That in the previous chapter I did mean to use adar, "father" and not Arda, "earth" (bangs hand against forehead stupid, stupid typo. Why would Legolas call his father earth?) I shall try to fix it as soon as I figure out how.
Also that these next coming up chapters might take a little longer to update. As I was going through my daily hygiene rituals a whole new plot line in the story came to my mind, so I now have to figure out how to work it in. I have to figure which character I want to kill, and just how exactly I want him/her to die. (but I'm not saying who, na na na na na na) (or maybe I'm just teasing you guys, hm?)
Distances: Here are the distances as I see them. The least amount of time it would take to get to Mirkwood from Minas Tirith would be four days. Three from the glittering caves. I have based this off of the distance that Gandalf says it takes to ride from Edoras to Minas Tirith, which is three days. All times are totally estimated, but they work for me.
Last comment, promise. In this chapter I do not want anyone to get the impression that I am making Aragorn act in a cowardly way, or that I think Aragorn is a coward, because he is NOT!!! He is acting as any good king should act by weighing his peoples' needs before his own.
Thanks for the reviews! You guys are so nice! So here's chapter 3.
Enter the Corsairs
"I cannot abandon my own city and people simply for smoke from a prairie fire."
"Aragorn, my heart tells me that this is no prairie fire. It is much more serious. Yes, you are the king, but after the next shipment of water arrives, for two weeks you have no other pressing matters."
"I cannot leave my people without leadership..."
"Do you think that being married to you means nothing? I am the queen, Aragorn, I shall provide what leadership is needed. Your place belongs out on the plains. You must find out how serious the fires are. It is your duty to your people," she threw Aragorn's words back at him, "to make sure this situation does not pose them any danger."
Aragorn looked at his wife. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes snappy and bright. As soon as she had spotted the smoke she had demanded that Aragorn ride out to investigate it. Aragorn had wanted to, but was worried about his responsibilities as king and that he might be overstepping limits of what even the high king of men can do. But now Arwen had found his justification. It was true that he would need to know the position of the fire in order to be able to judge its level of danger. And in order to know the position he would have to ride out to it. He smiled at his wife and was glad he had married a wise woman.
"Then I shall leave as soon as the water arrives."
"Will you take any guards?"
"I shall take Gimli with me, who is more dangerous then ten of my guards put together."
"I have not need to worry then. I will have your horses readied."
The crew had been summoned. Each individual sailor knew why. They had not yet reached the river's outlet into the sea, and would not reach it that day. Technically, it was not their fault. The winds had died out in the afternoon, and had not picked up again until much later that evening. But the damage had been enough to slow them down to half a day behind. While serving aboard with this particular captain, half a day behind was not acceptable.
No one knew exactly where he came from, or his background. They only knew his name, Sanul, and that he was a harsh, demanding person who gave no mercy. And now they were about to face that less than pleasant aspect of him.
Where he stood they couldn't exactly make out. He was wearing his cloak, his most treasured possession. While wearing it he blended perfectly into shadow and it cast off him a sphere of darkness. Only the green of his eyes could be seen, they glowed an evil light in the dark. The only thing else visible was his hair's silhouette as it was whipped around by the wind. He was tall, and his voice was always cold. He rarely ever spoke directly to the crew, for which they were thankful. Instead, all his orders were passed to Urgsha, who then gave the commands. His ships were perhaps some of the most widely feared slave vessels that sailed along the coast.
He spoke. The crew flinched at his tone. "I thought I had given orders for the river's outlet to be reached by now."
Urgsha made the mistake of trying to explain, "Sir, it was really just bad luck..." Sanul turned his gaze towards him, his green eyes burning, "the men...they were trying..." Urgsha quickly trailed off under the stare.
"I expect those on my ship to obey my orders. You fools are letting this opportunity disappear. Do you not want the gold that elven slaves will fetch?"
The crew still couldn't move.
"There will be no grog rations for tonight, and you Urgsha, shall come with me into my cabin."
The crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. They had been left off easy with a minor punishment, it was Urgsha who was the one really in trouble. It had been his responsibility to see the orders carried out correctly. The crew snickered amongst each other as they watched Urgsha's trembling form follow the Captain below.
Urgsha tried hard not to look around the cabin as he entered. He did not know where IT was, but IT was the last thing he wished to see. He was of course, thinking about Sanul's second most treasured possession, his weapon of choice.
IT was a long black whip, which at the end, broke off into three separate branches. Attached to these branches were mithril tips, sharp enough to pierce through dragon hide. Each tip was poisoned. There was no antidote. It was his long-range weapon.
His short-range weapon was his third most treasured object. This weapon was a sharp sword, sheathed in a black case that he always wore. The sword was perfectly balanced for him, and its blade was strong, made from the same metal as Legolas's white knives. Although the tip of it was not poisoned, it still delivered deadly fates.
Urgsha hoped fervently that it would not deliver his tonight. His captain faced him.
"Why should I not kill you now?"
