A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the town of Butte, Montana and by the end of the chapter, you will understand why.
This is an extremely long chapter but I could not split it and still keep the integrity of this part of the story.
Many of you will recognize the quote near the end as one that came from FOTR and was also spoken by Gandalf in ROTK. The quote belongs to the great Professor and not to me.
Thanks to Nanahalfelven and husband, Mike, Nana for doing some research for me and also both Nana and Mike for giving me the benefit of their archery expertise when I was trying to figure out how to make Huan's arrows sing. You're the best!
In the darkness I have wept bitter tears
for what I had not the strength to do in an age long gone,
but this day, a new sun rises and the time of my redemption draws near.
Chapter 43
Redemption
As they got closer to the edge of the forest, Anayah started walking backwards as she explained what she wanted to do and what Greyfell could do to help her. When she saw the expression on his face change to one of extreme seriousness, she instantly knew that there was somebody or something behind her and whirled. She screamed in fright and dropped the armload of quivers she had been carrying then reacted just as any mature elf would have reacted if they had found themselves in the same circumstances - she drew back her foot and kicked the strange being in the shins - hard. She stepped back with her hand over her madly beating heart then held up a hand to stop Greyfell who was walking forward, sword in hand and also Elias who was moving forward to intervene if necessary.
"Peace, you two. They mean us no harm - they just scared me half to death for I fear my nerves are quite raw at the moment."
The elf stopped but didn't relax his aggressive stance as he stood ready to defend his friend.
"What do you mean they mean us no harm? Just who are they?"
She smiled up at Greyfell.
"Don't worry. This is a Thurin Tirith Unit and their Charge, one of the four remaining units on Middle-earth."
Elias nickered and Anayah looked at the stallion before she turned and faced the elves with a surprised look on her face. The two largest elves were holding up the smaller elf as he hopped about in one place on one foot while rubbing his bruised shin. Anayah had to admit to herself that the word "smaller" was probably not the best word she could have chosen to describe the wounded elf for he was easily as large as her own Súrion - and he had an air of nobility that suited him well, wounded shin or not.
"My apologies, Prince Banion. It was not my intention to inflict a grievous wound upon you, but in my own defense I must tell you that you startled me. This place unnerves me and I am afraid things will not get much better until the present conflict has been resolved."
The dark-haired prince chuckled.
"My father, the Avari King, will want to know who it was that wounded the heir to his throne, my Lady, so that he may send a great army to avenge the misdeed."
Anayah pushed the big elves away from their Charge then taking the Prince's arm, helped him sit on a nearby fallen tree then pulled up the legging to expose the blossoming bruise on the elf's lower leg. Greyfell handed her the healer's kit and after rummaging around in it, found the tin of ointment she wanted and started applying the medicine to the bruise.
"I am Anayah Dúnedhel, my Lord, and I do not think your father should worry himself overmuch about your wound for now that I see it I do not think it is as life threatening as we first thought."
The Prince had been studying her and frowned in puzzlement.
"I am curious as to how you knew who I was, Lady Anayah, for I do not believe we have met before this day and you were unconscious the night we said 'hello' to your Guards."
Anayah briefly looked up before returning her attention to the elf's bruised shin.
"My horse told me who you were." Anayah shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.
She said no more although she knew the elves around her were quite puzzled by her statement and when she glanced up at them, could tell that they were doing their best not to laugh outright at her. They all looked at Elias who was standing nearby, alertly watching everything that was going on then back to Anayah. When Elias turned his head toward Anayah and nickered, she burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry for laughing, my Lord, but Elias has just reproached me for teasing you." Having finished her work, she pulled down the legging then put the tin of ointment back in her healer's kit. "Elias is a full-blood Mearas and knows the speech of men and when he so chooses, can communicate with me."
The two elves rose and walked to where Elias was standing and the Prince instantly made a friend of the stallion when he began to rub the 'sweet spot' behind his ears.
"So, Prince Banion, what are you doing here and at such a difficult time?"
The Prince smiled as he continued to rub the horse's head until the big stallion was almost leaning into his hand.
"My Guards and I were out on patrol for my father when we found a great herd of white horses running loose through the countryside. Recognizing them to be chariot horses of the Wainriders, we came to investigate why Hoth would have lost so many of the fine animals. We arrived the night your Guards were riding away from Hoth with you in your Captain's arms, and have been watching the happenings around here since that time."
He glanced at Greyfell then at Anayah. Her eyes widened.
"Where are my manners!" She walked to where Greyfell was standing and took his arm. "Prince Banion, this is Captain Greyfell."
