CHAPTER 9
POROS
The River Poros was a border, in more ways than just a political division; it was the line that kept two worlds apart. To the north, in Ithilien, the land stretched far and green in bushy hills; for after the shadow of Mordor passed and under the rule of the elven colony, Ithilien had come to be the fairest country in the westlands of Middle-earth. To the south, however, the land was an austere vale extending all the way into Harad, dry, dusty soil lined with leafless and prickly, low trees barely surviving under the merciless southern sun.
The Gondorian company reached the bank of the river two days after the Evenstar's ambush near Emyn Arnen in Ithilien, and already they could feel the scorching heat that baked the lands south of the border. Of all the members of the group none had ventured so far south, perhaps only Aragorn, years ago during his adventures as young captain Thorongil when fighting the corsairs of Umbar under the service of Ecthelion (then Steward of Gondor), had come to even cross the River, but for the rest of them it was a whole new experience; specially for Queen Arwen who had never traveled to lands remotely akin to the road to Harad.
She had been restless all through the morning; so much so that even Asfaloth was edgy, as he could feel the unease in her posture and tense movements atop him. The Queen had looked up to the sky that morning knowing it'd be an ill-fated day. She had dreamed of blood again, and whatever foresight she had left in her showed her no light in the darkness that had settled all around her.
It was two hours before noon when the Poros came to their view. It was a loud and shallow stream, none too wide either, and flanked by sharp, black rocks. But it was the sight that stretched to the south of the waterway that caught Arwen's breath in her throat with fret. A vast army, more numerous than what Hadathor had cared to describe, scores of ragged tents the color of sun-bathed sand disarrayed across the plain. She had never been in a battle, not even close to one; even during the War of the Ring she had been safe within the borders of Imladris and under the watchful care of Elrond the Peredhil while the gruesome battles of Helm's Deep, Pelennor and Morannon were fought.
Now she could see the long, bright spears lined and ready to pierce the Army of the White Tree. She could smell the foreign scent of the mass of Easterling soldiers, already forming to meet her group. She could feel the hate and eagerness to battle coming from the gathering lines of dark soldiers, oh so close to her; it was the same hate she felt on the road to Emyn Arnen only days ago, on the most dreadful minutes of her life, that were now menacing to be repeated.
She was filled with an overwhelming impulse to flee.
Had it not been for the unexpected meeting with two old acquaintances she would have turned around and head to the higher tower in the citadel of Minas Tirith.
"Lord Elessar, Lady Undomiel, we received word of your arrival."
Aragorn looked disbelievingly at the two elves bowing before him, elves he knew since he was a child back in Rivendell. The first one had pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier. A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers. His name was Feanrod.
The other had the same fair face and angled features. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head. He was called Enros.
Aragorn was about to dismount to greet them when he noticed a small group coming forward towards the river from the Easter Army; one of them surely had the appearance to be the emperor.
"There are more pressing matters that need tending now, my lord," said the elf called Feanrod, smiling wistfully at the man he had seen growing in the house of Lord Elrond. "We will greet each other properly when this threat is managed."
Aragorn nodded slightly in acknowledgement and called his herald, General Hadathor and Neithan (who had become very much the King's shadow ever since the Ithilien incident) to follow him towards the River.
"Estel…!" The strained voice of his queen stopped his march, and he looked back to her trying to muster enough confidence to show comfort in his eyes.
"You'll be safe here," he said softly, dedicating to her a small smile.
"But you…" She began to argue, her eyes darting to the dark sea of enemies he was riding towards.
"I will return to you, as I've always have."
Elessar's eyes lingered on hers a little longer, trying to convey that he had no fear and that she shouldn't either. Only when she sighed acquiescently did he look to Feanrod and Enros, the elven border wardens.
"My friends, I would have you take my queen to the higher grounds and away from the front line."
Enros took hold of Asfaloth's reins. "We will try our best to be enjoyable company for such a lovely lady. And you, fine King, beware and good providence."
