Chapter 4: Do not be too eager…
Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's works. Sadly. The usual… it's not mine if you've seen it before. Also, I do not know any Black Speech. Anything that looks like Black Speech, you can assume it's a different language. If anyone knows Black Speech, just tell me how to say the quotes and I'll fix them.
A/N: I'm becoming one of those people who always ask for reviews. My hope is one day I won't have to. Until then, have fun reading. REVIEW!!!
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No turning back. Araniel approached the carnage at full speed. He held onto his spear with his left hand, and with his right, he blessed Bárang on his forehead. Eru, save us!
Berethor grimaced, feeling the gallop with every muscle and joint in his body. I must focus. I must. He drew his sword and found himself asking Manwë for help. I believe! He blessed Eru for life.
Ðørin cursed his bad luck. Throwing his spear at the chaos, he followed the others to death and glory.
Lindórë fired his arrows with a speed to rival an Elf. As he reached for his final arrow, he noticed a dart fly from the approaching Quodi. His last arrow fell harmless to the ground.
Elrodan prepared himself. I welcome death. Sixty-three years is enough time for a warrior to live. I have seen too much of war. As he entered the fray, he called his battle cry, "Arani!"
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Valgorúth watched in horror as the Plainsman Ðørin met his foes. The short fighter was lost in the sea of opponents, never to be seen again. The horses of the Arani were wasted; most riders had dismounted in order to better attack their opponents. Val lost sight of his father and teacher as they leapt off their horses into the sea of death.
What is happening?
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"Good, good." Kharlûk was nearing hysteria. "The generals are engaged. Our victory shall be swift."
Túka turned to the mixed-breed. "Not all of my men are fighting yet. It will be but a short time before the noose draws about their necks."
"When that happens, nothing shall stop our conquest! Quodi shall rule all of Gondor, even unto Minas Tirith itself!"
"Quodi shall rule. I shall dethrone the Estelli. Who do they think they are? How come they think they are more fit to rule than we?"
"They are not, my Túka. You should rule. Why are you less special than they? It is by their own claim that they are blessed by the gods. The gods! Who are they anyways? I don't see Eru charging down that slope. Has Manwë fallen asleep?"
"Fairy tales! Children's stories! They are no more real than our allegiance to Gondor!" Túka glared at the Arani with defiance.
"All a warrior needs is a good sword. He needs no god, no deity! Just his hand and his sword."
Túka sat up tall in his saddle. "There is no God! Eru does not exist! I deny Him and all his legions! Hear that, Araniel? I do not believe in your God!"
"Takh-hâr náfu! To each his own! We need no faith in a distant dream!" The lechery of Kharlûk was working.
"Takh-hâr náfu!"
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Death.
It surrounds me. There is no escape. All shall perish.
It seemed as though the Easterlings didn't wish to kill him, just take him alive. To where?
Berethor spun to throw off an Easterling that had grabbed him from behind. Enemies were on all sides.
Must reach Araniel!
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Araniel defended himself as if in a dream. Fighter's instinct took over. He grabbed an Arani rapier from a fallen soldier. Switching his strong blade to his left hand, he grabbed the armor-piecing sword in his right. He watched as another Easterling rushed him. Dazedly, he tossed the Easterling to the ground without effort.
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Berethor finally reached his captain. "Araniel! All is lost! If we don't leave now, we'll never make it out alive!"
Araniel glanced at Berethor, then turned back to his foes. "Life is impossible. We must try to defend our city as best as we can. If we fail here, the enemy will attack our city. When we fail. We must lower their numbers."
Berethor realized the hopelessness of their plight. "I consider it an honor to die for you, my lord."
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Elrodan forced his way to the front line. Only a handful of soldiers were left, most of whom he had taught himself. "Rally to me, to me!" he cried. These are my best fighters. Let's show these traitors how the Arani fight.
The Arani instantly knew what their general wanted. They gathered together, a tight circle of flaming fury. The Quodi and Easterling armies were dismayed for a moment, but once they had fully encircled their enemies, they knew it was only a matter of time.
