Chapter XXXIV: Second Guessing, Final Destinations, and First Impressions
"Pull all the troops back?" Aragorn asked incredulously, "Whose bright idea was that?"
Athfaë and Dacil, who sat beside Glorfindel, Niphredil and Gandalf in the council chamber of Lorien, cringed.
"So," Aragorn growled as he paced back and forth before the small assembly, "You want me to pull out all my defenses, every soldier guarding all my offensive positions that I have acquired, so that we can go to the Dead Marshes?"
Athfaë shrugged innocently. "Yes."
Aragorn ceased his pacing and raised an eyebrow in amusement.
"You do realize that this would basically just allow the Remnant to walk into Lorien while we are gone, correct?"
Athfaë shrugged again. "Don't kill the messenger. This was Mordae and Celebdraug's plan."
At this information, Aragorn resumed pacing, now absently fingering the hilt of his sword.
He began to think aloud. "I trust their judgment, but this is ludicrous! There is no way they can secure the rings and get to the Dead Marshes before somebody finds us. And, in the Marshes, the cavalry is practically useless. They'll be slowed down, have to pick their way through the dry sections."
"Which," Glorfindel interrupted boldly, "Is why they want us to do that."
Aragorn spun to glare at the elf.
Niphredil blanched slightly, but Glorfindel met the man's icy stare with his own cold, unnerving, elven stare.
"The Fellowship would never see it coming. Never in all the Ages that Minas Tirith has stood have any dared to attack it by way of the Dead Marshes. From that direction, yes, but none have entered that place, save the filthy pherrinah1, since the Great Battle."
Aragorn's gaze softened. "You make a good point."
"Of course."
"No," Gandalf interjected. The wizard had sat silently throughout the whole meeting, until now.
Aragorn now spun to face the wizard. "No?"
"It is not right," Gandalf explained. "Mordae and Celebdraug have many priorities. Destroying the Fellowship is not one of them. To mobilize the entire army against Minas Tirith will weaken both sides and allow the Remnant to sweep us all into the Abyss."
"The Remnant, while a threat, are not nearly powerful enough to accomplish the defeat of both armies," Aragorn countered. "Besides, they would have to get through what will be left of the Fellowship before they reached us. That would weaken them as well."
"The Remnant is far more powerful than we know or wish to believe, let me tell you that," Gandalf spoke in the soft yet harsh tone he often used when chiding his apprentices.
"Celebdraug and Mordae also said that somebody may have been monitoring our discussions over the palantír. Perhaps they plan an ambush for whomever it was," Dacil suggested meekly.
Gandalf nodded sagely. "Excellent idea. The only one powerful enough to watch us, to my knowledge, is Maneva Mornië. Perhaps they want to lure the Remnant to the Dead Marshes."
"Maybe they have discovered a way to end both threats in one swoop!" Niphredil exclaimed excitedly.
"However," Gandalf's face suddenly darkened, "Perhaps they have not thought that the Remnant would watch us. Our forces might be ambushed and crushed before they could put their plan in motion."
"And perhaps," Aragorn growled, "They are really two hobbits standing on stilts. We could stand here and argue their motives until we are hoarse, but it would do us no good. Mordae and Celebdraug have never led me wrong before, and I do not believe they would do it now. I trust them with my life."
He turned his gaze to Glorfindel. "Send out runners. Better yet, go with them. Pull all of our forces to the edge of the Dead Marshes. We venture forward tomorrow at noon. That is final."
With a dramatic swoop of his cape, the king stormed form the room, head held high.
"Cranky brat," Glorfindel sighed to Niphredil, who nodded emphatically.
As dusk settled over the south, Garulf, Grishnákh, and the outfit of riders that traveled with them burst from the forest of Lindon, east of Minas Tirith, roaring and waving their weapons madly. The orcs again rode atop the lychens, who had all changed into their wolf-like form.
No one took heed of the small horde until they drew within a quarter mile of a small caravan in the middle of making the six-league journey from Minas Tirith to New Osgiliath.
From either city, the undersized army was unidentifiable, just a mass of black. But, when the blur slowed and stopped as they collided with the other caravan, it became evident from the flying bodies and sudden flames that they were not friendly.
Inside New Osgiliath, chaos reigned.
"Sound the alarm!" a distraught Aragost cried as he bolted from his quarters. "Ready the cavalry! Infantry to your posts!"
The General reached out and stopped Eorlmer as the young man dashed past him.
"Where is Dacil?" Aragost cried.
"In Lorien, sir."
The General swore, angry at himself for forgetting, angry at Dacil for not being there when he needed him for the second time, angry at the Remnant for having the audacity to attack on his own doorstep. "Lead in his place!"