Arwen could not say she'd found peace, not even in her kinsmen's company. Her heart beat uncontrolled within her chest and her eyes strayed constantly to her husband's back as he rode away to meet Brodda. The elves tried to soothe her with words of reassurance, but even in their ancient wisdom, there was no word they could utter to quench the intense fear that had settled inside the Queen's very core.
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It was a silent ride towards the edge of the river, and Aragorn could feel the weight of his crown wearing him down more than ever before. Beside him, Neithan showed no sign of fear or concern, not even excitement. He was quiet as well, looking calmly upon the army rising before them, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, as if he had greater concerns to ponder on; namely, his master's new conspiracies after the ambush on Arwen failed.
Neithan had not seen him ever since, nor had he answered the Dark Elf's unspoken summons that had reached him both nights he had traveled with Aragorn's army. But he had lived with his master long enough to know that he would not give up so easily, and surely he'd found new ways to work the unexpected events to the benefit of his purpose. Of course, seeing Gondor's general sneaking from camp and into the woods the night before had only served to confirm such suspicions.
He risked a side-glance to Hadathor, noting at once the general's unsuccessful attempts to mask the ridicule glint of satisfaction and anticipation showing in his face; and it was then that the young man knew that somehow the events about to unfold in the field before him were part of his master's latest scheme.
Neithan had never been in a battle, but his "father" had comprehensively and intensely trained him in the art of war. He recalled all of the learned skill as his horse's hoofs finally splashed the Poros water, and knew it was time to choose his path.
He thought of how much he dreaded meeting with his master, not because of any punishment his master could inflict on him, but because deep within his soul he no longer wanted to be a part of the Dark Elf's strange intent.
Knowing in his heart that this meeting was something he could not avoid for much longer, he made his decision as both parties faced each other in the river. If there was going to be a battle that day, he would fight on Elessar's side. He cared not about his life; in fact, death was exactly what he desired.
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If any word could best describe the emperor of the east, it would be"pompous". The man called Brodda was tall and portly, with braided long black hair and matching small dark eyes that were calm and keen at the same time. His stance was straight and proud, even atop the small, stout, but meticulously adorned eastern grassland horse he rode. The emperor wore a golden armor that was too small for him, garnished with vibrant tones of red and green; on his side hung a curve blade, carved with the intricate patterns that formed the written eastern language.
Beside the emperor stood not one, but two heralds, both bearing the banner of the empire, which was a rich embroidery of a golden palm tree over fabric so red it seemed the setting sun had spilled its fieriest tints on it.
An ominous whisper arose from both armies as the rulers faced each other silently, their faces as stone, their stances uptight, and their eyes cautious, as though one was sizing the other.
Aragorn waited eternal minutes, trying to conceal his restiveness, for he wanted to concede the emperor the first greeting. He found himself wondering about this man Brodda, astounded by the way the emperor could stand to fearlessly look at him right in the eye, as very few men he'd known could. What he found out later was that Brodda himself was pondering on the exact same thoughts, for no man the emperor knew would dare or stand to hold his gaze up to him.
"You are truly a king, man of the west," Brodda said in perfect Westron, and as a way of salutation, bowed his head slightly. "Your eyes are like the steel from whence the best swords are forged."
Aragorn found himself even more surprised by the emperor's odd but wise choice of words. He bowed his head as well, his eyes never leaving Brodda's. "And yours are like the coals that give life to flames that can bend such steel, emperor from the rising sun."
Brodda laughed wholeheartedly at the king's perfect counter to his words. "It seems I've found a match worthy of a good verbal spar!"
Aragorn smiled at the emperor's smartness, but his eyes strayed to the mass of soldiers standing at the edge of the kingdom he had sworn to protect.
"I'd rather speak plain and to the purpose right now, Emperor Brodda. Today we lead armies to face one another, and the outcome of whatever you and I decide today will determine if perhaps tomorrow we can gather as friends for a verbal spar, or if we must wage war against each other."