Banion looked closely at Greyfell then back at Anayah.
"I hope I do not transgress if I greet your friend as one of our kind?"
Anayah looked at Greyfell who had blushed at the Prince's words and squeezed his arm encouragingly.
"No, my Lord, you would not."
The Prince touched his forehead.
"Then it is my honor to meet you, Captain Greyfell."
Greyfell touched his forehead.
"As it is mine, Prince Banion of the Avari."
Banion stepped back to his Guards and pointed to each of the stern-faced elves standing behind him.
"This is Captain Erenol, Lieutenant Bansil, Lieutenant Eglamar and Lieutenant Duilin."
The four elves nodded politely.
"Now that the appropriate courtesies have been met and the resulting wounds have been dutifully tended, I must ask how my unit and I may assist our Thurin Tirith brothers in this present conflict. You could also perhaps explain why you are not with them on the battlefield."
Anayah turned to Greyfell.
"Greyfell, I think I like this Prince for he did not instantly assume that because I am a female that I should be at home baking pastries and waiting for my husband to return with the meat to feed our family!"
Greyfell found that he was not the only elf who chuckled, for the elves called Erenol and Bansil both had to turn away as they hid their quiet laughs. There was a twinkle in the Prince's eyes.
"I would not want to exhibit such unseemly conduct, Lady Anayah, for I have only one other shin and I wish for it to remain intact for the foreseeable future!"
Anayah's eyes crinkled up as she laughed.
"You make me laugh, Prince Banion and I have had so little cause to do so as of late. As to your question, I was injured in a sword duel and my brother told me I couldn't come out and play until I was better - my Guards fight in my name."
After they had all finished laughing Greyfell explained.
"The Lady suffered hurt when she fought and beheaded Ostara, the High Chieftain of the Wainriders."
"You were the one who killed that overgrown dog?"
Anayah's mouth fell open - just before she burst into laughter.
"I'm sorry, my Lord," she said as she wiped tears from her eyes, "but I never believed I would hear another being put my own thoughts into words."
"Everyone that knew her thought it, Anayah, but few possessed the courage to say it to her face. When my Guards and I walked the streets of the city we heard many people talking about the duel," he grew serious for a moment, "and also that the brave warrior had almost died from wounds received at that time."
He looked at the arrows scattered on the ground then glanced at his Captain who then came forward with the elf called Bansil and began gathering them up while he and Anayah talked.
"My brother is a tall, dark-haired human who fights by the side of a blonde elf underneath the white banner. You will not be able to miss my Guards for they will be the only other elves on the field and are quite large. If possible, present yourself to my brother first, and he will direct you to where you are needed."
Bansil got the Prince's attention and handed one of the long, ebony-shafted arrows to the elf, who looked at Anayah in surprise and who, in turn, blushed.
"These are the arrows of a Great Long Bow, my Lady. It is not a conventional weapon of war and there are not many archers who can claim a great degree of competence with such a weapon."
"You are correct, my Lord, for it is not the weapon of choice for close-contact conflicts. I hold sharpshooter status with Huan and have only used him for distance shooting, not because I lack courage for close contact battles, but since I don't relish pain, if I can get out of having it inflicted upon me by shooting the enemy from farther away - I will."
The Avari Prince continued to study the arrow, especially the intricate open-scroll work on the arrowhead.
"I can tell by this scrollwork that your arrows sing their name as they fly - Carch o Huan - Fang of Huan." He read. "Quite appropriate."
Finally the arrows had all been put back in the quivers and the elves stood and made ready to leave, nodding politely to Anayah and Greyfell as they did.
"We must take our leave now, Lady Anayah, Captain Greyfell, although I feel that there may come a time when we will meet again. May that day not be too far in the future."
Anayah nodded her head.
"Until then, my Lord - luck in battle."
The five elves turned and walked away.
Anayah continued to stare after the retreating elves until Greyfell gently tapped her arm and reclaimed her attention.
"Shall we be about our business, Anayah?"
Nodding, Anayah once more took up Huan's case and some of the quivers of arrows then she and Greyfell once more started making their way to the edge of the forest. They had walked for a few minutes when Anayah noticed the serious look on her companion's face.
"Greyfell? Your thoughts?"
The elf thought a moment before he spoke.
"The Prince knew I was an elf and accepted me instantly - two things I would not have thought possible. Could you explain how this was so?"
Anayah smiled then reached out and patted his arm.
"To answer the second question first, my friend, you have had nothing but unhappy experiences with other elves to base your own feelings on. Not all elves are so thoughtless - as you will find out - although there are those who will always look with disfavor upon those of us who carry the blood of humans within us. The answer to your first question of how did he know you were an elf? Simple, Greyfell. He could see your glow."