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Berethor joined Araniel, fighting back to back. "Master, we must send word to our city! They will be caught off guard and be destroyed!"
"There is one fighter who has not joined us in battle, yet came with us all the way. My son, Valgorúth, followed us against my wishes, but now, I am glad he did. He shall warn the people, if he doesn't die on his return trip."
"If he is anything like his father, I think that Morgoth himself would have trouble bringing him down."
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Kharlûk and Túka watched, bloodthirsty, as all hell broke loose on Middle-Earth. There were no more than a few dozen Arani still fighting, but they were all helped by their generals. Kharlûk shouted out his order to his buglers, "Ignore the generals! Kill the rest, and leave the generals alive! I want them alive!"
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Berethor and Araniel were amazed as all of a sudden, their attackers turned and ran away from them. Araniel looked over the heads of his foes to see where they were headed. He saw a group of about fifty men in a circle with Elrodan leading them. He turned to Berethor and shouted, "Over there! Elrodan and his men are making a last stand. We must help them!"
"Sir, we can get free and leave! Why should we die when we don't need to?"
"Because we will be cowards for eternity. Would you leave your old master to die a horrible death? I understand this enemy. He will not allow us to escape, yet he does not want us dead yet. He is as bloodthirsty as the orcs of old, and he wants the glory for having killed us himself. His mind is perturbed to the point of giving himself glory where none can be found. He is more a coward than anything else, yet I seem to understand his moves perfectly."
"He is as cowardly as a dog. He knew we would only bring a supplement force, not our entire battalion. Oh, save us, Manwë! Save us!"
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Manwë looked up suddenly. He heard a faint cry from the Far East. I believe! Save us, Manwë! Save us! He rose from his seat and began to leave the throne room.
"What have you heard, Manwë?"
The Vala turned around to face Eru. "O great Ilúvatar, a cry from the East has come out of great need! If it is your will, milord, I must go help."
Ulmo started from his pool. "I shall help you. The Eastern Sea is now as much a home to me as the Western. This cry comes from the land of the Quodi, and their harbor has recently turned against me. I will be glad to destroy this treacherous people."
Suddenly Varda, the companion of Manwë, stood up. "I too have received a pitiful cry of help. It comes from one who still knows the Elven tongues of many years ago. Ai Elbereth, Gilthoniel, he cries. It is the voice of a young boy, but his prayer contains the power of centuries. He is the descendent of Estel."
Suddenly, Eru spoke to the group. "Peace! Be still. We know and have heard all petitions from the time of the Great Song until the End of the World, which none know but ourselves."
Eru rose and began his decree. His voice quivered with pain. "We must ignore these petitions, for the sands of time cannot regretfully be stayed by one man's prayer. However, the small boy must not die. We wish for all the Valar to aid this boy in his escape back to his city. He must not die, for there are plans for him."
The Valar stood and bowed. "Your will be done, Ilúvatar," they said in one voice. Manwë, Ulmo, and their brethren left the halls of Mandos and made ready to leave. Tulkas and Oromë readied their chariots of fire while Námo, the Doomsman, loosed the doors of death.
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At last, only the generals were left of the Arani upon the long fields of Quodi. With a great struggle, the arms of the Arani were taken away and presented to Kharlûk. The mixed-breed drew out the sword of Araniel, Bárang, from the pile. "I always wished to see this sword," he snarled. He hefted it as though it weighed no more than a dagger. "The greatest sword ever, eh? Even greater than Narsil of your forefathers? If I remember correctly, didn't Narsil break under the foot of the great Sauron?"
"And if I remember, didn't Estel return with the re-forged Narsil and destroy the 'great' Sauron?" Berethor snarled with disgust. "What do you have to say to that, you piece of sh—"
Berethor was silenced by a quick sweep of Bárang. His head rolled towards Kharlûk, his face still in an expression of hatred. Berethor's great scar seemed to mock the enemy warrior, and his eyes were full of anger. "Clean up this mess!" Kharlûk barked to one of his attendants. Turning his attention to Araniel, he decided to have a little fun.