Brodda's smile faded at Elessar's forwardness, and his eyes also strayed to the silvery glints of the Army of the White Tree behind the king's noble frame.
"Right, right," he said pensively, fingering the long, thin beard that adorned his abundant chin. "You probably have many questions that need answer. Let us get down to business if we must."
Aragorn took a deep breath. "My army is outnumbered by yours; I do not want a battle."
Brodda acknowledged the king's candor and answered in the same line. "Yet you have the better cavalry, and your soldiers' armors are stronger and better built. If we are to fight, surely it'll be for the great loss to both of us."
Aragorn raised his brow questioningly. "Then you do not wish for a battle either."
"I never said I wanted war," the emperor said tersely, in a tone that no longer held the frankness of his previous words.
Aragorn was confused by the man's behavior. "Then, I would ask you why you come here with this great army and invade the lands of Harad?"
Brodda seemed to hesitate with his answer for a moment, as if recalling previously memorized words. "I did not think you'd care so much for the Haradrim's infernal lands… after all, they not so long ago allied with the Dark Lord against Gondor, did they not?"
Aragorn's jaw squared tensely, striving for a diplomatic way to answer Brodda's question. "I do not think you could use such argument, Emperor Brodda. I was in the Battle at Pelennor and saw Easterling ranks joining those of the orcs as well."
Brodda huffed as if insulted, but kept his angry words for himself. "Many fought and died in that war. Many were deceived and fell under the Mordor Lord's spell. I cannot be counted as one of the deceived ones, nor was I in this great battle you speak of; but if some of the outer villages of my empire did fall, I could not control it."
Aragorn could feel the emperor's temper rising worryingly despite the mild words he had used, and so he took a moment to choose his next words. But it was at that point, and seizing the moment of tense silence, that Hadathor grasped his opportunity.
"This… maneuver of your barbarian hordes is an open threat to the free peoples of Middle Earth under Gondor's rule and protection. Stop your ramble and explain your motives at once!" The words spilled unchecked and spiteful out of the general's mouth before Aragorn could stop him with a single glance of his stormy eyes. But the damage was already done. Brodda went from upset to livid.
"I did not come here to speak to common soldiers!" he yelled, his whizzing breathing becoming even more strenuous from his rage. "Much less be slighted by a miserable maggot like you!"
Aragorn intervened quickly, positioning himself between the enraged emperor and Hadathor, watching closely as Brodda's hand inched closer to the hilt of his sword. "Emperor, please. Pay no heed to this foolish soldier's rash words."
Doing what his instinct commanded, Aragorn reared his steed to force Hadathor away from the conflict. "It's his fear and doubt talking, for we still don't know why you march so closely to our lands."
Brodda spat on the ground and lifted up his chin, challenging Aragorn to add one more rash word to those spoken, and thus ensnare the king into being guilty of sparking a conflict. Aragorn did not take the bait.
"T'was you who beckoned us to come by camping at the very border of our realm, Emperor. I did not come here to defy nor slight you. I just answered to your unspoken summons and out of respect came presently to hear whatever you must tell me." Aragorn's words were courteous and firm, leaving no space for ambiguity.
Brodda swallowed his hurt pride and regained his stately poise.
"Very well then, but be sure to keep your servants' tongues checked," he said, eyeing Hadathor murderously. Yet the way the emperor's eyes regarded Aragorn made the king of Gondor realize with no small amount of relief that Brodda was still willing to bargain.
His relief did not last long, however, as he heard the low yet momentous rumble of a large cavalry approaching the river from behind his post. Aragorn chose not to turn his back on the emperor to watch the imminent arrival and waited patiently, looking closely at Brodda's eyes that were already fixed upon the hills of South Ithilien.
The emperor's midnight orbs widened in a mix of shock and awe, which was very uncharacteristic for his countenance, and Aragorn knew, without any need to turn his head and look back, that the Eldar King had arrived.