Greyfell stopped in amazement for he had not realized that he had turned this normal part of his elven physiology loose and had felt comfortable doing so. Anayah walked back to where he was standing and nudged him back into movement.
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The two elves soon reached the edge of the forest and for a moment stood looking out over the battlefield. Although it was a distance away, they could both plainly hear the screams of the injured and dying and could see the pall of dust that hung over the field like a death shroud. Anayah glanced at the darkening sky and could imagine that even the elements were about to take sides in the conflict.
She turned to Greyfell as she started setting up the stand for Huan's arrows then started going over what she wanted Greyfell to do.
"I will not take my eye off my target once I have begun shooting so it will be up to you to keep the stand full of arrows."
She bent over and taking a nearby twig, began to draw in the soil.
"I want you to imagine the field marked off in a grid pattern and numbered." She drew numbers in each of the grids. "When you see someone in trouble either call out their name and the number of the grid or just call out the number. If I can't take the shot I will call out the words 'no shot' after which you will immediately search out another target for me. I will be looking for my own shots as well. You probably now understand why I will not be taking my eyes off the field - it would be too easy to lose track of a potential target."
"Have you ever missed a shot under these conditions?"
Anayah's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as surprise took her voice from her. Finally she reached out and playfully slapped Greyfell's arm.
"What are you trying to do? Are you trying to doom my shots from the beginning?"
The elf blushed and stammered and finally Anayah relented in her teasing and laid a hand on his face.
"Be at peace, Greyfell, for I only jest."
He looked at her as she turned away and started to open Huan's case.
"I knew that."
Anayah just shook her head. She then turned back to the business at hand and spoke to the bow.
"Ok, Huan, let's get this thing done."
Taking the bow in both hands, she swiveled the ends to the outside until they clicked into their locked positions. Standing, she rolled her shoulders, wincing at the pull she felt from her healing wounds. Then looking out onto the field, she found a target and reached for an arrow then as was her habit for a first shot, began her archer's mantra.
An archer must be ...
Keen of eye ... She notched the arrow.
Sure of hand ... She drew back the string, the supple ends of the great bow curving towards her.
Fleet of foot ... She took a deep breath and held it.
Canny of mind ... She released the arrow.
The arrow flew from the bow a great, black harbinger of death, flying towards its target and finally burying itself in the chest of a Wainrider soldier.
And so it began ...
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Garm sat at one end of the field watching his chariots fall apart and his men fighting disjointedly as they tried to avoid exploding devices, holes in the earth and panicked horses running here and there as they tried to escape what they did not understand. It was not that the Wainriders were in any danger of losing the battle, at the moment, but their lack of organization and discipline was an unnerving experience for him.
Time and again his men had tried to fight their way to the human who fought near the white banner, the symbol of the rebellion, and time and again had been fought back, either by the elves or by the young man's personal guards. The more time that passed the more frustrated he was becoming, a trait his former leader had never been able to break him of. Finally, he had had enough and after signaling the Chieftains, led them into the middle of the battle.
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Aragorn had been surprised when an elf he had never seen before fought his way to his side. He instantly recognized the four warriors with him as Thurin Tirith warriors for they wore the same small insignia pins on the collars of their tunics as did Anayah's Guards.
"My Lord, we come to serve. Direct us to where we can best meet your needs."
He pointed to where a line of humans was being heavily engaged and requested that the elf and his Guards do what they could to support and strengthen that line. With a nod, the elf turned and rode to where Aragorn had pointed. Thoughts as to who the unknown elf was, would have to be saved for later and so he pushed them to the back of his mind as he turned back to the battle that raged around him.
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As was their habit whenever they fought in the same battle, Elladan and Elrohir fought side-by-side, each watching out for the other. Although the twins could laugh and joke over almost anything in their lives and took great joy from the experiences of life, when it came to fighting they always proved themselves able warriors and worthy of being called the sons of Elrond, former second-in-command to the great King Gil-Galad. Their intensity and skill in battle was unmatched as they fought fiercely anywhere on the battlefield they were needed.
With a fierce cry, Elladan leaped forward, aiming his sword at the soldier's throat, and who then leaned back and away from the thrust. The human was off-balance, unable to defend himself and taking advantage of this, the eldest twin took a step sideways and swinging his sword in a double-handed arc neatly beheaded the man. Just before engaging another human soldier, he looked to where his twin was fighting his own opponent then moved toward him as he saw another Wainrider trying to come at him from behind. He whistled twice and Elrohir instantly spun and drove his sword fully into the soldier's stomach, the shock of his wound killing the man quickly.
