Cysne's notes: This chapter may be shorter, but it plays a major role in the story. And I really mean it, you'll see at the end! I think it's also a good time to say to whatever Tolkien purists that may be out there reading, that this chapter has something of AU. Very slight, but it's there. Hope you enjoy it and thanks everyone for reading!

Ainu Laire: Many thanks for the tip on the summary! Hopefully it's better now? The thing is that I have trouble in not giving away the whole plot and still saying just enough to make it suggestive!... The horror!! ;) Hantal!

Antigone Q: You're refering to his advisors, right? Well, Elessar may have become proud and arrogant, but those guys aren't exactly 'models of virtue' either... ;) Thanks for reading!

Star-Stallion: Is this soon enough? Lol! I'm so glad you are liking! Next chapter's already partially written, so, if all goes well, we shouldn't take long in putting it up! ;) Hantal

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Chapter III: Anórien


The patient and lone fisherman left his house that day, as he had been doing for the past years. The ground and the grass had a well-defined path carved across them due to the repetition of that ritual. Fishing rod over his shoulder and two large wrapped nets in his arms, this day started no differently, as the sun bathed the westernmost part of Anfalas.

The beach extended itself to no end, making good justice to its name, Long Shore, and the poor fisherman noted that there was hardly any mist over the waters, for the distant and looming mountains in Belfalas could be glimpsed. "A fine day," he told himself as he entered the waters. He calmly unfolded the first one of his nets and fixed it firmly and deeply on the underwater sand. After the high-water had come, he would return to find it full of fish. After repeating the procedure on the second, he continued on his path.

He was heading towards «his place», as it had become known in the region. A low ragged cliff that defied the sea's domain was where he always spent the day with his rod, waiting for some foolish fish to bite. He knew that it was useless, the majority of his income came from the nets spread upon the beach, but he relished the time to think and be by himself. "Stupid fish, they grow smarter every day," he would say to his mates.

He was considering whether or not to pull out his pipe for a good smoke, when he thought he saw something looming in the distance. He strained his eyes to see if he could make out what it was exactly, but kept only the impression that it was a small fleet of black-sailed ships, before it disappeared as fast as it had come in the lingering mist.

"The flag of Gondor is black, must have been that I saw, though I wonder what they were doing here. They never come this way." But then again, he never had cared much for the comings and goings of the political lay of the world. Minas Tirith, even though being the capital of his nation, was nothing but a name for him, as meaningless as it was distant. His business was with the fish and the trading at the nearest town.

~*~

The plains south of the Entwash delta presented themselves before the warrior party of Gondor with a welcomingly temperate climate. They had finally reached Anórien.

The horses were tiring, and Elessar knew it. The cold may have stayed behind them, but the animals had been wearied by it. The mountains had been especially inclement and unforgiving on them, and they had no other choice but to stop if they didn't want to walk the horses to death. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that Elessar gave out the order for the party to set camp for the day earlier than what he would have liked. That would only delay their arrival at the assailed village further.

The night was uneventful and indeed advantageous for the horses, who recovered their might at record breaking time. Meanwhile, in Elessar's tent, the King had his map of Anrien stretched open upon an improvised table and held conference with Andril, concerning the final stage of their travel. The lad's time to guide them had finally come.

Though being reluctantly led by the boy, incredibly nervous at the responsibility of being in charge of the party's course, once the sun had occupied its higher point in the sky the next day, King Elessar ordered the warriors to dismount and continue on foot. They had reached the end of their journey, for the razed town laid in sight. It was a disgraceful view, on all measures.

The first thing they saw was black smoke rising up to stain the sky. Then, as they went up a small hill to get closer, the entirety of the situation hit them. The lad had indeed left the town before the orcs had had the time to complete destroying it, he probably wouldn't have lived through it if he hadn't, for calling it a small attack by a small group of orcs had certainly been the understatement of the decade.

No building, tower, storage, house or farm, had been left standing. The stones were darkened by fires that still burnt, fires that had eaten through the wood structure supporting the walls and roof and had already consumed the poor contents of the houses. The foul smell was only aggravated by the one which had remained from the orcs' passage. Debris were everywhere, though nothing moved among the sad remnants of the collapsed village.