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Aramarth entered the scene in a full gallop, breaking from behind the crest of the hill like the sun breaks from the east at dawn. Five hundred elven soldiers mounted and fully armed followed him, and not one of them hesitated or even stopped to look upon the great Eastern army down below, almost as if it was not there at all.
They crossed in front of the Gondorian army, not even glancing at the soldiers either, and stopped only to form perfect ranks at one side of the White Tree banner. Yet there was no precedence in their formation; they were just warriors with no protocol or title before one another, Eldar brethren ready to face whatever was to come their way as long as they were together. They looked not to the sides but straight ahead; they were cold, adamant, and showed no sign of fear or doubt.
The elven king took a moment to survey the scene, holding tightly the reins of the eager warhorse tugging and huffing beneath him. On noticing Feanrod and Enros up in the higher grounds he parted from his group and managed to steer the combat-keen animal towards them.
Arwen's insides rippled at the sight of the king coming straight at her. Already she could feel the spiteful and vicious stance that overwhelmed him, the inner combustion that emanated from Aramarth and took primacy over all his presence. Feanrod stepped forward from her side to salute his liege, putting his hand over his heart and bowing briefly. Enros, always the quiet one, did the same but held his ground beside the queen, holding on to Asfaltoth's reins.
The black brute Aramarth was riding reared up on its powerful haunches and snorted noisily upon stopping before the trio, head tossing and nostrils flaring, causing Asfaloth to step back nervously, unsettled by the outsized, dark charger. Enros had to soothe him with gentle whispers, smoothing the soft fur under his ears.
"You brought Maur-agar, my lord," Feanrod said questioningly, warily eyeing the agitated darkness his king was riding. "It must have been an interesting journey from Emyn Arnen."
"I thought him appropriate for the day," Aramarth answered nonchalantly, while the animal turned and pranced underneath him.
Maur-agar. The name rang loudly in Arwen's mind. It meant literally "blood addict". She looked at the foreboding animal, an extension of its master's temper, and unconsciously, her eyes roamed up to find two blazes of pure blue fixed upon her. She could not stand Aramarth's eyes and turned away, instantly regretting that her recoil would offend him and add to his rage.
His eyes did not leave her; she could feel Aramarth's gaze firm upon her, even as he spoke with Feanrod the warden about positions, topography and such. She sought for the familiar shape of Aragorn down the hill for comfort, but even he appeared so vulnerable, standing upon the edge of two forces about to collide.
"And Elessar?" Aramarth's question captured her attention; still she did not raise her eyes to him.
Feanrod stated what was already obvious. "He meets with the emperor… they still parley, it seems."
Aramarth's right hand tightened on Maur-agar's reins, and the horse tossed his head violently. "Parley? What is there to negotiate with them?" The king's words were hissed with such contempt that they reverberated like shouts.
"He willingly walks into those serpents' pit. He should be getting the soldiers ready to attack."
"It's their protocol, my lord," Feanrod said, trying to appease him.
"Rubbish! That's what it is. I wonder what happened to the Ranger that once I fought with side by side; he who charged with no hindrance or qualm upon the masses of foes."
Once again, Arwen felt his eyes boring into her as he continued to speak his aggravation. "He is a king now, full of liabilities and burdens that force him even to leave his queen behind, who's worried sick for his sake."
It was then that Maur-agar's impatience became greater than the allegiance to his rider; the small ears shot back and he started walking sideways, turning the ox-like head back to try and bite his master's hand off the reins.
"Still yourself!" Aramarth said, slapping the powerful neck solidly. "This will not do; Maur-agar can no longer wait, and neither can I."
"You have not been summoned, my lord. What will you do?" The diplomatic culture of Imladris was made known by Feanrod's urgent question.
