As usual, the world is Tolkien's and the OCs are mine, excepting the one-eyed elf, better known as Alagaith, who belongs to Dragon-of-the-north and whose stories featuring him are highly recommended.
Dragon-of-the-north: Many thanks for your kind comments. One of the things I'm trying to do is leave a lot to the reader, from subtle bits of foreshadowing to matters of interpretation, and you've made an interesting, and true, albeit unpremeditated, analysis of Caldrion's vision.

Wings of the Storm, Chapter XIV- Darkness Visible

(This section bears yet more evidence that this tale was heavily changed between when it originated and when I heard it. If one compares the time elapsed in transit on this orc campaign to the first orc campaign in the story, the inconsistency is obvious. When one looks at a map of the territory in question, the problems with the traveling times here become even more apparent. The issue then is why the journey north and west is, within the story, so much longer than the journey east. There could be multiple authors, one of whom knew the area while the other did not, but that interpretation seemingly condemns this as a work of fiction, something I am unwilling to do without more conclusive evidence. I think it is more likely that the additional traveling time was inserted to either spread out dreams already recorded or create new ones to heighten the foreshadowing.)

For all the belligerence in the expedition's departure, Caldrion could only describe it as a boring venture. Upon reaching the river, Graldor had broken the Army into five groups. Frealine and Smosur were to take their commands downstream, the former scouting ahead with the latter trailing behind to look more closely for signs and also provide for a relay system should the orc settlement be found. Caldrion and Halin led commands taking the same approach upstream. Graldor remained camping with the bulk of the force, where they would await word from the scouting parties, which were ordered to turn back if they went three days without finding anything. Despite the uncertainty inherent in that command, however, Graldor was fully confident that his order would be fulfilled: "They must be found; they will be punished."

Caldrion's sense of foreboding, which had faded as they left Aratur behind them, returned with a vengeance after his party left the rest of the Army. To maximize their chances of finding orc tracks and minimize their chances of being ambushed, he had the men pair off and ride some distance apart. He went with Aeschen, which at least meant the day could include some pleasant conversation rather than just the tedium of constantly scanning the ground. His companion could confirm that Eoscla and Sceofsen were fairly close friends and added that, in his opinion, the two would make a good couple if they were willing to stop eyeing less attainable prizes.

That first night, after his men had reassembled to sleep in the same camp, Caldrion found himself dreaming of his nephew, or rather of his nephew's body, as Walame pulled the sheet over his pale face and his friends stood around, cracking their knuckles and flexing their fists ominously. When he awoke in the morning, the feeling that he was physically riding toward whatever doom it was that he felt was added to his sense of impending dread.

The second night he again dreamed, this time of his red-haired wife riding on the plains with several other riders around her, apparently the children. Somehow he knew that they were flying because he was dead.

When they set out the next morning, he knew that this was the day they would find something. It was midafternoon before that something made its appearance. Though the track had been somewhat muddied by rain, hundreds of marching orcs had left a mark on the land that would be difficult to erase. When everyone reassembled, they confirmed what Caldrion already knew, though how he could not say: the path was southbound and continued at least as far as any of his men had ranged. He selected his fastest riders to carry the news toward Graldor and announced to the rest that they would be following the track to the town, which they would watch until the rest of the Army arrived, probably in five days or so. When Wyslun challenged the prudence of alerting everyone before they had actually located the orcs to slaughter, Caldrion replied that he knew the town would be at the end of the tracks, and no one dared to contradict that assertion.

The eight who were not sent back continued through the evening but settled, without lighting any fires, before they had seen any other signs of bipedal life. Unlike the two previous nights, Caldrion did not dream, unless one were to count the constant repetition of hoofbeats a dream. Not the happy hoofbeats of a horse running free on the plains, but the ominously controlled clips and clops of a horse whose rider is going slowly, as though searching for something.