Urgsha choked. He throat closed up and all he could manage was a little squeal of fear.
"I give you three seconds to answer me."
Suddenly he found his voice, "Sir, sir! Please, I beseech you, spare me! Killing me would cut into your profits, I am good servant." Tears streamed down Urgsha's face. Sanul pulled out his sword.
"Not that valuable, and not that good."
"Sir! Sir! I... no wait!! I shall bring you something. From the raid! Yes! I shall find something most valuable, something that will bring you great riches! I shall make my way to the palace and loot it while the other men capture your slaves. Think of it, the king of Mirkwood has hoarded away many precious treasures. I shall bring them to you!" Urgsha knelt before the captain. "Please!" he whispered.
Sanul paused, considering it. It was true that the Elvenking had great riches no mortal man had ever seen. Yet never before had an opportunity rose for the hoard to be plundered. As for his part, Sanul had no desire to enter into the palace. He had heard too many rumors about the magical enchantments of the elves to go inside. For truly in his heart he was a coward. But he had no qualms about sending others into danger. He lowered his sword.
Urgsha burst into grateful tears. "Oh thank-you, thank-you sir." He reached out to kiss the cloak's edge. Sanul pulled it back.
"Do not touch it."
Urgsha nodded frantically, "Yes sir! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll do exactly as you command."
"You will not fail me in your word. After we have raided I shall expect the great riches of your labors to be presented. Or else it will be your head to the sharks. Now get out. I will expect us at the river's outlet by dawn, or I shall kill you and appoint another to fulfill your role."
Urgsha nodded and scrambled out. In many ways he was like his master, a coward at heart. By the time he had reappeared on deck he had regained his composure. He barked orders at the crew, threatening to pull their shares of the profit if they didn't get going in double quick time. The Corsairs picked up their pace. The wind was with them again.
The water had arrived and had been distributed. Aragorn knew that the time to leave was now. Calling Gimli, they both hurried out to the stables, the clicks their heels made heard by the servant four stories up who was washing the stone steps. Arwen accompanied them.
Two horses were prepared, and Aragorn swung easily up onto his steed. All horses seemed to enjoy his presence and bear him easily. The horse he rode today was a brown one known as Drano, with the 'r' rolled a bit. Gimli was to ride Arod, the horse most comfortable bearing him, as he had ridden him often while clutching Legolas's waist. Aragorn smirked at his grumbling. It was funny to watch the dwarf try to get up all by himself, stubbornly refusing any assistance.
Finally he discovered a way. Leading the horse over by the stable wall, he climbed up and balanced on the edge. Then after taking a steadying breath, he leaped out to land upon the horse. Aragorn had to laugh as the horse calmly sidestepped and the dwarf fell once again on the ground. A sparkle was in Arwen's eyes.
Gimli growled, "It's that stupid elf's influence! It's turned a good beast into a wild creature!"
Aragorn snorted while turning his head to look out at the sun. Abruptly he decided that stubborn dwarf or not, they had to leave soon. He walked his horse over to where Gimli was, and pulled the dwarf up onto Arod's saddle. "Come my friend. You are no elf rider, but perhaps we shall make you as good as one yet? One of these days Legolas shall have to teach you how to mount by yourself."
He got a grumbled response about horses and dwarfs and how it was dangerous to mix the two together.
Aragorn walked Drano over to where Arwen stood. Their eyes met. Slowly as he leaned down, she leaned up and their lips met in a soft kiss.
They pulled away from each other. No words were needed to express what they had to say. Arwen nodded at him, and he turned, kicked his heels up against his horse, galloped out of the stable, down through Minas Tirith, and then out of the city and into the wild, riding towards the smoke on the horizon. Gimli was right behind.
Arwen watched them go, then turned and climbed the steps that led back into the palace.
To Aragorn, the smoke indeed was on the horizon. To Legolas it was surrounding and blinding him. The smoke was everywhere, stinging his eyes and causing them to tear. Of course, some of the tears were natural ones, cried for the lost trees. His eyes were red from a combination of smoke and grief.
The smoke also managed to make breathing next to impossible. No deep breaths could be drawn without a coughing fit soon to follow. Only when crouched down inches off the ground could one find a place to get somewhat filtered air. But this did them no good, as they couldn't fight the fires from the forest floor.
For that was what they were doing. Drawing upon every elf in the kingdom, Thranduil had ordered for the fire's advancement to be stopped at all costs. The order was only a formality though. No other thought had been on the elves' minds since the lighting had struck the first tree.
They had divided themselves mainly into four groups. Mostly it was women who ran to form water chains from the rivers out to the fires. Another group was formed to clear away underbrush as quickly and efficiently as possible. The third group, and the largest one, directly fought against the fire in hot sweaty battles. Sometimes beating it back with rags, sometimes with water thrown from the buckets. The forth group was composed of elves who had finally reached the ends of their limits and so were allowed a period of rest, lasting about five to six hours. Thranduil was no fool, and knew that even his own race had not inexhaustible supplies of energy. The elves entered this group randomly from the other three. The honor and dedication of the elves made sure no one abused this. Each time one elf entered the deemed area, another one would rise and leave to work. One group of elves had started there, and then as the others started to tire, they intermixed themselves into the fighting areas.
