Chapter XXXIX: Family Reunion
"Was it really a wise idea to move into this forsaken place without Glorfindel?" Athfaë tentatively questioned Aragorn.
The Ranger/King strained his eyes into the fading light of the sunset as the army slowly picked its way across the dry sections of the marsh.
He turned his head toward Athfaë, his eyes cold, then shook his head dejectedly. "Not at all. I can barely see a league out."
"Nor can I," Gandalf, who walked beside the deposed king, agreed.
There was a moment of silence as the three attempted to make sense of the wetlands before them. Already the 'lights' had begun to appear. Eerie, pale, glowing orbs suspended all around the army, which stretched nearly two leagues long and one league wide.
"Where is he, anyway?" Athfaë wondered aloud.
Aragorn snorted derisively. "Probably back in Lorien, shirking his duties again."
The Venyarohirrim girl raised one eyebrow. "And you made him a general?"
"I was kidding." Aragorn shook his head. "I have no idea where he is."
Again, silence settled over the three. A few of the soldiers held conversations in hushed tones, and armor creaked, but the general tone was that of ominous silence. A few of the horses whinnied nervously as the sun began to sink behind the horizon, adding to the sense of suppressed terror that gripped the army.
The 'lights' had now taken reign over the night, casting ghostly shadows that took the mood even further to the edge.
"Damn those two," Aragorn hissed to himself, referring to Mordae and Celebdraug. "They had better have a really awesome plan, or I am going to have their heads above my throne."
Neither Gandalf nor Athfaë felt it necessary to point out Aragorn's current lack of a throne to hang them above.
Then suddenly, in the distance, there were more, different lights. These bobbed up and down a meter or so higher than the others, and glowed orange and red. They began small, and gradually grew.
"Torches," Athfaë whispered, stating that which had become evident.
"A lot of torches," Gandalf added.
Aragorn thrust his own torch up into the sky and waved it back and forth, calling the army to a halt.
The other lights drew within two leagues of the Dunedain/Venyarohirrim army, then also ceased their advance.
Now, all sound in the marsh, save the nervous snorts of the horses, had ceased completely. The two armies stood in silence for several minutes, neither moving.
Finally, Athfaë leaned her head next to Aragorn's.
"What are they?"
The ranger shook his head. "No idea."
"Orcs? Remnant?"
Aragorn shrugged slightly.
Gandalf raised his staff up off of the ground, pointing the crystal atop it into the sky.
There was a crack, and the crystal burst into light, shedding a faint glow over the distant army, revealing three men standing a few hundred meters in front of the main mass. One of them bore a flag, on which was emblazoned a white tree with a red dragon wrapped around it.
"Belgor," Athfaë whispered, dark memories of the marauding hordes that had sacked her country for the last decade entering her mind.
"Eldarion," Aragorn murmured, taking a step forward.
Gandalf reached out and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, stopping his progress.
"Was this Mordae and Celebdraug's plan?" the king whispered. "Have they convinced my son to join us?"
Athfaë began to argue, but Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "You two, come with me. We are going to go meet him."
The girl locked eyes with the wizard, and they both shrugged, then followed their commander.
Niphredil coughed as she sprinted through a small clearing that was clouded with smoke. A rancid smell assailed her nose, one that she was not familiar with, but that she recognized immediately.
Death.
All around her, burning carts, smoldering ashes, and bodies lay strewn about.
She almost slid to a halt as she passed a body she thought she recognized.
Butterbur?
Niphredil did not stop, however, for three reasons; the first of which was that the longer it took for her to reach Mordae and Celebdraug, the greater the chance that Glorfindel would die.
The second was that she could not stand the sight of the bodies and the blood. Another terrifying note was that the faces of all of the victims in the massacre bore looks of extreme pain and horror. That was something Niphredil definitely did not want to investigate.
The final reason was that something, or rather, Someone, was telling her to run faster; that whoever had committed this atrocity was still around, waiting for more targets.
So on Niphredil pounded, leaving behind a horde of slightly confused vampire soldiers.
Halfway between the massive spaces that separated the two armies, Aragorn met with the other three leaders, whom he could now see clearly.
Eldarion led the three, dressed in full battle array, the battle crown/helmet of Gondor atop his head. He did not look into his father's eyes, but rather swept his gaze across all three of the Dunedain.
Aragorn also recognized Aragost, one of Eldarion's childhood friends, but the young man did not seem to recognize or acknowledge him.