When the first soldier looked in the direction the whistle had come from, all he saw was a fist coming at his face and when it hit, it drove him backwards onto the sword point of the elf he had originally been fighting with. After freeing his sword from the man's twitching body, Elrohir looked up and caught Elladan's eye. The two nodded to each other then turned back to the battle.
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There were many great deeds done on the battlefield that day, not the least of them coming from the Thurin Tirith Guards. Fearless, tenacious and with seemingly indefatigable bodies and spirits the four warriors fought wherever they saw a need and because of that there was no small number of the freedom fighters that owed their lives to the four elves.
Súrion with his long knives once again proving the effectiveness of those particular weapons in battle, truly controlling the space around him, inverting the blades, cutting with one while the other slashed, and effortlessly making his way through the masses of Wainrider soldiers, deadly in his battle rage. He was fluid and graceful in his movements at all times - indeed, if such a description could be applied to death.
Semoro, Second-in-command and brother to Rahan, fought with the same passion as did his brother – that all of them fought with. His weapon of choice was the broadsword and he used the weapon with power – and grace – as he helped the others do what they could to keep the enemy at bay and save rebel lives in the process.
Saeros, though gentle in thought and deed off the field, was a fierce warrior in battle and it was often hinted at, that his eyes turned red with fury when he fought – but then there were few who dared take the time to look and see if this was true.
These four now encouraged the flagging spirits of the freedom fighters, for the battle had been long and their strength was beginning to desert them. Rahan jumped to the aid of a human who had fallen to his knees and who was panting in exhaustion, unable to rise. With one hand the big Noldor Captain grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic, lifted him to his feet then gently nudged him toward the back of the battlefield for a short rest while his other hand slowly throttled the life from the soldier who had almost killed the human.
Rahan turned blazing eyes on the being that laid a hand on his shoulder but found it was only the Silvan Guard, Súrion.
"Boss, do you want to quit playing with your pets and get your mind back on business?"
With a final pat on the Captain's shoulder and with a nod, Súrion walked away to engage another enemy leaving Rahan to do what he had to – he wished the soldier a safe journey to the next life – then snapped his neck. War was not nice; war was not fair nor was she even pretty. War was a petty, mean, calculating, bloodthirsty bitch who didn't care who you were, if you were young or old, a parent or somebody's child. She would chew you up and spit your bare bones to the side without thought or hesitation. Truly, only the strong and the very crafty would live to see the blood-red sun finally slip below the horizon.
Rahan felt eyes on him, and when he turned his head to the right, saw five elves looking at him. He nodded his head in greeting for he easily recognized them as a Thurin Tirith Unit as well as old friends, for it had been these elves who had taken the time to say 'hello' to he and his Guards some nights before. When the Charge of the Unit raised his sword in salute, Rahan did the same, then all of them turned their full attention back to the laborious task of staying alive.
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Garm was fighting furiously for he was indeed just that – furious. His eyes blazed as his big sword sliced its way through another rebel's body.
Bastard. He thought to himself.
He had to remind himself that his anger was irrational for the battle that was presently being fought had been inevitable. He had always known that the slave trade Ostara had been conducting had been wrong – by anybody's standards. But even though he knew this, he had allied himself with her anyway, for his life before he came to Hoth had been without hope or prospects. He had settled in, had became good at his job and had adopted the attitudes of his leader – for better or worse. In time the guilt he felt for what he was doing had become less as he began to enjoy, more and more, the power that came with his position. He loved the power more than he would have a wife and that power was not something that he wanted to give up in the foreseeable future.
He felt a touch on his arm and spinning, almost cut a soldier's throat that had come to bring a message, his sword leaving a thin line of red that trickled down the man's neck and onto his tunic.
"What!" He barked at the man.
The soldier had to swallow twice before he could again find his courage as well as his voice. With trembling hands he held up a black-shafted, blood tipped arrow.
"Sir, there is a sharpshooter in the forest picking off our soldiers."
Garm took the black-shafted arrow from the man and examined it carefully, taking special note of the scrollwork on the arrowhead. He briefly held the shaft under his nose, instantly detecting the faint, woodsy scent left by the arrow's archer. He smiled an evil smile.
"Bitch."
He turned to the waiting soldier so quickly that all the blood left the man's face and he involuntarily took a step backwards.
"Take three of your best men and go take care of our little problem."
As if to emphasize his point, he snapped the shaft of the arrow in half with one hand and after throwing the pieces on the ground, turned back to the fighting.