It was not until after the sun had sunk below the mountains the next day that Caldrion's company found what they sought. Cresting a slight rise, their target was laid out before them: a fairly sizeable collection of buildings, with several columns of smoke throughout, surrounded by a circular fortification. The river flowed gracefully next to it and behind, stretching to the mountains, was a dark mass of forest. Knowing that his message would likely reach Graldor by the next morning, so they would have at least two full days to scout and lie low before the rest of the force arrived, Caldrion decided they should settle in for the night rather than trying to look around in the dark. That night, he dreamed of the Dark Lord as seen after Neblis death, a foggy figure surveying all from his window. This time, though, Caldrion saw that the face was contorted with impatient annoyance and perceived figures scurrying through the shadows at the periphery of the vision in response to orders conveyed by his gestures.

The next day was fairly uneventful. The town looked to be about the same size as Aratur was originally, though the absence of much movement between the buildings seemed to verify their belief that the town had been mostly depopulated to mount the expedition that ended in Sirgo's death. There was too much flat land around the town, including fields planted with grain, for the scouting party to get very close. Other than what looked to be a couple of human slaves walking among the fields, the only activity outside the town was the departure of a solitary orc heading toward the woods. Interestingly, the orc did not leave by the main gate, thus providing Caldrion a subject of speculation besides what the rest of the men were busy discussing: the necessary features that an ideal enslaved female would have. Interestingly, Aeschen, who had abstained from such conversation the previous night, joined Caldrion but could provide only the information that the alternative exit had not been discerned from a distance, thus reducing its potential utility as an alternative attack route.

After all the others had fallen asleep, Caldrion was still awake, wondering why he had been dreaming so frequently but so vaguely of late. When he finally dozed, another vision, this one of an innumerable horde of orcs marching west across blasted lands, filled his unconscious mind.

Other than the orc returning via the main gate the next afternoon, the day was surprisingly similar to dream: dull but tense with the anticipation that something unpleasant would happen soon. Graldor would probably arrive the next afternoon or evening, but the open ground coupled with Caldrion's caution prevented any of them from conducting a close reconnaissance of the town.

That night, Caldrion saw a different incarnation of evil than those he had previously dreamed of. They were short men, at least physiologically, but all the good had been burned out of them. Their eyes glowed only with obsessive, maniacal hate. They were poorly clad, more in skins than sewn garments, and poorly armed, with clubs, spears, simple swords, and torches as their weapons. Prodded by some unseen evil, they raged and foamed, with shouts directed at a handful of horses and riders in flight, but were somehow held back. Caldrion was briefly puzzled, until the figure at the top of the path leading down the mountain was revealed. It was an angel, at least by the reckoning of those men further removed from the mythology of Numenor. Clad in flowing white, its very skin seemed to radiate light, bright as a star sailing across the winter sky. It was armed only with a sword, and though it struck down enough of them that its tunic was stained red, there were too many and it was overwhelmed and its light quenched. It had not failed, however, for the frustration was apparent on the faces of the evil men as they realized that their quarry was too far away to pursue. As he set about breaking his fast, Caldrion wondered who could be so important as to require that an angel sacrifice its life.

It was a surprisingly autumnal day; the sun shone brightly, the air felt clear, and a gentle breeze kept it cool. Caldrion hoped that this weather extended south to Aratur and that his children could go outside and play in it. Ironically, it was the manifestation of this tendency in those older than his children that proved to be their undoing.

Sometime after midday, one of the horses began to graze dangerously close to the crest of the ridge, above which it would be clearly visible to the town. Cynebald, one of the younger soldiers who, along with Wyslun, was on horse duty at the time, decided against quietly coaxing it back and instead, succumbing to the urge to run with the cool wind flowing through his hair, tried to herd it. Wyslun, in a fairly characteristic lapse of judgment, joined the chase. The horse, which was decidedly unamused by two men running at it from opposite directions, elected to move in a third direction, toward the town.

Caldrion heard Cynebald's shout of exultation in the chase and, as soon as he looked up, realized that it would be too late to save them. Neither man was aware of the danger they were in until a half-dozen figures came running out the main gate. They were mostly of medium height and did not appear to be especially muscular or heavily armed. Not orcs. They were… men, Caldrion concluded with a start. Men… and women. Caldrion dashed over toward his own horse and mounted, gesturing that the others, who had all done likewise upon noticing the commotion below, should wait until he had determined the intentions of these humans.