Upon further approach, to the warriors revolt and Andril's absolute disgust, they found a mocking pile, darkly fuming, where the maimed bodies of all the peaceful villagers laid. Poor souls. They never stood a chance, Elessar thought, lowering his head slightly in respect for the fallen. Aloud, though, he said something quite different, pulling his second to the side.

"Orcharion, I highly doubt it, but, in any case, I want you to stay here with some warriors and look for anyone who might have survived among the ruins. See what you can do to comfort the lad, Andril, as well."

After the captain had nodded his assent, Elessar directed to the whole party. "We'll split into two groups! One will stay with Orcharion here in the village, and the other goes with me to look for the orcs' trail. Let's hunt down these foul creatures!"

Andril made a move to join in with the second group, but Orcharion put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "You stay with me, young one." The face that met the captain's was so full of rage that, for a second only, Orcharion was compelled to step away, but he had his orders and knew that the boy was hardly in any condition to meet the orcs. He would be killed in a flash. The two stayed with three more warriors.

Elessar's group searched the village's perimeter, seeking the path the orcs had taken to leave, hoping it would lead them to the creatures' hideout. Being at least a week old, he expected the tracks to have faded by natural erosion, but, on the contrary, they were ridiculously easily found, for the region was relatively arid. Nothing but the rocks emerging from the grassy hills and the occasional tree and shrub here and there. It led North and Elessar followed it confidently.

After merely an hour of walking, they stumbled upon that which they sought. A black stain in the landscape. There weren't many orcs on that site, perhaps two orcs per man, and those that there were, were slumberous, sleeping, sheltered from the sun. It was a perfect opportunity to strike, while they were all off guard and unprotected.

It never crossed Elessar's mind to consider why the orcs would remain so close to the zone they'd attacked after such a long time had passed, for he would have found it strange and would have spent more time investigating the orc camp. But his confidence and pride had blinded him and he immediately ordered the attack without hesitation, the image of the smoking pile still too fresh and vivid in his memory. His men scattered and surrounded the enemies silently, it should increase their advantage, and only afterwards fell upon the orcs.

War cries, both human and orcish, unheard for a long time, ran freely through the black camp, and some screams of pain were perceptible among them. Andril was drawn from its sheath once more, and it vibrated in Elessar's hands, blazing in the sun. A first orc's dark blood dripped unceremoniously down the sharp blade as its head was cleanly separated from the correspondent body, and so did a second one's mingle with it easily.

Suddenly, a different cry joined the ones already heard and Elessar briefly risked looking round for the source. More orcs were joining to the fight, coming from behind the men. Realisation flooded him, as the King of Men found that he had been lured into a trap, and, worse of all, he had swollen it whole. His party was now stuck between two fronts.

A distant corner in his mind took the time to notice how the orcs seemed to be concentrating their efforts on him, above any of the other warriors. One would think they were expecting to find me here, he subconsciously wondered.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group was disposing of the offending orcs heading their way with some ease, but not free of trouble either. They may have been outnumbered, but the orcs were no match for the experienced Gondorian men.

Eluding the path of a rusted blade aimed at his head at the last possible minute after his small reverie, Elessar rotated on his heels and managed to bury his sword up to the hilt in his third orc's back. A fourth, a fifth and a sixth came afterwards, but they too met their end at that fearsome blade's tip. Then a seventh approached from behind.

Elessar saw him coming, but his arms had become sore with the action to which he had unaccustomed himself to and Andúril was too heavy to be removed from where it was still embedded in the last orc's torso fast enough. Elessar's position was hardly favourable, and, with a maniacal and rotten grin, the orc wasted no time in stabbing Elessar right in the middle of the chest.

He gasped, both in surprise and sudden realisation that he would most likely die in those fields. Conjuring what was left of his strength, his hand made for his boot and the dagger within. He was able to slit the orc's throat and remove the twisted blade off from himself. But it was too late and the damage had already been done.

His knees lost the necessary strength and solidity to hold his weight and his sight faltered. Visions of the still ongoing fight were the last thing he saw before ultimately closing his eyes. King Elessar, the man who had brought back hope to the world and had reunited Gondor, fell onto the ground and passed out of the knowledge of this world.


TBC...