Chapter Two: "Some That Die Deserve Life"
Disclaimer: I own none of the Lord of the Rings or related works. I do not own Berethor, as he is property of "The Third Age." I own Ðørin, but not Thorin. Don't confuse the two, as they are completely different people, even though the pronunciation of Ðørin is very similar to Thorin. Valgorúth is mine, as well as Araniel and anyone you do not recognize. Those you do recognize are descendants of their namesakes, not the people themselves. All hail J. R. R. Tolkien!
A/N: Although I'm delighted to hear from Sarah Barr and Dally, I must say that there is a lack of reviews. Please review. Reviews fuel inspiration and enlighten the mind. Response from the reader is what separates fan-fiction writers from the authors of regular books; we actually get to enjoy the responses of our readers and possibly edit our work so as to please our audience more. Comments, concerns, reviews—all would be greatly appreciated.
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"I sense something." Araniel turned around in his saddle for the forty-seventh time. Even the four thousand volunteers did little to ease his conscience.
"Relax, milord," replied Berethor. "You must focus on what's ahead, not on who you left behind. If we all thought of our wives and children, we would be in an uproar. It is most important that our leaders… Milord? Are you listening to me?"
"It is said that the Elves could die of grief. I sometimes envy that luxury."
"Milord, with all due respect, that happened over twenty years ago! A complete accident; nothing was your fault."
"She was the fairest in all Gondor. All else withered beside my love, my Elanor."
"Yes, milord, but you must admit, she was no Elf."
"However, she was of the Estelli, as well as a descendant of the brave Samwise Gamgee of the Hobbits and of—"
"Hobbits!" Berethor almost slid off his saddle. "You don't actually believe those ridiculous stories, do you?"
"Ridiculous? My ancestors were indebted to the Hobbits for their service in the Great War. My line goes back to Elessar himself! Never say you disbelieve the history of Middle-Earth!"
"I won't say it then, but I'll think it. There's no such thing as a three-foot hero, or a ten-foot spider. I daresay there's no such thing as a Ring of Power, either!"
"Captain, all of those stories are true. Do you see this ring? This is a copy of the Ring of Barahir. It is given to every member of the Estelli upon their twenty-first birthday. I gave one to my son not three days ago. Aragorn himself wore the original Ring of Barahir."
"Until I can see with my own eyes the Ring of Power and place it on my finger, I cannot believe these foolish old wives' tales."
"Berethor, the Ring was destroyed. All other Rings lost their powers and are lost. The last Elven Ring sailed to the Undying Lands with Celeborn. The Rings of Power are gone, my friend."
"I cannot believe it, and no man can convince me otherwise."
"I pray Eru will have pity on your soul."
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As the company drew near to Minas Quodi, Valgorúth rode around the battalions. Pushing his horse for maximum speed, Val stayed out of sight of the majority of the army, strafing left for the trees. Upon entering the woods, he slowed his horse to the speed of the Arani army and moved closer, using the trees to screen his movement. Ignoring the odd sounds of the ancient forest, the son of kings strove forward.
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"Ah nevi shud a come." Ðørin grumbled to himself.
"Thank you, my friend, for giving of your time." Elrodan and his brother Lindórë were riding alongside the Plainsman in the generals' section. "I know you were against the battle."
"To de cahntray, Rodan, Ah nevi wus agin de war. Mah peoples wus agin de war, no Ah."
"My mistake, my friend. I was under the impression that you hated war."
"Soom, yah. Ah not injoy de sufrin' ah mah peoples."
"None of us enjoy death," Lindórë spoke up. "Nor do we enjoy causing death. That is what separates us from the enemy."
"Ah not see wha de enemy injoy destrayin' de lifes of innocence."
"And we never will, I think." Elrodan sighed as he stared ahead towards the oncoming battle.
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"Sound the halt!" Araniel looked toward the city grimly. "Which is the best approach, Túka?" Araniel turned to where Túka was sitting. At least, he was sitting there ten minutes ago.
Strange. "Has anyone seen Túka?"
Lindórë answered. "He left the company heading toward the trees. Should I follow him?"
"No, give the man some privacy. Berethor, what do you think about the attack?"
"That ridge looks like a good place to set up an offensive. If I remember correctly, there should be no obstacles between here and the Tower of Quodi. Beyond the Tower is the Sea of Atlan, and after that, the Uncharted Plains."
"How far a gallop?"
"We should start slowly to conserve the horses' energy. A canter of about five minutes will bring us into firing range. Another two minutes galloping will bring us to the front lines. That means two minutes with little cover. With Easterling archers, I estimate about five percent casualties. That leaves us with more than the thirty-five hundred I had estimated in the Council. Easy victory, but with casualties at thirty percent or more, methinks."
"Thank you for that." Araniel nudged his horse forward so he could address the troops. "Men of Gondor, Arani! Today is a day of death! Look to your left and your right. Ask them their names. One of you will not return from this battle. Let me remind you of this: we are not fighting for ourselves. We are fighting for Quodi. We are repaying a debt of gratitude. If anyone fears for his life, I suggest you go home." No man moved; all were still. They knew their duty and would preserve their honor. "Very well, men. We will assemble on the ridge ahead. Forward, Arani!"
"Arani!" came the cry from the four thousand horsemen.
"Charge!" cried Araniel, signaling his officers to move their companies into position. The cavalry began the ascent of the hill. The sea of horses climbed the ridge and charged into the view of the red-and-white Tower of Quodi and the blood-stained plains of battle. As soon as they came into the sight of the enemy, the Arani let out a never-ending cry of challenge, and the buglers poured into a frenzy. The combination was enough to strike fear into the soul of any enemy.
From the top of the ridge, Araniel looked down on the field of war. Something was different. Araniel urged his horse forward a few steps toward the oncoming battle. Then he saw it. They weren't fighting an ill-equipped and reduced army of ten thousand foot-soldiers. These were cavalry, and the number seemed to have grown, not shrunk as a day of battle would have rendered.
Treachery! "Halt the charge! Sound a retreat!" But Araniel's cry was drowned out by the Arani challenge. "We must save who we can!" Araniel called back to his generals. "After the host! Double-time! Charge!"
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Valgorúth edged his horse towards the bounds of the forest. The call of battle was too much to resist, but he could leave to early, or he'd be a target for ten thousand bowmen.
Patience.
Valgorúth heard the war cry of his people thundering toward the city. He looked out at the opposing army with expectation. Something seemed… odd. He'd never seen what ten thousand soldiers looked like, but it seemed that there was more than double that number. Plus they were on horseback. Don't we normally fight infantry? Another thing caught his glance, but he couldn't place it for a second.
Then it dawned on him.
There were two types of uniform down there. The too-familiar gold and scarlet of the Easterlings and an odd red-and-white striped uniform beside them. Valgorúth glanced at the red and white Tower of Quodi and instantly understood.
Treason! Valgorúth struggled for a minute. Ride in and be mercilessly slaughtered or fall back to Minas Aran? Honor meant death. Life meant shame. Honor was an important virtue for Arani, but Val was an Estelli. He was promised a long life, of which he had only spent twenty-one feeble years. Valgorúth nudged his horse back to shadow, but stayed where he could see the action.
The death of the Arani was imminent.
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A/N: Thus ends Chapter Two of The Estelli. Review, or my beta will take even longer to check the next chapter (I hope she doesn't).