Author: Arinya
Rating:R
Disclaimer: All Lord of the Rings characters belong to J.R.R Tolkien, however, this story itself belongs to me and that also applies to the plot. The character "Aldíren" also belongs to me, he is mine, no stealing is permitted. This disclaimer applies for all chapters, of this fanfiction.
Summary: Sam is forced to retell all the things that happened after the Fellowship had succeeded in destroying the Ring. All the members of the Fellowship have their own problems. Darkness returns, and Love struggles to conquer all. But as the problems mount up to a peak, can they survive? And can Sam bear telling his audience the true story?
Chapter Thirty-Five: Marching
King Thranduil surveyed his army of elves and uruk-hai. It was a formidable sight, to see the remainder of his elves and the black scourge of Middle Earth side by side in rank. It gave him a cold chill, but he ignored it. The time was to come very soon, oh yes, how he ached for battle! His very bones were laden with excitement and he addressed the captain of his elves.
"Aldíren!" he called out.
A silver-haired elf stepped out of the line. He wore grey and green rainment, looking very superior and grand indeed. His eyes were a peculiar silver-green and flashed dangerously when they caught the sunlight a particular angle. His hair was swept back and tied with a elven braid. He gave one the impression of a hawk. You would expect him to sprout a pair of mighty grey and white streaked, feathery wings. He was a quick and sharp elf in wit, speech, movement, and battle. His weapon of choice was a long, mithril lance with a curved blade head. In battle, he was a whirlwind of silver flashes and the only sound he would ever make were the dull thuds of enemie's bodies.
At this moment however, his mithril lance was tucked away on the side of the saddle of his steed. As of now, he looked as a well-disciplined elf, posing no questions whatsoever to his king.
"King Thranduil" he said in a low voice.
"The status of the army"
"All awaiting your order my King"
"Excellent, prepare to march!"
Thranduil rode his horse to the very head of the army, all turning with perfect synchronization.
"To Emyn Muil!" he roared, raising his sword, glimmering in the waning sunlight.
"Raaahhhkkkkgggraaa!" shouted the Uruk-hai in their baritone voices.
The Earth trembled beneath their feet, and the Uruk-hai, accustomed to running ahead were partrolled by several elven horsemen, Aldíren's subordinates.
Until the dead of the night, when nothing one thing made a sound, was it when Thranduil halted his army for a rest. He called Aldíren to him for a short report, satisfied with it, he sent the elf off and set up two sentries. They would rest until the sun was up, he was rather fond of the dark and silence of the night, it comforted him in a way that no one would understand...and although his elves shunned such darkness and absense of life, he embraced it, and he did not care if no one else did not.
Aragorn was not the young man he once was at the time of the Quest of the Ring. He was now several years older and carried more burdens than before. Juggling political and social matters was not such an ease for him as he was not teached properly in the art of diplomatics. All that he did now he had taught himself, he was, in a way, making everything up as he went along.
He touched Arwen's stomach, which bulged slightly. His child was there, growing, waiting to be born. She gripped his hand in hers and they exchanged looks of sorrow and hope, and farewell.
"melme nin" whispered Aragorn.
"Do not carry such heavy thoughts, we shall see each other soon" said Arwen, she caressed his cheek, and they parted.
Her and her hand maidens stood at the grand gate of the White City as Aragorn and his army rode forth to Emyn Muil. Arwen did not let tears fall, she tried not to betray that fact that she feared greatly of Aragorn's return. The Kingdom needed him, she needed him...their child needed him.