"I'm going to stir up a fight," was the King's answer, as he turned Maur-agar towards the river. "Fear not, Undomiel. You will not mourn him, at least not today. This I vow even if it's me the one to be mourned for when all is finished. By then, perhaps your words would be, 'Better him than Estel'."
Only then did she raise her eyes, but he had already turned his back to her. And only then did she notice he was wearing Elrond's full war garb, complete with Hadhafang, her father's celebrated sword, sheathed in a scabbard that hung from his back, and Gil-Galad's long spear Aiglos, which he held with all the strength of his left arm.
"Don't leave her side." It was his final order to the wardens before finally allowing the restless steed to run down the hill and towards the Poros crossing.
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"Is this the mysterious elven king some even fear talking about?" Brodda's question finally allowed Aragorn to turn around and see him come.
The king of Gondor did not need a second nor closer view to realize the elf's intentions. Aramarth rode alone, with no herald or banner. He was fully armed, riding too hastily on a horse that stood a full feet over any other horse in the field, obviously a battle charger, and moreover a vicious one by the sheer look of it. He then noticed Elrond's armor.
Aragorn could not suppress the soft, earnest whisper that escaped him. "Oh no, Legolas..."
The approaching elven king raised Aiglos for all to see. The High King's spear was over 9 feet long; its blade gleaming like an icicle, hence its given name.
The display was enough for Aragorn to panic. "I would have you excuse me for a moment, emperor," he said, while spurring his horse to meet Aramarth. He shot a warning signal to a jittery Hadathor. "You… take heed of your own tongue."
Neithan, on his part, could not suppress a small smile at the new arrival.
Aragorn rode straight at the charging Elf King, who did not pull Maur-agar to a halt until the last moment, right when the fierce horse was about to tread over Aragorn's smaller steed.
"Why do you delay me?" shouted the elf, while struggling to regain control of the rearing Maur-agar with only one hand.
"Legol… Aramarth!" Aragorn corrected himself, pulling on the reins of his own panicked mount.
Aramarth let out a short, sharp laugh. "Legolas will do, remember, Ranger."
Aragorn wiped the suddenly copious sweat off his brow. "I would beseech you to allow me to finish my talk with the emperor."
"Whatever for, my lord?" Aramarth said, forcefully managing to settle down Maur-agar. "Why would you deny me the right to meet the illustrious Brodda?"
"You are ruled by your anger. I can see it in your eyes. Please, don't spark a battle that can be prevented."
"When did you come to fear battle, Aragorn?"
"I swore to rule in the renewed days of peace, can you not understand? Our only enemy is already defeated!"
"No, Aragorn. It is you who don't understand. Some wars cannot be avoided. They earned my anger, OUR anger, the moment they tried to lay their filthy hands upon Arwen."
Aragorn hesitated a moment, but then forced himself not to believe. "We are not sure of that…"
"YOU choose to stay blind to the truth, Aragorn, but I will not sit back and do nothing while you open your arms and your trust to them murderers!"
"And I will not risk the blood of MY people on your spiteful suspicions, Legolas."
The elven king tightened his jaw and held his gaze on Aragorn. He urged his mount to walk a few steps ahead, stopping right next to Aragorn's horse. Instead of the escalating shouts they have uttered, he spoke slow and soft, looking sideways at the king of men.
"Then my advice to you, King Elessar, is to run up to your people, and all of you flee from these hills and back to Gondor. For there is going to be a battle here today, whether you endorse it or not. I came here only to make sure of that, even if I must fight it on my own."
And with that, he loosened Maur-agar's reins, to which the horse responded at once, renewing the hasty gallop towards the riverbed, and Brodda.
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So, new chapter. As always I'm very sorry for the delay. And as always, I'm very thankful to Precious Jewelle for her steadfast help and supportto my writings. I couldn't do it without you...
I hope you still enjoy this story, and like I said before... I Will Finish it!
Many blessings.
Elwe.
Next Chapter: The Bones Of Our Foes Will Gleam Under The Sun