The final soldier was one that Aragorn did not recognize, but he sensed that Athfaë did. She covered it however, for reasons that Aragorn figured were necessary for the undercover operation inside Gondor.
Twenty meters from one another, Eldarion held up his hand, signaling for Aragorn and his entourage to halt.
A pained look crossed Aragorn's face; he obviously wished to be closer to his son.
"Eldarion!" the deposed king cried. "Why do you stop your own father from drawing near?"
"Does the Numenorian general embrace the orc?" his son retorted harshly, drawing a smile from Aragost.
"Why do you come arrayed in battle against me?" Aragorn called.
"I have come to finish that which I began so many years ago," Eldarion replied, his face emotionless.
"My son!" Aragorn sounded angry. "Are you blind? The Remnant sits at our doorstep, yet you insist on battling your own father! Why?"
"Because, 'daddy'," Eldarion spat, "You would insist that we 'join forces and live in peace and harmony'. You are weak and out-dated. Do you see my army, what I have accomplished in a mere twenty years from your insignificant empire? You soldiers are not fit to even think of battling us. They should be our slaves. I am almost saddened that you have sunk so low as to join forces with the Venyarohirrim."
Athfaë clenched her fists, as did the man to Eldarion's left, the one Aragorn did not recognize.
Aragorn jumped on this opportunity. "It would appear to me that you, too, have employed their service."
"These are not Venyarohirrim," Eldarion chastised. "These are Belgorians like Aragost and I. They have seen the folly of their fathers' ways." He narrowed his eyes. "As have I."
This was a low blow, and Aragorn felt it deep inside his gut.
"Eldarion, you must understand..."
"You are weak," Eldarion interrupted, holding up a hand. "You are desperate. And I do not wish to hear any more of your whining. I hope to meet you on the battlefield so that I may kill you myself."
The young man turned and began to stalk away with his generals.
"Eldarion!" Gandalf thundered. The King of the Fellowship halted, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Listen to reason, you fool!"
Eldarion shook his head in mockingly. "Sad. I do not take orders from you, old fool. I will seek you in battle as well." With that, the Fellowship soldiers turned and marched back toward their armies.
"The last time I was called that, the man ended up with a Rohirrim shieldmaiden's sword through his face," Gandalf replied, referring to the Witch King.
"May he receive the same fate," Athfaë growled as she watched the three go.
1,254,359...1,254,360...1,254,361...
Glorfindel looked up suddenly as a noise interrupted his counting.
"Elf!" a rumbling voice called out.
"Uh...dwarf!" Glorfindel countered.
There was a pause.
"Huh?"
"I thought we were playing a fun game," Glorfindel called up from the bottom of his cell.
There was another, longer, pause.
1,254,362...1,254,363...1,254,363
Suddenly, Glorfindel heard several large objects sliding down toward him.
"Ooh! Visitors," the elf cried happily from under his sackcloth mask.
Three pairs of hands roughly took hold of him, hoisting him onto a plank, which was drawn up out of the cell.
Glorfindel felt himself dumped onto the floor, and then, once again, he had the pleasure of being dragged across the unforgiving stones of the ground.
After a few more minutes, and another flight of stairs, the elf was hefted up onto a cold table, where his hands were unbound from the ropes and placed into metal shackles on either side of the table, leaving him in a spread-eagle position.
Another long pause.
1,254,364...
The cloth was ripped from Glorfindel's face, allowing him to see for the first time in a full day. He squinted in the glare of the torchlight.
Standing above him was a massive orc. Uruk-hai, if Glorfindel was mistaken. From the golden runes on the breastplate, the elf determined that this was most likely the head of the Remnant orcs. Grishnákh, if his memory served him.
"Glorfindel," Grishnákh growled.
The elf gazed up at the twisted face.
"Are you my mommy?"
Pain shot up Glorfindel's arm as it stretched, pulled by one of many ropes attached to the elf.
This was going to be almost as fun as Council Meetings, Glorfindel decided.
As the Fellowship leaders made their way back toward the horde, Eorlmer dropped slightly behind the others. He raised his sword and spun in three times in the air, its silhouette visible against the flag that Aragost carried, then tapped it to his horn as he lowered it, an insignificant gesture to all but Athfaë.
"Hold the charge and the arrows," she cried urgently to Aragorn, who was walking a few meters in front of her.
The king did not turn, nor question her order, but continued walking.
"On the third trumpet, Eorlmer will lead our soldiers inside the Fellowship against the unsuspecting Belgorians," Athfaë insisted.
Aragorn stopped at this, nodding slowly.
"I pray for his success."