Garulf leaped up onto the front of the lead wagon, batting one of the passengers from the vehicle with a swat of his massive paw. The lychen craned his neck upward and bit down hard on the leg of the driver, pulling the screaming man to his level, where Grishnákh finished him with a thrust of his spear.
The orc slashed his sword across a civilian carrying a diminutive dagger, withdrew a small metal orb similar to what the other Remnant soldiers used to signal their troops, flicked it across his belt, and hurled it into the wagon.
Garulf leaped from the cart as the orb exploded, sending out a good-sized wave of fire and hurling burning shrapnel meters from the center of the blast. The lychen general swept his gaze toward the two imposing cities on either side, from which issued two battalions of cavalry members.
We should teach them the same lesson they were taught at New Edoras, the wolfman growled to Grishnákh, who smirked in agreement.
The cavalry units, each consisting of nearly three-hundred Fellowship soldiers, thundered closer and closer to the carnage drawing practically to bow range.
However, in the essence of time... Garulf let out a deafening roar, and the Remnant troops broke off the massacre and bolted toward the nearby Ithilien forest to the west, just far enough ahead of the Fellowship to escape the dejected cavalry.
Eorlmer drew his horse slowly alongside the burning caravan, dreading what he would see. As he slowly jogged his mount down the length of the destruction, his worst fears were confirmed; none of the civilians had survived.
He watched the lychens and orcs fade into the distance, shaking his head. He melancholically turned his horse back toward Osgiliath, not saying a word to either group of cavalrymen. Without a sound, the rest of the Fellowship rode respectfully away from the slaughter.
Mordae led Lynza down the various paths of Rivendell toward the familiar rooms, carrying the still squirming Celebdraug and Draylen. He came to a halt before the simple wooden door that led to the conjoined suite that the elves had resided in.
The elf released Draylen and his cousin, who swiftly kicked him in the shins.
"Ah! What was that for?" Mordae cried.
Celebdraug put her nose in the air and turned her back on him.
Mordae shrugged at Lynza and Draylen, the latter of whom kicked him in the stomach.
"Hey!" the elf shrieked as he staggered back into Lynza.
The other vampire shrugged mockingly, then stood beside Celebdraug.
Lynza smiled, walked to the doorway, and rapped sharply on the door, which opened a moment later, revealing a tall, dark haired man with a gaunt face. The room behind him looked virtually unchanged, as far as Mordae could tell, other than the weapons that the vampire had replaced with his own.
"Yes?" the vampire hissed in Endea.
"Lieutenant Zalok, the original owners are home," Lynza replied. "Would you mind sharing?"
The vampire's eyes traced slowly up Mordae's gigantic body to his face, widening as they saw his elven features. "Oh, not vone bit!" Zalok replied in the Common Tongue, presumably so that the elves could understand him.
"We speak Endea, but thank you," Mordae said with a nod.
"We?" Zalok looked confused.
Celebdraug shoved Mordae aside and stood in front of him. "We."
"Ah." The vampire stepped to the side and swept his arm inward. "Come in, please."
Celebdraug obliged him, followed by Mordae, who was again shoved aside and replaced by Draylen. Before Draylen could fully enter, however, Mordae jerked him back and into Lynza.
Zalok raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
"Ah, home sweet home," Celebdraug said, throwing herself onto the bed before realizing that she had not slept in it for over a century.
She rolled off the bed and stood awkwardly in the corner. "I apologize."
Zalok smiled. "Not a problem. I will sleep elsewhere, if you wish."
Mordae shook his head, "We'll take one room, and you can take the other, provided the suite-mate doesn't mind sharing."
Draylen stepped forward and gave a slight bow.
"Ah, in that case," Celebdraug said teasingly, "It doesn't matter what he thinks. Which room would you prefer?"
"It matters not to me," Zalok offered.
Draylen shrugged, as did Mordae.
"Well, if I'm the only one who cares," Celebdraug huffed, "We'll sleep in this one, since it used to be mine."
"I assumed so from the women's clothing that I found in my closet," Zalok said with a smile. "You have...interesting...tastes."
"Thank you."
"I hate to break up the reunion, or whatever you would call this," Lynza interrupted, "But I have some rather urgent business to attend to. If we could all meet in the Council Area in an hour, I would be much obliged."
Zalok saluted sharply; Draylen tossed a limp hand in the general direction of his forehead.
Mordae and Celebdraug saluted as well, much to Lynza's objection.
"It's of little consequence," Mordae chastised her. "Just forget about it." He patted her shoulder in a mocking yet reassuring gesture. "Now, I'm not ashamed of my rippling muscles and finely toned body, but I'm not sure if the rest of you are comfortable with me changing in front of you. So, if we could..."
The room was empty in an instant.
1 Hobbits