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"Anayah, you have to take a rest. Your back is bleeding and your arms are beginning to tremble. You should not have begun this in your weakened condition but if you choose to follow this insane course of action, at least take a few moments rest."
Anayah turned to Greyfell with fire in her eyes but rather than speak harshly, she walked to her equipment bag and after removing her water flask, drank deeply. Still glaring at her companion, she then reached into the bag and brought out two leather straps that she proceeded to tie around her forearms to brace her fatigued forearm muscles but when she had difficulty with the brace for her right arm, she burst into tears. Greyfell quickly wrapped his arms around her and held her until she once more had control of herself. After awhile she patted his arm and stepped back and while he tied the brace on her forearm for her, she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I'm sorry, my friend. You have been nothing but kind and supportive and did not deserve to have either my frustrations or my pique of temper taken out on you. Please forgive me."
Greyfell pushed her away to arm's length and looked into her eyes.
"There is nothing to forgive, Anayah. You are doing under the worst possible conditions what most would have trouble doing under the best possible conditions." He pushed her toward her shooting position. "Now go – I will be here."
She nodded and once more turned her attention back to the battlefield.
As Greyfell watched Anayah set up for another shot, something caught his attention and he realized that an unnatural silence had settled over the surrounding forest. He listened for a few more moments then walked up behind Anayah and as he filled the arrow stand and put a few extra arrows in it as well, he spoke quietly.
"Anayah, we are not alone."
Without looking at the Captain, she answered him in a voice as quiet as his had been.
"Can you handle them?"
"Of course. There are only four of them."
He quietly unsheathed his sword and stepped back towards the shadows of the forest.
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The four soldiers were walking quietly down a well-worn forest path toward where they had heard the voices coming from. None of them wanted to be in this place for they felt too vulnerable. All of them had heard about how sneaky elves were and for all they knew, one of them could be somewhere around them, right at that moment, just waiting for a chance to steal them away to be butchered like a side of wild boar and hung up for use at a later time. They knew all about the elves.
When the soldier at the back of the group started making an odd sound, the others turned towards him, their mouths dropping open and their eyes widening in surprise and fear. The man sounded like he was gargling and indeed, frothy blood was spilling out of his mouth as well as from the gap under his chin that ran from ear to ear. They were frozen in place until a few moments after his body hit the ground then the remaining three soldiers started fearfully backing away.
"Stay together. If we stay together, maybe they will leave us alone."
One of the men could not control himself and in a blind panic ran back towards where they had left the horses. Even if the remaining two soldiers had lived beyond the next two minutes, they would have never seen their friend again. Practically clinging to each other for courage, the two soldiers moved on towards where they knew the archer was, occasionally looking back over their shoulders as they walked.
The two would rather face death itself than go back to Garm and tell him that they had run because they were afraid. And face death they did a few minutes later as Greyfell stepped out from behind a tree, his bloody sword in his hand. Neither soldier moved as their ex-Captain slashed twice – from left to right then from right to left. With a final sigh the two dead soldiers sank to the ground and after their bodies were once more still, Greyfell cleaned his sword on their tunics and after sheathing it, walked back to Anayah.
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The gallant rebels, the brave and determined freedom fighters of Hoth, were being pushed back by the overwhelming numbers of the Wainriders' army. These gallant fighters who had lived lives of forced labor and who had often teetered on the edge of despair, beaten, hungry and worn out from their labors were now doing their very best against trained soldiers. Until this point, they had done an admirable job and were worthy of that which they sought – freedom from slavery.
Aragorn sighed for it seemed, at least at the moment, that they would find their freedom only in death for as time went on hopes were dwindling that they would be successful at what they had set out to do - at least in this life. They knew the chances of their winning the day were waning but their great hearts refused to allow them to concede defeat. The battle was not yet over and as long as he drew breath, he would do whatever he could to help these people get what they had fought so long and hard for.
"Well, human, why have you stopped fighting? I still see many of the enemy who are just begging to fall upon your sword!"
Aragorn looked into the eyes of his friend and saw only faith and loyalty and at the moment, those two things did more for the young man's flagging spirits than anything else could have.
"Then what are we waiting for, Prince of Mirkwood. Let the thirst of our weapons be quenched this day on the blood of the enemy!"
The two reentered the fight and soon were fighting their way through to the very heart of the battle.
But as sometimes inevitably happens in an armed conflict, the Prince of Mirkwood and the future King of Men became separated, but even though a distance now lay between them, they could still feel the heartbeat of the other and both of them knew that it would have to be enough for the time being.
