deep longing for Legolas and Elbereth, she had missed him terribly since he left her at Eden Ardhon. However, she understood his need to go because he too, was wracked with guilt and for elves that emotion was not so easily expressed as it was in other races. She attributed it to the elven need to display an image of worldly experience and dignity. Strong emotions were something the elves had deemed themselves above experiencing but in quashing its expression, had relinquished the necessary tools to cope when the emotions became more than they could bear.

As it was now apparent in Legolas.


Since her marriage to Legolas and her life in Eden Ardhon, Melia had come to understand that she could never truly grasp what it was to be an elf because of the core differences that set them apart as two distinct races. There were differences she was forced to accept because she loved him and though it preyed upon their minds constantly, they almost never spoke of it.

To him, time was a constant, a companion on a journey that had no end. To Melia, it was the enemy, dogging her heels, whispering cruelties with each blemish she saw appearing on what was once young skin. Melia knew that her time with Legolas was finite. It was an evil she had been forced to accept thought he would never know how much she feared leaving this life when he loved her so much. Like all elves, he hid things beneath an unshakeable mask of elven calm and dignity but Melia knew how passionately he felt things. When she had been adamant there would be nothing between them, his passion had eroded her resistance. His faith in what they could have together was like a force of nature and eventually swept her along with its power.

And when Legolas basked in the emotions he so carefully hid from most, he was indeed a force of nature.

She suspected his anger at her abuse had been powerful indeed because he had convinced Thranduil and Celeborn to dispatch troops to fight alongside Gondor and Rohan. However, he was the noblest creature she had ever met and while she anticipated his rage might have him treat the enemy with some ruthlessness, Melia had never once suspected that he was capable of what she had seen in Axinar. When Gimli had come for her, Melia's fears for her prince had been confined to his emotional state. She did not know whether or not it was simply her own wishful thinking or some component of elven bonding she knew nothing of, but there were times when Melia could almost sense him inside her heart despite the distance between them. Before Gimli had arrived, she had sensed coldness shadowing their spiritual link. She had feared he was allowing guilt to eat away at him but never considered that his fury could take on such a deadly aspect.


When Gimli had described what had taken place in Haradwraith, Melia was shocked with horror. In truth, she suspected that Legolas was capable of such ruthlessness because she had seen him in battle. When he fought, one forgot instantly that he was the fair prince of Eryn Lasgalen and remembered that he had spent the better part of his life killing the dark creatures infesting the woods of his realm and the evils that Sauron had wrought in the Third Age. Legolas had been many things in his life, prince, warrior, a member of the Fellowship and sometimes assassin. Believing him incapable of ruthlessness was a foolish mistake on her part.

When people thought of elves, they thought of the First Born as an ideal, that to look upon them was to stare at luminous beauty born of the starlight. Perhaps it was because very few men remembered the full history of the elves that it was easily to believe they were incapable of bloodlust. Since becoming the Lady of Eden Ardhon, she had taken it upon herself to learn something of her husband's people with some help from Lord Faramir. She knew of Feanor and the Kinslaying, she knew of wars against Morgoth and the absolute determination of the Feanor's people in the recovery of the Silmarils.

Melia did not think that the king of the Haradrim had known what he had done when he ordered the attack upon Eden Ardhon. He had thought it would hasten their journey across the sea when all he had succeeded in accomplishing was unleashing the fury of elves upon his people.

When Gimli had told Melia about Axinar, her first impulse had been to flee because the cause of all this carnage was her husband's intense love for her. She had threatened to go home to the Sunlands not merely because of her horror but of late, Melia had been thinking about the lands of her father. Since her ordeal, Melia had felt strangely disconnected from her life. The only thing that had any true meaning for her was her love for the prince. Even before Gimli's arrival, she had considered returning home for a time, perhaps hoping that the journey would help her find herself again as well as help her wait out this terrible war in some other place than an ivory tower in Minas Tirith. She had not anticipated the war with the Haradwraith ending quickly and hoped the trip would help her to recover for the time when she and the prince were reunited again.

However, fleeing in the face of what Gimli had told her did not sit too well with Melia because running was something she had done too often in her relationship with Legolas and she was too bound to him to resort to it now. However, Melia was not going to allow his love for her to turn him into a cold-blooded killer. She had enough guilt upon her conscious without having to suffer that burden upon her heart. So she began to think of how to help her prince and herself as well because they were both bound not only in their love for each other but in their guilt over what had transpired in Eden Ardhon.