This had all happened after it became apparent that it was going to take much more effort to stop this fire then they had anticipated. At first, as Legolas had ran towards the site, it had seemed that maybe the flames would be easily contained if only they could get there in time before it spread.
They had not got there in time. For once, the fleet-footedness of their race had failed them, when it had mattered the most. Well, perhaps there was only one other time when that sort of speed was such desperately needed, but that comes later in this tale.
Legolas had fallen into the group directly fighting the fire. So had Tanvir. Day and night they labored hard, beating wet rags against the flames, sometimes being burned themselves. Legolas had stripped off his cloak running to the site, and by now, fighting in the intense heat, he had spared a precious second to pull of his green tunic, fighting the fire now in his white one that he always wore under the green. He did not know for sure, but suspected that his cloak had long since been made into rags to soak. Sweat trickled down his face and neck, also stinging his eyes as the smoke constantly did. The intensity of the heat made his entire face flush and his hair to hang limply and damp against his shoulders. Black streaks of soot marked his skin, and his clothing was taking on a decidedly grey cast from the amount of ash in the air. He was tired, but still fought on, not having quite reached his limit, which he said would be when he could no longer stand and lift the rag. He was fighting on the side away from the water chain. The side that was most rapidly approaching their living areas.
Tanvir had run out with him also to get a rag, but since then had become separated from his friend. He too was fighting with all he had. His black hair had been pulled back from his face, and he had also removed extra layers of clothing. He was currently fighting the inferno with rags that had been made from Legolas's cloak. Even though neither elf could see each other, in reality they were only a few trees separated. Other elves stood in between them though, so it was that each other's position remained uncertain.
The fire was eating the woods alive. The drought had ripened the trees up for kindling. It took hardly a few seconds for the fire to spread from tree to tree, already about an eighth of Mirkwood had gone up into flames, leaving behind a field of ashes. Perhaps that number sounds small, but when you translate it into a countless number of trees, it means that already hundreds had burned and hundreds were still burning.
This had been going on now for about four days, and only by the efforts of the elves had the fire not spread faster. Now as another wind pick up the elves redoubled their energy, matching the fire's rage with one of their own.
Aragorn halted his horse. He could simply not believe his eyes. It had been around four days of the hardest riding he had ever done in his life, and now he could finally see the source of the smoke. And couldn't believe it.
All the time he rode he had been sure that over the next hilltop he would see the fire, stretching out across the plain. And each time there had been nothing, only thicker smoke forming ahead. And now when he saw at last the fire's location he quite simply felt sick. He had sat around in his palace while his friend's home had been burning. Of course Legolas would never have looked at the situation in that way, but Aragorn was not thinking of that. He was furious with himself. He had not brought with him extra men, therefore he could not ride down into the forest now to help the elves. He would have to turn back and ride all the to Minas Tirith and then ride all the way back with the men before he could be of any real assistance. That would take over a week, without rest.
Gimli too was cursing himself. He all too clearly understood that they were in a position to do nothing, yet he hated the idea of even a temporary retreat. He suddenly had a thought. "Aragorn-"
"We shall have to ride back to Gondor." The ranger's voice was laced with frustration. "We shall have to turn our backs upon our friend."
"But perhaps not both backs? Would you allow me to ride down there and give them news that you are on your way?"
Aragorn nodded, realizing that that was the best they could do for now. He would return to Gondor alone.
As he reeled his horse around Gimli had another thought, "Aragorn, send messages to the caves, on my authorization ask for them to bring as much water as possible to Mirkwood. They shall be able to help in that way."
"I have a feeling that such help will be needed before the end." The king spoke to his horse, "Hah Drano, come on!" He again kicked his heels against the horse, hoping that Legolas would forgive him his retreat. He galloped off, almost faster than the wind. Gimli to continued, down the hill and into the burning woods.
Legolas looked down at the rag he was using, it was nearly gone. Fires burned all around him, it's light gleaming in his eyes. His white teeth shone out sharply against his dirty face as his gritted them with all the determination he could muster. There were numerous burns on his tunic, but he ignored all else but stopping the advancement of the blaze. Searching around quickly he found another rag and making sure that it was soaked through, returned to the flames.
Sanul stood up on the deck of his ship. He was grinning although his men couldn't see it. This time no bad luck had conspired against his crew. They had reached the outlet a day ago, and were now making their way up the old forest river. Trees had begun to become more and more numerous the farther they had sailed in. Now they were only a few hours away from reaching the area that burned. He had Urgsha lower the sails, and start the slaves rowing down in the hold. It would take a little longer maybe, but their position would remain a secret.
The Corsairs had entered Mirkwood.