By the time Caldrion cleared the ridge, the pursuit was forgotten and the horse was grazing happily as the two groups stared at each, both tense but neither willing to make an aggressive move. Riding with his palms open before him to show that he was not bearing a weapon, he reached them, dismounted, and acknowledged those from the town with a nod and the greeting "Peace." "Who are you?" the fairly attractive woman standing at the front of them asked.

"We are men from Aratur, a kingdom on the southern part of these plains. If you do not harbor orcs, then you need not fear us or our King when he arrives. My name is Caldrion, and I am a friend and advisor of Graldor, our King." He offered his hand and the woman took it.

"I'm Osda, the leader of Rising Sun, and you need not fear the orcs. Almost all of them marched out a few weeks ago, and we killed the rest and took control shortly thereafter." She turned toward the town and gestured for the others to follow. Caldrion, after waving to the others, did so.

"How did you know they wouldn't come back?"

"In a dream I saw them swept away by a flood."

Caldrion paused in surprise. "I saw them swept away by a flood with my own eyes. We came north to kill the rest of them and free their slaves, but it appears that you have already done that." She nodded slightly but did not respond. Caldrion thought she might be remembering some experience from her enslavement so, trying to change the subject, he asked "Why do you call it Rising Sun?"

"The town represents a new day in our lives. The sunrise from here is spectacular." Caldrion acknowledged the truth of that statement before she added, as the corners of her mouth turned upwards, "And the orcish name was too obscene to keep."

As they approached the gate, Caldrion dropped back and ordered Cynebald and Wyslun to wait outside to meet Graldor when he came and inform him of the changed situation.

Upon entering the town, they were greeted by a crowd of young-to-middle-aged men and women, some of them armed and all looking relieved, suspicious, or some combination of the two. Caldrion's eye was drawn to two tall men standing in the back who were not men at all, but rather elves. He barely heard Osda offer him and his men whatever hospitality Rising Sun could provide as he walked through the crowd, drawn as always to the Firstborn.

Standing before them, he halted. Both looked as though they had traveled long and seen many hard times. One was pale, clothed in dirty garments of undeterminable origin, and sported an eye patch that marred his otherwise fair features. As for the other, even had he not looked vaguely familiar, how many elves without noses could there be?

The noseless elf looked surprised and somewhat apprehensive but he answered the man's bow of acknowledgement and asked "And what brings you this far north, Master… Caldrion?"

Grinning at the fact that the elf had remembered his name, he responded "Nay, sir, just Caldrion without the 'Master,' for I was married a few years after your departure, on St. Gwindor's Day." The noseless elf looked puzzled, but the one-eyed one began laughing uproariously. Looking curiously at his companion, the noseless elf answered "Please, call me Noseless, and this is One-Eye. One-Eye, this is Caldrion, who got me out that town with the crazy king I mentioned yesterday. I did not expect to ever meet him again, nevermind in this town at which I so recently arrived."

"Well, we came north planning to liberate the slaves left behind by a huge army of orcs that would have killed or captured Graldor had Sirgo, our prophet, not killed himself calling a flood that drowned them."

Noseless took in a sharp breath. "Is Graldor here?"

"No, but he will be before too long."

Noseless hissed again and turned to One-Eye. "You should be away before he arrives. As should I, at least until he leaves." One-Eye, presumably having heard about all of Noseless' experience in Aratur, nodded. "I'll go finish getting our supplies then."

As he walked off, Caldrion tried to reassure Noseless that the elves would be safe. "Graldor would not try anything again. He thinks you used magic to escape from Aratur last time." Caldrion snickered, but the elf did not seem to find it funny. He began leading Caldrion in the same direction that One-Eye had left in. "So who is he?" Caldrion asked, unsure if it would be safe to ask Noseless about himself, given that their only connection was that getaway years prior and, in truth, he knew next to nothing about Noseless either.