Because neither could be whole while one was in anguish.

Despite Gimli's protestations, they entered Axinar and Melia saw for herself what devastation had resulted from the elven onslaught across Haradwraith. While the village itself remained intact, the utter despair on the faces of the women and children left behind had nearly driven Melia to weep. She was tormented because they were suffering the violence that had been visited upon her by the Easterlings under the Haradrim king's orders. Her sweet prince had killed their loved ones because she had been violated, because her grief had been so great that the only way he could bear it was to take their men's lives in retribution.

They lingered briefly in Axinar, remaining long enough to water the horses and take some rest. Even then, they had remained near the watering hole away from the community itself. While elves did not as a rule use saddles, in battle it was a necessity to carry supplies and weaponry. Gimli's own saddle was of elven design, a fact that Melia was certain Axinar's residents recognized by the open hatred in their eyes when they looked upon the travelers. Many of the homes had been abandoned and Melia guessed by the difficulty she saw in the efforts of the survivors to harvest their crops, it was from fear of starvation. Yet their fears of famine were not as strong as their hatred for the enemy since the supplies left behind by the armies of the west were left untouched.

Melia wondered how long it would take before their pride gave out.

During their time in Axinar, Melia was not blind to Gimli's own guilt. The dwarf had spent the entire time unable to meet anyone in the eye and though she didn't ask, she surmised that he had taken part in what had been visited upon Axinar by the elves. Melia had found herself sliding her arm around his shoulders that evening, holding him close because he needed it and offering him words of comfort as best she could. In the face of this much-needed tenderness, Melia saw the well of sorrow beneath his crusty exterior that the dwarf lord seldom revealed to no one. She told him that it was permissible to show her his grief because they were both wounded creatures in their own right. He did not weep but he purged himself of his guilt and Melia found that in telling him that they were helpless to the whims of fate, began to realize that it was advice she ought to heed herself.

Helping him with his guilt had the surprising effect of allowing her the strength to deal with her own. Perhaps Anna had been doomed from the start and that her arrival at Eden Ardhon was merely a temporary reprieve from the fate that had befallen her entire family. Melia had spent so much time thinking how she had failed the child; she had not given much consideration as to how she could have prevented her death. Until now, the knowledge of her brutal violation and Anna's death were memories she thought herself unable to relive. However, as she listened to Gimli speaking of his pain, she found her mind nudging cautiously to those events and while there were images that would never sit comfortably inside her mind, she found the world had not come to an end because she revisited them.

For the first time in many months, she could actually think about it without flinching.

In being able to see those events in her mind, other things became clear as well. She had been punishing herself with grief and it appeared Legolas was punishing himself and everyone else for it as well. Unfortunately his method of coping with what had happened was burning the soul of out him and she had to stop it before he lost all semblance of himself. Melia did not have the power to save Anna. She had come to the realization that she truly had but helping Legolas was always within her power.

Yes, what he did in Axinar and the other villages that she and Gimli came upon on their journey towards to Splinter was butchery. There was no concealing that. When this was all over, the stain blood upon his hands would have to be accounted for but she knew she loved him and that would not change. Nevertheless, she still had to help him and to help him; it was necessary to do the one thing she promised herself she would not.


"Gimli," Melia shook the dwarf awake.

They were mere days away from the Splinter and had pushed themselves to the point of exhaustion in order to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible. Melia knew the dwarf would not be happy to hear what she had to say but Melia had been thinking of little else since she had left Axinar, in determining what was to be done about her husband. In the distance, she could see the jagged range of the Wall crossing over the horizon waiting for their approach. It had been many years since she had last traveled through the Wall or paused at the fortress of Cordoba that guarded its entrance. There was part of her that wished to see the walled city again, to walk within its bazaars and take in the familiar smells that reminded her so much of home. However, Melia had no intention of seeing it for herself because she had came to one conclusion during her ruminations about the her husband.

She could not see him.

"What is it?" Gimli grunted to awareness, his first impulse was to reach for his axe as he sat up shakily, "are we under attack?"

"No, no" Melia said quickly, in an effort to allay his nerves. "It is nothing like that at all. I merely needed to speak to you."

