CHAPTER 10
THE BONES OF OUR FOES WILL GLEAM UNDER THE SUN
Aramarth came to a halt right before the Emperor of the East; raising his arm, he entrenched the great spear Aiglos deep into a black rock in the river.
"So you are the great King Aramarth," Brodda croaked, trying to appear unimpressed by the haughty display of strength. "Everywhere I go I keep hearing this name, always half-whispered in awe and reverence."
The Eastern Emperor waited for an answer or a greeting but nothing came, for Aramarth stood still and quiet, eyes fixed upon Brodda's face.
Aragorn reached the site but dared not talk, as neither did anyone standing upon the Poros. "The eerie calm before a storm hits," thought the King of Men, bracing himself for the worst.
Brodda's eyes strayed away from the elf's stern gaze, and yet he forced himself to utter a few more words. "Now I see why they whisper. Your mere presence commands reverence."
Aramarth's features did not shift, not even as he spurred Maur-agar ahead, startling the Easterlings' small mounts.
The elf steered the mighty horse to encircle around the small eastern committee, menacing, defying, earning nervous side glances and head turns.
Brodda hesitated before voicing his discomfort. "Is this elf mute or deaf?" he asked to none in particular. No answer came and so he spoke to Aragorn. "Why does he not speak? Why does he corral me as if I were a prey of his?"
Aramarth pulled his horse to stand between Aragorn and Brodda, as a leer finally changed his stony mask.
"Why do you ask Elessar on my behavior, man of the east? I am an Eldar King. I am no charge of his."
"Finally, you speak. I was starting to be – "
"I spoke only because you pointed your angry finger at the wrong king, Easterling."
"You dare interrupt me? I thought you came here to beg for an agreement, like Elessar King so wisely did," huffed Brodda, obviously displeased at the elf's bearing.
"Beg? Agreement?" Aramarth said, after a sharp, cold laugh.
"I have a question, Brodda," the elf said spitefully, nearing the imperial mount dangerously. "Since when do the legendary eastern warriors wait and settle for a treaty?
"Always I have heard of the fearless, merciless warriors of the rising sun, their craving for conquest and glory. Tell me, what ever happened to the promise and boast of all eastern rulers never to die on a bed of old age but on the battlefield? What of the songs of your women? Don't they still praise how the blood drenching the garments of their lovers scented them more sweetly than any incense or oil of myrrh?
"Now you speak of treaties and seek for agreements. What would your forefathers say, emperor? Would they be proud of the offspring they produced?"
Brodda's breathing became labored again, yet his answer was leveled and controlled. "Times change; the world changed with the passing of an age, and my people has changed as well."
Aramarth reached for Aiglos, violently dislodging the great spear from the dark rock it was embedded in.
"Yes, you have changed indeed!" he cried, striking the ground with great might.
"Now your attacks are veiled and treacherous. You strike from behind like cowardly snakes, instead of head-on like your gloried forebears!" Every word was uttered louder than the other; until the king's irate words could be heard by both armies.
Brodda finally found his voice. "I will have no more of this mindless insults and accusations! What evil are you speaking of?"
The elf's flustered face turned redder with anger. "Will you dare deny then, your failed attack on the Queen of Gondor? Will you stand here today and deny before Elessar himself, your vile plan to destroy him by ceasing the Evenstar's life?"
Brodda's face appeared genuinely surprised, yet terribly concerned. "I do not know what you speak of. This is nonsense! The elf has lost his mind!"
Aramarth's face finally calmed, and the smirk returned to his lips. "Have I?" he asked, turning to face Aragorn. "Have I lost my wits, Estel?"
Aragorn had been silently praying to the Valar for help, but seeing Aramarth's face took all hope from him. "Please, Legolas, think of your people, of your lands, and cease this. There is no proof they were involved, and praise Eru my beloved is safe; thanks to you and to Neithan."
"Proof, of course. Evidence is necessary, and I shall provide it," Aramarth said, ignoring Aragorn's plea and turning once more to face Brodda.
"Where is your heir, emperor?"
Everyone, and Brodda more than anyone else, was taken aback by the question. Yet the emperor answered it. "My son came with me, but I sent him back to my lands five days ago, to bear news to our family, and bring back news of them as well. Why do you ask? What does he have to do with this?"
"Did you or did you not order him to lead an ambush inside Ithilien?" Aramarth asked, while calmly reaching for a saddlebag hanging just behind him.