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Aragorn had been slashing his way through the enemy when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and the sounds of the battle receded as time seemed to suspend itself. He looked around him but saw nobody until ...
"Turn and face me Dúnadan!"
Slowly, Aragorn turned.
"Garm." He said as he walked toward the man. "At last we come down to it, do we not?"
Without the usual taunts and displays of bravado that normally came about at the beginning of a duel the two warriors got right down to it and began to circle each other warily - each taking the measure of the other and looking for an opening for the first attack. Both were veterans in the use of the sword and both were comfortable with the blade in either hand as they switched their swords from one hand to the other, each trying to distract their opponent.
"That we do, young whelp."
Garm, the taller and much older ranger, had the experience amassed over the years to guide his mind and hand and though Aragorn had great presence and skill that could only have come from experience, he also had the valor and energy of his tender years and it also didn't hurt his cause that he had been taught his warring skills by elves.
Aragorn was at a disadvantage however, for he was not yet fully recovered from the injuries he had incurred during his captivity in the quarry. Garm was aware of this and decided to bide his time and try to wear the younger man down. It was at that moment, that his monumental ego made a monumental mistake. He did not take the time to adequately study his adversary and so he failed to see the great heart and courage the young ranger possessed that would help compensate for his injury. And when he made the mistake, Garm sealed his own fate.
He and Aragorn continued to circle each other, occasionally feinting, each trying to draw the other out, to make his opponent attack first and perhaps foolishly. There were occasional flurries of activity, the blades of the two swords clashing, as Garm forced Aragorn to expend his limited energy defending himself.
It was during a respite in the duel that it suddenly occurred to the ex-ranger that the younger man was somehow familiar to him. He frowned as he tried to remember where he had seen him before.
"You seem familiar to me. Have we had occasion to meet somewhere else before this day?"
Aragorn suddenly attacked, putting his opponent on the defensive as the power of his blows drove the larger and older man backwards. One of his own soldiers, wounded and dying, stumbled into the ex-ranger and Garm caught then flung the man aside with no more thought than he would have given to a sack of refuse.
Around them the battle raged on with both sides suffering losses even though the smaller rebel army was fighting valiantly, fueled by their desperation as well as their overwhelming desire to obtain their freedom.
Once again the swords of the two warriors clashed and when Garm let his sword slide to the cross-guard of the younger man's sword, he asked him again just before he pushed him away.
"You never answered my question - have we met before this day? Who are you that you should be familiar to me?"
Aragorn answered Garm with a flurry of blows until he locked his own sword and slid it to the cross-guard of his opponent's weapon.
"We have not met before this day though I have heard of your treachery. I am known as Strider, and I am a Ranger of the North."
As he pushed against the other's sword in a show of strength, Garm's eyes fell on Aragorn's left hand which rested on the hilt of his sword so close to his own. The older man's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Barahir on Aragorn's index finger and recognized the great ring for what it was and in that respect, recognized Aragorn for who he was.
"Arathorn." He said softly as he finally shoved Aragorn away from him.
The two fighters, these two Rangers, fought on, oblivious to the deadly activity going on around them, both dodging friendly and enemy warriors alike and stepping or jumping over the bodies of the slain as each tried to wear the other down.
Garm was beginning to wield his sword with both hands as he fought, a sign he was becoming frustrated that it was taking him so long to defeat his opponent.
"At the time of his death, Arathorn had a two year old child - we thought the child had perished during the orc attack that took Arathorn from us."
Aragorn blocked a vicious overhand blow from Garm's sword then went to one knee when he slipped on grass made slick by the blood of the wounded and slain, doing his best not to cry out as he cruelly twisted his already injured hip.
"News of my demise was a little premature - don't you think?"
He rolled away from his opponent until he could once more regain his feet, trying to ignore the way his hip protested as he moved towards Garm one more time.
"Your Chieftain died, I lived, and you ran like the craven coward that you have always been. But the important thing is that we both survived the day – is it not?"
Finally losing his temper and uttering a scream of rage, Garm started to beat the younger man back with double handed, overhead blows that landed on Aragorn's sword with such force that when the younger man would block, he could easily feel the vibration – and pain – clear up to his shoulders. Then the full weight of Aragorn's injuries, weakness and fatigue landed on him and his legs gave out, causing him to fall to the ground where his sword rolled away from his tired and stinging hand.
The ex-Ranger stood over Aragorn with his sword raised over his head and was preparing to deliver the final killing blow when both men began to hear a strange sound - a high pitched whistle that froze them as they both realized that an arrow was coming their way. A most bizarre and random thought entered Aragorn's mind as the whistling sound became louder as the arrow drew near.