"It could not wait until dawn?" He grumbled in exasperation.

"It is important," Melia replied, stifling a little smile at his annoyance. At moment like this, she could see why Legolas enjoyed his company so much because she loved the dwarf just as dearly. During her first few days in Eden Ardhon, Gimli's friendship had helped her overcome her intimidation at being surrounded by so many elves who had regarded her as something of an usurper for capturing the lord's heart when she was a mortal.


Gimli's anxious manner abated slightly at that and the dwarf lowered his axe to the ground once more. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he regarded Melia with a little more clarity and wondered what it was she had on her mind that required such an abrupt awakening on his part. He hoped it was nothing that would deter them from their purpose now that the end of their journey was in sight. As it was, he was rather grateful that she had abandoned her idea of returning home though he was still uncertain why she had changed her mind.

"What is it lass?" He asked, preparing himself to listen and wondered what could be so important that it could not wait until morning.

"I cannot go with you to Legolas," she stated plainly and waited for his reaction which knowing Gimli, would not be delivered with any measure of calm.

"What?" He exploded in true dwarf fashion. "What do you mean?" The dwarf demanded, his heart sinking with disappointment because he believed that she had moved past the need to leave. The elf needed her!

"Gimli listen to me," Melia said firmly, her hand resting on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "I have good reason for this. You must trust me when I say to you that it is for the best at this time, that I do not see him."


"How can it be for the best?" Gimli exploded. "We have come all this way!"

"I know," Melia spoke quickly, certain the dwarf would burst if she did not provide him with a suitable explanation for her decision. "Gimli, if I were to see him we would resolve nothing."

"I do not understand…" he looked at her with clear confusion.

"It is the nature of our love for another that makes it so difficult Gimli," Melia started to say before breaking off into a heavy sigh. She wished she did not have to be so personal in her revelations about her love for Legolas. Her love for the prince was a subject she found difficult to discuss, even with a friend like Gimli.

"I know that he loves you," Gimli pointed out. "It will break his heart to know that you were so close and refused to see him."


"I am not refusing to see him Gimli," Melia insisted, wanting him to understand that she did not make this decision lightly. There was nothing she wanted more than to see her prince, to feel his arms about her and his lips against her own. "I love him more than my life. Everyday I wake up in the morning and I thank Eru with all my heart that Legolas chose me for his wife, that he found me worthy enough to bestow his love. He is three thousand years old and in all that time, he never loved anyone until he met me. Do you know how wonderful that feels? To wake next to him and know that he is willing to risk everything just for me?"

"I can imagine," Gimli said softly, realizing that this decision was indeed difficult for her to make even if he did not understand why she was doing it. It was apparent to all that Legolas and Melia needed each other to breathe and when they were together, the passion of their love was impossible to ignore.

"That is why I cannot see him," Melia met his gaze, her eyes glistening with emotion. "If I saw him face to face, what he has done will cease to have importance because I will be so happy to see him again. I do not want to let my resolve crumble in his presence, not for something as important as this. There is one thing I know for certain, one thing I can gamble with to make him see reason and I cannot do that if I am near him."

Gimli was not convinced.

"Melia, you must see him. He has changed so greatly that I fear you are the only one who is capable of reminding him of who he is. You saw what happened at Axinar and those other villages. He is filled with darkness that you are the only thing capable of pulling him back to the light."

"I doubt I will ever be able to forget Gimli," Melia said swallowing thickly because she knew all too well what he had done. It turned her stomach and left hollowness inside her she never dreamed could be worse than the guilt of Anna's death. Though she had come to accept that Anna's death was not her fault, the same could not be said for the people who had fallen under the sword in Legolas' rampage of vengeance. He had murdered to avenge her and no matter how things were resolved in the future, there would still be blood on both their hands. "However, if we are to have any chance of restoring him to himself, then I must do this."

"I do not understand either of you!" Gimli burst out in frustration. "How can staying apart help him?"

"He needs to decide what is more important to him," Melia answered softly. "His revenge or our future together."

"Obviously it is you that is more important to him," he countered. "You are the entire reason why he has embarked upon this crusade to destroy the Easterlings and the Haradrim, his guilt that he was the cause of all that had happened to you and to Eden Ardhon!"