"A rogue, a traveling vagabond. No home except where he is, no possessions save what he can steal, no work but aid offered to those who might trust an outlaw. The same as I was, after you freed me." He turned and entered a hut, Caldrion following. It was bare, save for a blanket, a bow and arrows, a large tube that might have contained a scroll, a few knives, at least one of which was for woodcarving, and a couple other small items.

"How did he come here?"

"I was taking a stroll near the armory three nights ago when he came through a significant gap between two of the boards that comprise the fence surrounding the town. I jumped on him from behind the corner but, upon realizing he was an elf, decided to personally ask him for an explanation of who he was and what he was doing sneaking into Rising Sun instead of taking him to Osda. He admitted that he was a lone wanderer hoping to obtain supplies but afraid of the reception he might receive. We moved to a dark corner of the armory and talked through what remained of the night as well as much of the morning, he hoping to obtain more information about the town and the area, I simply enjoying my first chance to talk to an elf in years. No matter how much time I spend in the company of humans, I have never succeeded in entirely understanding them and they have never succeeded in understanding me. I suppose you men are just a different species, and one less inclined to good. But I digress. I finally told One-Eye that I would not turn him in and instead told him to go back the way he had come and enter openly by the gate the next day. If he had anything to trade for whatever supplies he needed, he could do so, and if not I would help him steal them, because I would have wanted the same done for me when I was journeying alone."

Caldrion was glad to know the answer to the riddle of the lone orc and the hidden exit, but also disturbed by the thought of Noseless being on his own. "You had to travel alone? What about the other elf? Could you not return to your family?"

"They're long dead" he said in a voice devoid of life. "I should have been too, but after the orcs killed my family and burned our little home in the woods, some of them recognized that there was still life in me and took me into ten years of captivity, where they battered off my already broken nose but refused to let me die, as the Valar know they should have." He looked up and met Caldrion's eyes. "But that is in the past. After you rescued us, not once but twice, Gimp took his horse and went to seek his family in the Havens. I took the horse and went west, hoping against hope that by some miracle I was not the only survivor of my family. I searched Enedwaith long and hard, but found none. And what the orcs are doing to the land… The forests are being felled methodically and they are battering the land itself, as though, in the absence of an enemy army, they can take out their hatred of all good on the rocks and the trees and the creatures that live therein. And the wild men, settled here and there praying that the orcs will not find them, are little better. Your king is not the only man with strange ideas regarding how men and elves should relate. Those that I took shelter with eventually tried to enslave me, so after many years hunting where I could and stealing where I could not, afraid to trust such uncivilized and seemingly evil men, I came back east, hoping I might be able to find a way north on this side of the Misty Mountains, but I came here, only a couple weeks past, and was accepted… Do you know how long I have gone without anything, a family, a friend, a location, that I could call home? Your king would do well to follow their ways: they think first on survival, accept all of us with nowhere else, and care little for conquest and spoils."

"That is not his destiny. The Valar have called him to make these plains an empire. And it is my task to keep him alive and help him to do so."

"At least you have a purpose. Am I doomed by some unknown transgression to wander forever without a family? Surely there was some reason I was allowed to live, but I do not see it."

Caldrion was unsure how to answer but the sound of horses and loud dialogue from outside saved him from having to do so. Graldor, apparently, had arrived. "I'll be right back," Caldrion stated before sweeping out of the room and heading back toward the gate.

When he got there, after taking several wrong turns and being undeniably lost at least once, the men had dismounted and were standing behind their leader. Though seemingly at ease, most were fingering their weapons as though ready for a fight at any moment. Across from them, various people of Rising Sun were also fingering their weapons, though they seemed far less optimistic about their chances should it come to a fight. Graldor and Osda stood between the two groups, talking loudly and animatedly, the former looking annoyed that he was not only facing a woman but one who was tall enough that he could not look down on her. Getting as close to them as he could without pushing through either group, he began to catch Graldor's words.

"… surrender."

"Why this hostility? We have done nothing to harm you and would have welcomed an alliance."

"When you surrender, you will be brought south with us so we can make sure you do nothing to bring further harm upon us."

"We have never done harm to you! We didn't even know you existed! And we never will harm you unless you give us reason."