"It calls out its name."
He had no sooner finished his thought when an arrow pierced the exact middle of Garm's forehead, exiting and protruding from both sides of his head. With a look of surprise, the ex-Ranger toppled sideways - dead before he could form his next thought. Aragorn regained his feet and looked at the long black shaft of the arrow.
"Huan." He said quietly. "The arrow calls out its name before it draws blood."
He remembered his sister explaining about the arrow singing one-day while on the archery range at Imladris. He had also remembered her warning of how important it was to stay put until it had found its target so nobody would inadvertently step in front of an arrow meant for somebody else.
Aragorn knew that in her own way, Anayah was keeping her promise to stay off the battlefield and even though she was pushing the boundaries of that promise, Aragorn was still grateful.
"Hannon-le my sister."
Facing the forest, he lifted his sword in a salute of thanks then after taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned back and rejoined the battle.
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Overhead, the dark storm clouds began to churn promising an angry storm. Lightning could be seen within the clouds themselves, churning and flashing within the dark mass, discharging but never touching the ground. The winds on the battlefield began to pick up more as time went by, blowing dirt and debris into the warriors' eyes and carrying the stench of death away. Something was coming - and it would be there soon.
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On the battlefield, Prince Banion of the Avari finally met Captain Rahan. The two elves paused, catching their breath, for whether Thurin Tirith or Charge, the prolonged conflict was sapping even their great strengths.
"Well, Captain Rahan, we finally get to meet. I am Prince Banion of the Avari."
Rahan nodded his head respectfully.
"It is my honor to meet you and to have fought beside you and your Thurin Tirith."
The Prince laid a hand on the big Captain's shoulder.
"The day is not yet over, Captain. Though the prospects of us seeing tomorrow appear somewhat bleak at the moment, I have decided that I will not choose this day to embrace death."
Anything more the two would have said was interrupted by a peal of thunder so loud and intense that everyone on the field stopped fighting and covered their ears, wincing in pain as their sensitive eardrums were assaulted by the explosive boom then the roar that followed. A great bolt of lightning hit in the middle of the field at almost the same time, shaking the earth like a cat worrying a mouse and causing a tower of displaced soil to raise high into the air.
Everyone stood, stunned at what had just happened and looked around them, shifting nervously, for too many strange things had happened this day to discount any occurrence, insignificant or in this case extremely significant.
Then there was another booming peal of thunder followed by another bolt of lightning, and this time when it hit, the ground trembled severely in protest.
"Captain," Prince Banion began, "I think it would be in everyone's best interest to move back toward the forest."
"Look!" Elladan cried out from nearby.
When the elves and what few humans were not too frightened to move, looked to where the eldest twin was pointing, they saw the dark silhouette of a man standing on the top of what was probably the only bluff around. Though they couldn't make out the man's features at that distance, they could all clearly see the sword he held over his head.
The clouds over the battlefield churned viciously as another charge built up and when the lightning finally discharged, all those on the field could plainly see the lightning hit the man's sword, change course, and head towards the battlefield. There was no time to turn and run and all those gathered in the middle of the field where the lightning hit, were instantly incinerated and all that was left of those human lives was a large, open pit.
This time the ground tremors did not dissipate and the shaking was becoming so severe that the humans were having trouble standing on their feet. Many fell only to be swallowed up by the great fissures that appeared on the field and that began to run here and there as if they possessed a life of their own. After a time and the ground quake had still not let up, it was plain that anyone left on the field was in serious danger of losing their life, and anyone who did not flee was a fool.
With only a nod of understanding to each other, the Avari Prince, his Guards, Rahan and his elves began to make their way towards the forest, picking up fallen and wounded humans as they went.
"Get your people back!" The Prince called out.
Nobody had a problem doing exactly what the Prince told them to do and though initially there was some panic, as soon as the surviving rebels had reached the edge of the forest, they found that the ground quake could barely be felt at all and so they calmed down and once more thought in a reasonable manner.
The tremendous roar of the collapsing ground was so loud and intense that no being could have heard anyone if someone would have had the courage to speak. On and on the sound went with the ground quaking and great clouds of displaced soil raising so high into the air that when it finally finished its travels and settled to earth for the final time, it would be in the Misty Mountains.
Finally, after what seemed an age, the rumbling stopped and the ground stilled and though there was an occasional crack, or thud or other miscellaneous noise as everything settled itself, the fearsome, eardrum splitting roar was gone. And when everyone looked ... Hoth was gone as well, sucked into a deep, dark chasm, never to be seen again.