"I love him dearly Master Dwarf and even I am not certain of that," Melia confessed sadly. "For us it is a simple matter when we are hurt because we know that we do not have the luxury of nursing our grief for an eternity. We exist from moment to moment, enjoying every sensation, every feeling because our experiences are finite. As mortals, we live life and we allow our passions to rule us because we do not have time to deny them. For dwarves, you have little more than three centuries to do and feel everything that you wish before you pass and for men it is even less. We are mortals and we feel unashamedly and in doing so, we have some measure of control over our emotions. Elves do not."

Gimli open his mouth to protest but fell silent a second later because she was right.

"For elves it is different. They do not allow themselves to feel as much they should because their long memory has made them complacent. What was it like to cope with loss? They cannot remember as well as we do because for them, it could have been a thousand years ago! For Legolas, he has kept his emotions under tight control because he was Thranduil's son and the son of a king cannot show weakness. Of all the elves in Mirkwood, it is he that had to be the shining example because he was the Crowned Prince. Control was expected and that restraint is the cause of all this bloodshed. Gimli, he loves me but he is riding a tidal wave of such black rage that he has scarcely paused to think about anything else! If this were about me, he would have known I would never condone what he has done! He has shown little fear that news of the slaughter would reach me at home. It is clear my presence alone will not make him see reason. It has to be something more than that."

Gimli wanted to tell Melia she was wrong but he could not. Was this truly about her or about Legolas' own self-loathing at failing to protect her? The elf he knew would not have carelessly disregarded how his lady would have seen the murder of innocents, especially after the child's death.

Bringing Melia to Haradwraith had been an act of desperation to try and make the elf see reason but there was no one who could do that except Legolas himself.

He alone had to make the choice to withdraw.

Melia's presence may cause him to pause in his desire to avenge her but would it make him stop? And how would he regard the friends who had used his wife to rob him of his vengeance? Gimli wished he could deny her words but there was a part of him that knew she had spoken the truth. Perhaps, he had always known that but this seemed easier, to bring Melia to Legolas and hope that her arrival would be enough to halt his anger. Yet seeing her may well do the opposite and remind him why his rage against the enemy burned so hot.

"What then do we do?" Gimli asked after a long pause.

"I will go home to my people," Melia said softly, "I will leave you now and make my way towards the Sunlands."

"You said once that the penalties were harsh for rejecting a marriage arranged by your family and leaving the Sunlands without permission," Gimli reminded remembering the tales of her home vividly, particularly in the case of such a barbaric law.

"That was twelve years ago," Melia answered. In truth she did not know what waited her but nowhere else suited her at this moment, despite the possible dangers. "Not all my family were so like minded. My cousin was a boy when I fled but he would be a man by now and I think he will vouch for me if I return home."

"But why there?" Gimli questioned, disturbed that she was returning home under such circumstances and worse yet, that he was permitting this. "Surely there are other places you could go?"

Melia released a held breath because she had wanted to keep the reason for her need to go home a secret. Unfortunately, Gimli would not be satisfied with anything but the truth and considering what she needed him to do, Melia owed him that much.

"Ever since Eden Ardhon," Melia met his eyes, "I have felt a little disconnected with who I am. Until you arrived, the only thing that held any meaning for me was the prince and my fears for him. I felt numb inside and I still do. I am not healed yet Master Dwarf, though I understand what happened to Anna was not my fault, I need to go home. I need to see the place where my father is buried, to walk along the paths I knew as a child to remember who I am. All I have been for the past 12 years is the Ranger who eventually married a prince, I need to find myself again."

"And what will you have me tell the elf when I see him?" Gimli asked.

Melia answered him and when she did, Gimli stared at her in stunned silence.

"You do not mean this surely?" He asked his voice soft and filled with understandable shock.

"I mean it," Melia answered, giving him no room for doubt by the steel in her voice. "You will tell him what I have said and after that, it is not longer in my hands but in his."

"He loves you," Gimli declared. "You said you loved him deeply, how can you do this?"

"Because he will not understand anything else," she replied wondering if Gimli had any idea how difficult it had been for Melia to reach this decision. "If I am truly his reason for all this bloodshed, then my request should be enough."

"Yes, but…"

Melia cut him off before Gimli could say anything further. "It is the only way we will make him see reason, Gimli."

"And if he does not?" Gimli met her eyes.

"Then we will both suffer the consequences," she said sadly and prayed it would not come to that because it would kill both if she were wrong.

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