"No! Stop your stupidity. My son is on the Harad road, most likely many leagues away from your ridiculous accusations."
The elf let out a tired sigh. "Alright, if you must appear so uninformed, let me explain this in a way we can all understand.
"There was an attack on the Evenstar of the Eldar and Elessar's lawful Queen two days ago, at the road near Emyn Arnen."
Brodda's patience was by then spent. "WHAT does this have to do with my son!"
But Aramarth kept talking, his voice monotone and serene. "My people and I arrived on time and prevented the murder, slaughtering all of the attackers, making sure none escaped.
"One of them, however, soon after one of my soldiers reported, pled for his life, swearing upon his importance and the great price his father would pay for his ransom. But in my anger I had come into that place as judge, jury and executioner, and had given orders to my soldiers not to let any of them live to see the light of another day, and so the young man died by Elven blade as well.
"Out of sheer curiosity, I had his body taken to my city only to discover the uncanny resemblance he bore to the royal portraits brought to me by scouts that had surveyed your empire some months ago. I couldn't help but wonder…"
"You lie!" spat Brodda, clutching at his chest, perhaps touching a token hidden underneath his clothes, perhaps trying to soothe the rapidly increasing pain in his heart. He stuttered in fear and doubt. "My son did not fall by the hands of your worthless elves. He's a mighty warrior, and I sent him away from harm!"
Aramarth's voice became even colder and devoid of feeling. "You seem to be unsure; but like I said, I was his judge, his jury and executioner, and now I put an end to all doubts."
Reaching inside the dark saddlebag, the King of Elves pulled out the bloodied head of Brodda's firstborn Bledda, cleanly severed by the taut steel of Hadhafang's blade. And griping it from the long, black tresses, he tossed it to the emperor's trembling hands.
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A harrowing scream reverberated through all the hills and vales near the Poros River. It slashed at the air around Arwen with such pain and grief, that it reached into the inmost entrails of her soul, causing tears to spring to her wide-open eyes. She turned to the river were the lords were gathered, and saw the Emperor of the East crying out to the sky hoarsely, like a wounded animal, while clutching a shapeless bundle against his breast.
"The first thunderclap," she thought, while worriedly watching as the lords of Gondor and Ithilien turned and fled from certain death. Only the lingering shock on the Easterling ranks saved the kings of men and elves; only the hesitation to the frantic bawls of "Kill them!" from the emperor allowed them to flee unharmed.
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"You did not need to do this! You should have told me from the beginning!" shouted Aragorn, bending his body upon his galloping steed to avoid the golden fletched arrows falling upon them.
Legolas let out a merry chuckle, his eyes sparkling fiercely. "Alright, but do you believe me now?" His voice was near gleeful.
Aragorn grunted, disbelieving the elf's blitheness while arrows continued to whiz only inches from his ears. "What will you have me say? You were right, yes; but this was no way to handle such an issue. You behave like a child!"
"Spare me from your anger, Aragorn. Save it for our foes!"
"Flighty elf! My soldiers are not prepared. How are we to repel their full attack?" Aragorn asked, straightening his body upon being out of range of the eastern archers.
"Trust me again, just this once, Aragorn. Listen to my voice and follow my words, and I avow to you, that the bones of our foes will gleam under the sun."
Aramarth extended his arm towards Aragorn, even as they rode full gallop. "Will you trust and follow me today, Estel, as I once trusted you and followed you into endless battles?"
The King of Men looked upon the Great Aramarth, discovering a glimpse of his simple but brave old friend in the depths of the fierce cobalt eyes that looked at him so full of hope.
"I shall," the man said softly, grasping the offered forearm firmly, and thus they reached the top of the hill together, holding each other's arm in companionship, even as the loud rumble of the mass of Easterlings frenetically preparing to charge on them could be heard from afar.
"Aragorn, Hadathor, lead your infantry onward. Put your long shields upfront to hold their advance; do not let them take the hill. Use your cavalry to protect the flanks," Aramarth said, nodding slightly to his Elven riders who formed in a well-practiced position at once and waited for their king.
"Are we to follow his orders, my king?" asked Hadathor, trying not to seem too upset by the possibility.
"We are," Aragorn answered simply, unsheathing Andúril from its black scabbard. "I will lead the right flank; Hadathor will lead the left."
Aramarth further instructed them. "My riders and I will attack them from the south flank, but you must hold the lines until we return. No matter what happens, do not yield an inch."