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When Aragorn finally managed to pry Legolas's hands off his head where the Mirkwood Prince had protectively placed them, the first thing he did was look toward the bluff. The mysterious man still stood there staring at the destruction and chaos before him and for just a moment Aragorn could almost imagine that the man was looking at him. Something in his heart bid him go to this strange being who had intervened and saved them all and though he did not know who it was that he would meet, the compulsion to go to him was too strong for him to ignore. When he looked at Legolas, he saw the understanding look in his friend's eyes and knew that he would not be making this small journey alone.
When he turned to where the horses had been picketed, he saw Halgar riding towards them, mounted on Legolas's horse and leading Hiril. They were soon joined by Elladan and Elrohir then together the entire group rode toward the bluff.
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As the last rumble died away and the last tremor of the ground had stilled, Anayah finally raised her head from where it had been buried on Greyfell's shoulder. She knew that her eyes were probably as wide as his were and she knew for a fact that her heart was beating as madly as his had been. They had both seen the man on the bluff and though Anayah felt the compulsion to go to this being, it was evident that Greyfell did not. She took his hand and walked to where Elias and his mare now stood looking at them.
"I think you were meant to come as well, my friend. I do not know how I know this is so, but I do."
As the two elves left the protection of the forest, they saw Aragorn, Legolas, both twins and Halgar riding towards them, all evidently riding toward the same destination. The group met, then without further words, continued onward. They left the horses at the bottom and hiked the short distance to the top and when they arrived, all stopped then stood motionless and silent as they saw their savior for the first time. The man was looking off toward the West but when he heard them walking towards him he turned and smiled a soft, sad smile.
Anayah gasped and held her hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears for she instantly recognized the man. Tall, he was, and lordly, with an almost ethereal quality to him, as if his body held just a suggestion of transparency. The armor that he wore in such a kingly fashion had not been seen in 3,000 years and still bore the traces of a conflict long finished and gone from all but memory. His sword, still clutched tightly in his hand as was a warrior's want after battle, bore no mark of the tremendous energy it had directed towards the now vanished city. He did not speak then, but just stood quietly, looking at all of them and smiling.
Then the second miracle of the day occurred when behind the man appeared a veil of silver rain and when he turned, it was gently swept aside and an opening appeared. Through the rent in the veil could be easily seen the rolling green hills of a peaceful countryside and over the top of the hills the first rays of a morning sun gently warmed everything with its soft touch. Then through this opening stepped another man, taller, and older, but similar in appearance and those who saw the two instantly knew they were father and son.
The taller man put his arms on the younger man's shoulders and gazed lovingly into his eyes and as tears ran down the younger man's cheeks, the elder human leaned over and gently kissed the younger man's brow - his son's brow. He turned aside and stepped back through the opening then paused and looked back as he waited for his son.
The young Lord, yes, young again and forgiven, smiled at Halgar and nodded his head in gratitude then looked deeply into Aragorn's eyes and for a moment, Aragorn almost felt as if the Lord was wishing him well. Then he turned away - Isildur turned away - and followed Elendil into the land of forgiveness. For a few moments after the silver curtain rolled back and closed the opening, those standing nearby could still see the verdant countryside beyond.
"But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a gray rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise."
Everyone turned and stared at Anayah, who blushed.
"Well, someone could tell the story like that someday - you never know."
With laughter and much ruffling of Anayah's hair, the group turned and started walking back towards where they had left their horses, their hearts fuller and more at ease. It had been a long, grueling and emotionally trying day for all of them and there was much to do for those who had survived. Their home was gone forever but those who walked down the mountainside all knew that for most of the survivors, the rest of their life was just beginning.
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The end? I think not, my friends, for from the very beginning I told you that this was not to be the story of noble men nor was it even going to be a story of noble deeds though of each there was a bit. No, this was going to be the story of the great journey and grand adventures of a certain beautiful stone set in a fillet of mithril.
With that in mind...
To be continued …
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A/N: I didn't want to give away a part of the story by explaining this at the beginning of the chapter but the time has finally come and I will tell you why I dedicated this chapter to the town of Butte, Montana. Something like this could feasibly happen and is the fear of many people in my home state in regards to the ex-mining town of Butte. This town has been so severely undermined that if there was ever to be a severe earthquake, the possibility exists that the whole town could collapse into the giant pit that lies beneath it. In this lies a warning that sometimes nature gets the final say.
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nanahalfelven, CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur, bananadude, me ... thanks to all of you for your review. "Me," I wish I could have written and thanked you for your review but when you write anonymously, there is no email address for me to write to. I thank you anyway, for taking the time to read and review!