"You already have, by sending your orc minions against us. You will surrender and be brought from this orc haven and will consider yourselves grateful for the mercy of Graldor."

"We will not leave our homes!"

"You will surrender!"

"We will ally!"

"Surrender, damn it!" Graldor said before grabbing Osda around the waist and kissing her lustfully on the lips. She struggled against his grasp and managed to shove him backwards. He slapped her with a force that dropped her to her knees, then turned to the soldiers arrayed behind him. "Kill them. All of them."

Some of the soldiers grinned wickedly and drew their weapons, but most gasped and looked disgusted. Caldrion was shocked. "My lord!" he cried.

Osda, her breath coming in spurts as though the slap had knocked the wind out of her, pleaded, "Mercy, my lord. I… I will submit to your will." Caldrion was shocked, realizing that the debate between the leaders had not simply been about political union but about personal, or at least physical, union as well. Graldor stared down on her prostrate form for a moment before turning to the soldiers again. "Change that. Fuck them, then kill them."

Caldrion began running toward the King, pushing people out of his way. "Graldor! What are you doing? These are innocents, slaves only recently liberated. How can we do such an evil as kill them?"

Graldor shook his head, looking almost sad. "If you knew what I do of the villains, you would not so readily defend them." He then addressed his friend more loudly. "How dare you question my authority? Men, obey me!" He turned around, slipped on the ring, and drew his sword. Behind him, the soldiers advanced, most looking as though this was a task that, although distasteful, must be done because the King ordered it. Opposite them, the villagers looked determined to at least go down fighting. Strangely, neither side let out a yell or any such pre-battle vocalization. The silence was oppressive.

Caldrion had a sudden urge to draw his sword and kill the man who ordered such an evil thing and take his ring… No, not take his ring, but end the evil that his master had so suddenly become. Or at least use his sword to defend these poor people and, perhaps, thereby persuade at least some of the Army not to slaughter those who were not guilty… But no, this was his King, and to protect him was his Valar-given purpose… Noseless!

Caldrion turned and began running in the opposite direction. He had to find Noseless and get him out. As he left the courtyard, he noted that perhaps a dozen men were guarding the gate. He would have to hope that they could still sneak out behind the armory.

Somehow managing to not get lost while navigating the largely unknown town at high speed, he came to what he was fairly certain was Noseless' hut, though the conspicuous absence of the elf resulted in a minute of self doubt during which he stood dumbly at the entrance to the hut wondering where he should search and knowing that his time was very limited. Fortunately, before he had decided in which direction to continue his search, One-Eye came around the corner, his expression concerned and confused, apparently by the noises from the vicinity of the gate, and his arms loaded up with various packages, the largest one appearing to be clothing. Because he was carrying them openly, Caldrion assumed that he must have traded for them rather than stolen them.

"One-Eye! You need to get out of here immediately. Graldor is attacking the town and the defenders will not be able to fight for long. Do you know where Noseless is?"

"Possibly at the armory where I first met him. This way."

Luckily for all involved, One-Eye not only knew the town better than Caldrion but also had the correct read on Noseless' tendencies. He was indeed in the armory, which, despite its name, housed no weapons, but only a few agricultural tools, one of which One-Eye grabbed. Caldrion would later assume that what few weapons they had been able to take from their orc captors were being kept by individuals, who were in turn actively fighting at that time. Noseless looked slightly bewildered as Caldrion grabbed him and all but threw him out the door.

"Get out of here! Graldor's having everybody killed, but I would not put it beyond him to again attempt to enslave you. You must leave by One-Eye's secret way if you hope to remain alive and free."

One-Eye needed no further prompting to move to the gap. Instead of passing through, however, he set down his parcels and, using the shovel he had taken, managed to knock off the two boards flanking the gap, significantly widening it so that he could quickly and easily get through with his supplies.

Behind him, however, Noseless was making no move to follow but was instead looking back toward the main gate, close to which a fire had broken out (or, more likely, been set), with a fell glint in his eyes as he fingered an arrow. "Maybe I do not want to live. Maybe the Valar kept me alive so that I might rid Middle-earth of this insane villain before joining my family."