Aragorn nodded resolutely and, putting his hand over his heart, he parted towards the right flank.
The ever-silent Neithan made to follow him at once, but was stopped by Aramarth's voice.
"Surely you do not intend to go into battle with only a hunting knife, do you, young Neithan? No matter how great a hunting knife it is."
Aramarth reached underneath the fabric of the undercoat of Maur-agar's saddle and pulled out a beautiful, short, straight Elven sword. "This is the sword of Elladan Elrondion, and I am only lending it to you. Make good use of it while you can hold it, and I expect you to return it after the battle."
He handed the slender blade to the young man, who took it without word or hesitation.
"Protect your king, Neithan. I trust you."
It was all the young man needed to hear. Turning his horse, he followed Aragorn's path, determined not to disappoint the Elven King's given trust.
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"Charge! Kill them, kill them all!"
Brodda's commands to the great army were mad and erratic, roused by woe and anger. His arms gripped his son's head spasmodically, refusing to let go of it despite the pleas of his closest officials.
His advisors tried to put some sense into the grief-stricken emperor, beseeching him not to send the whole army into assault without strategy or rule.
But the once proud man fell on his knees, defeated in sorrow, and commanded the great eastern army with a hoarse whisper, "Full attack!"
Brodda's men hesitated to give out the order, knowing that the western cavalry along with the Elven riders would crush down half of the eastern soldiers the moment they crossed the river, but then a murmur coming from the ranks drew their attention to the hills of Ithilien.
"Look! The Elf King flees from the battlefield!"
And it appeared to be that way, for the entire Elven cavalry tore away from the host of the White Tree and galloped west along the river without looking back.
"The Elven host cowers away from us, my lord."
A surge of renewed power seemed to flow through Brodda's bent body. He stood up to in fact see Aramarth riding away with his entire horde.
"Craven fool," the emperor said, might returning to his voice and stance. "He doubtlessly rides to seek the aid of the Swan Prince of the seaport. But he makes a mistake; by the time the army of Dol-Amroth comes, Elessar will be dead and Ithilien overrun.
"Sound the charge."
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"Where do they go? They desert us ere the battle?"
The clamor rose from the army of the White Tree, as they were unaware of Aramarth's plans. The soldiers stepped back, gripped by their own fright and believing the elves had betrayed them. But Aragorn's voice arose above their murmurs, steady and commanding of obedience.
"Silence your foolish fears, and stand beside your king!"
It was all Elessar had to say that day; there were no heartfelt or inspired speeches to stir the men, only his unassailable presence as he raised the bright Andúril before them, his face stern and resolute.
"The full legion of Anarion will take the lead of us, long spears and shields to the front to stop the Easterlings' head. Half of the cavalry will follow this Flame of the West to protect the legion's right flank. The rest of you will follow the General of the house of Ecthelion to protect the left flank." Heralds passed Aragorn's orders to all the men, and thus they advanced to meet the already charging mass of Easterlings.
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There was not even a glance back from him, no meaningful gaze to appease her and ask for her blessing, to at least bid her goodbye. Elessar left, too burdened by his many duties to even remember her, just as Aramarth had said before leaving to instigate the battle about to take place.
She was tempted to put the blame of everything onto the Elven King, for his stubbornness and unrest that caused the inevitable clash. But the Evenstar could not bring herself to feel disdain for Aramarth, not after seeing him garbed in her father's war attire, bearing his sword and the spear inherited from Gil-Galad, whom Elrond so loyally served.
No, she could do nothing more than be in awe of his might and fierce resolution, for whatever Aramarth had done and was going to do at the fields near the River Poros that day, it would be in honor of her. And Arwen was careful to admit that never in her life had she felt more privileged; even as her beloved husband rode out to face thousands of angry warriors, and Aramarth was nowhere to be found.
Deep inside she knew, despite the loud thunder of both armies colliding in the field below her, that whatever was to happen that day, the King of Elves was in control. The fearless elf had pledged that nothing would happen to Estel, at the cost of his own life, and now she believed him with all her heart.
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Thank you; thank you so much for reading this. Once again I'm deeply sorry for the delay but I'll have you know that in compensation for my writing laziness, next chapter will be up next week. So, keep an eye out for it.
Much appreciation for the wonderful reviews, that inspire me to keep on writing this monster, and a huge, thankful bear hug to Precious Jewelle for proofreading this for me.
So see you next time!
Elwe..
Next Chapter: A difference in Skill. (Coming very soon, I promise!)