"Do you understand how I have come to defeat you, my dear Araniel?" Kharlûk's voice was filled with sarcasm. "Twenty years ago, your village was raided while you were on a hunting party. Fool! You left the women and children alone so that you could have a little sport with a few deer."
Araniel remained silent.
"Why don't you kill us and be done with it?" whispered Elrodan.
"What was that, my love?" snarled the evil general.
"If you kill us now, you can get on with your conquest sooner. Why don't you take advantage? Who's having the sport now?"
"If you don't shut your mouth, your fate might not be as nice as your friend's." Kharlûk brimmed with his anger.
"No matter what you do to me, you will never take Gondor, you pitiful piece of slime. You are as worthless as a blackfly when compared to a mountain. Why even bother with talking?"
"Túka? Could you bring me my knife?" The traitor brought a ten-inch dagger out from the general's tent. The hilt was pure gold, studded with some of the finest rubies and emeralds that Elrodan had ever seen. The blade was made of pure diamond and sharpened so that the edge and tip were barely visible. It was obvious that Kharlûk paid a great price for this dagger.
"You didn't heed my warning, dear Elrodan. You will wish you had."
"My friends of old, you Quodi! You do not need to follow this man! I knew you when you were our allies! Return to us and Eru will forgive you!"
"Are you quite done, father? Eru does not exist! If he does, where is he now? Is he sleeping? Maybe he went on vacation!" The laughter of tens of thousands of enemies filled Elrodan's ears.
"Ilúvatar does what He deems best. I do not doubt Him, nor do I doubt that you will be repaid in full for what you are doing here today."
"I've had enough of this!" Kharlûk advanced toward the old man.
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Valgorúth watched in horror as Kharlûk used his dagger to cut the fingers and toes off the old man's limbs. He closed his eyes and plugged his ears, but he could not shut out the scream of his former friend and teacher. All of a sudden, a strong hand seized him from behind, clamping his mouth shut. Val screamed into the silencing hand as seven men and seven women surrounded him. The men were all kingly in appearance, and the ladies were all more beautiful than he could imagine. Immediately he silenced himself. The tallest and mightiest of them knelt before him.
"You will remain quiet," he whispered. "We are here to help you. Release him, Ulmo."
The woman beside him approached. "I am Varda, my young one. I heard your prayer, and we have come to help you escape. You can do nothing to help your father's life, but there is one thing you can do that will help your people."
Valgorúth stared in amazement as the tall one, obviously Manwë, continued. "I realize you wish to stay until you know there is nothing you can do. I wish you didn't have to, but you shall now watch your father's death.
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Kharlûk wiped the blood off his hands. "Put the bodies in the icebox!" he commanded. "Where was I? Oh, yes. You left the women to be killed or taken by the Easterlings. Foolish man."
Araniel said nothing.
"Well, among one of those women we took before you returned was a young woman named, oh what was it? That's right, Elanor."
Araniel's steely eyes turned the color of a thundercloud, about to flow over with the inevitable rain. He could imagine the pain she went through in the torture chambers of the Easterlings.
"By the way, my wonderful foe, she was my mother. Allow me to count it as a privilege to meet and kill my mother's husband."
"Eru will still forgive you, my son." Araniel's voice was quiet and resigned.
Kharlûk burst into laughter. "I doubt that! Don't preach to me; your words get nowhere. Nowhere but death." With that, he plunged his dagger into Araniel's heart. Araniel gasped out and slowly collapsed to the ground. The beautiful dagger melted into gold dust and blew away. Where the ashes of the dagger fell, the plains turned to dirt and no grass ever grew again.
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"Now we must go, Valgorúth." Manwë's voice was filled with sadness and regret.
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A/N: Sorry this took so long! Seven months is too long to wait for a new chapter. I hope that my readers will forgive me! Thanks again to Dalamar for beta-ing my story!
--JBRam & Valgorúth