Caldrion gasped with alarm but, instead of drawing his sword to block the elf, looked pleadingly at One-Eye. The other elf must have understood, because he came up behind Noseless, grabbed one of his arms as Caldrion grabbed the other, and the two of them dragged him outside the wall. Noseless did little to resist them and made no move to reenter Rising Sun, which might now be better called Setting Sun or Spreading Fire, based on the way more structures seemed to be going up in flames. One-Eye did reenter, but only to quickly retrieve his supplies, the obtaining of which had turned into quite an adventure.

"I cannot let you kill my King," Caldrion said, trying to calm Noseless while keeping calm himself. "I can let you go, though, and you must get across the river before you are seen."

"Where should I go? No elves can replace my family, men only wish me ill…"

One-Eye interrupted. "Come with us. Both of you. The others would welcome the additional company, even if the life we have to offer is not much better than this one."

"Others?" Caldrion asked.

"Just a few more outcasts like myself. We wander and get by however we can. This is not a life I would wish on anyone except those otherwise doomed to die or entrapped in the service of such a cruel and mad King." He turned to Noseless. "I cannot say if there is a reason for me to live either, except to be with my friends, but I can at least offer to you that purpose." Addressing Caldrion, he added "I hardly know you, except that you seem a decent person and you saved my life with that warning. Now let me save yours by leading you away from this spreading evil."

Behind them, the fires were expanding further, as were the screams of the victims and the roars of the perpetrators. Against this backdrop, Caldrion stood and answered One-Eye, his own decision already made. "No. The Valar appointed me to protect him, and I must do so. If any can turn him from this path of destruction to fulfill his empire, I can do so." He softened his tone. "And even if I could leave Graldor, my family remains in Aratur. I was afraid that I would die in battle with the orcs and be unable to return to them and, having avoided such a death, I have to go back."

Noseless, despite having admitted that losing his family had sapped his will to live, tried one more appeal. "Come with us."

"No. My place is here, for better or worse. Just go. And trust me that, contrary to what you see today, there is some good in man."

"Yes," Noseless replied. "Even if it runs only in your blood, there is some good."

Caldrion did not watch them go, but instead turned back. It now appeared that most of the buildings had caught and the flames and smoke were obscuring what should have been a gorgeous afternoon. After briefly contemplating the scene, as though to convince himself of the rightness of staying with Graldor, he strode back into Rising Sun.

As soon as he entered, he sped up and ran toward the gate. He passed bodies and soldiers, some of whom were dashing in and out of huts taking whatever they could find and others of whom were playing with their victims, as it were, before killing them. Not too far from the gates, he found Graldor, still wearing his ring and with a trail behind him that seemed to indicate that he was the one actively leading the soldiers in the raping and killing if not the plundering. Caldrion could neither stand to watch nor tear his eyes away as Graldor thrust his sword into some poor woman, laughing as he did it. Not the hearty laugh that Caldrion remembered, but a high-pitched laugh that approached being a shriek.

Unable to stand any more, he turned around and ran out the gates. None of the soldiers near them attempted to stop him, and once outside he found himself helping Halin, Aeschen, and several others, who had presumably refused to participate in the slaughter, in the fairly difficult task of keeping the horses under control in the presence of such a large fire. It fell to Halin, who had been riding with Graldor that afternoon, to fill in his old friend about how the slaughter had developed.

When the Army approached, Wyslun had greeted the King and told him that a woman had claimed to be the ruler of the ex-slaves who had ousted their orc masters before beginning a quiet conference with him, during which Caldrion's name could be heard several times amidst otherwise undistinguishable whispering. Graldor had then told the men to dismount and follow him into the city. It appeared to be populated by freed slaves, he said, but he could not be certain of their trustworthiness and would demand their surrender. If they did not do so, the army should be prepared to attack and kill them, which was quite obviously how events had played out. Halin also expressed serious concern that, between whatever Wyslun had said and Caldrion's challenge of the King's command, Caldrion had, at the very least, fallen even further out of favor and might, given Graldor's behavior that day, be in danger of not returning to Aratur alive.