Land of the King
Chapter 23: The Sword in the Darkness
Cirion could only stare in horror. There was no name, in Sindarin nor Quenya, for that which stood before him. The Men of the West had never had the misfortune to encounter one before but those they ruled, the Casterrim, and the ever elusive Children had called them the Others, White Walkers.
Cirion drew his sword, and so too did Aglaran beside him. There would be no time to string their bows.
With a sudden burst of speed, the Other charged at them, deftly sweeping and thrusting its blade. Elegant, graceful, and swift, any lesser man would have been overwhelmed by the Other's incredible swordsmanship. But Cirion and Aglaran were no lesser men, and with the skill of over a century's worth of training, they managed to keep up with the creature, for a time at least.
Yet unbeknownst to either of them, with every parry of the Other's ice blade, their own swords weakened further and further. Not even the blades of the Dúnedain, unenchanted and unmagicked, could withstand the ice for long.
When Cirion raised his blade for the next parry, the blade almost screamed as it shattered into a thousand pieces, falling like grey rain upon the snow below.
As he stared dumbfounded, the Other instantaneously took advantage of his weakness, slashing its blade right across Cirion's chest, cutting right through his Ranger jerkin and leaving a deep gash.
Cirion fell to the ground in agony. The sword had moved so swiftly and so sharply, he had hardly felt the cut, but immediately after, a swift biting pain had swept through, feeling almost like the cold of the ice blade was being driven deeper and deeper into his body. He would have surely died in the next moment had it not been for Aglaran, who managed to land a blow on the creature.
Yet Aglaran's bravery seemed to be for naught, as the blow had but tickled the Other and it soon stalked over to him. Tired and fatigued, Aglaran could not fend for long. His blade joined the shattered remains of Cirion's sword upon the ground when the Other ran him all the way though.
NO!
Cirion forced himself to move. In its arrogance, the Other had drawn his sword out from Aglaran's body with his right hand, and had grasped his neck and lifted him aloft with his left.
The Other seemed almost to be boasting as it tightened its grip on Aglaran's neck, slowly but surely choking the life from him, even as his life's blood spilled out from his wound, staining the snow a chilling red.
Forcing himself up through the pain, Cirion resisted the urge to scream though the pain was so much he felt like screaming until his throat went hoarse. His last hope, he drew his obsidian dagger and plunged it straight into the back of the Other's neck.
In an instant, the Other shattered into pieces of ice, as surely as Cirion's sword had shattered. Aglaran dropped to the ground and Cirion rushed to his friend, desperately trying to staunch his wounds, though in his heart he knew it was already too late.
Propping his friend against a tree, Cirion desperately rummaged in their supply bags, desperately searching for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. He was stopped by Aglaran.
"Why do you try and stop what can no longer be stopped? The Gift of Men I do accept freely."
Cirion did not listen, he would not, could not leave Aglaran here to die.
"Stop Cirion! It is already too late! His blade pierced right through me. Even should I survive the night, I will never be able to make it back to the Wall."
Cirion forced himself to stop, though doing so was almost as painful as the gash on his chest.
He turned to his comrade, his brother in arms, with tears in his eyes.
Aglaran looked at him sadly, "You have to leave me here old friend. You have a duty, to warn the Wall, about Gendel and Gorne, about… the thing that attacked us. You know what is at stake. The Others have returned, and if they break through the Wall, Eru help us all. Promise me please."
"I promise."
Aglaran closed his eyes, feeling more at peace now. He gestured slightly to his sword which Cirion placed in his hand. "I would have followed you anywhere my brother, my captain, my King."
With those last words, passed Aglaran, son of Aglacar. Former King's Ranger of Arnor, and Ranger of the Night's Watch and now his watch had ended.
With a silent kiss upon his brow, Cirion said goodbye to the man who had been a truer brother to him than either of his brothers by blood.
Gathering the remaining supplies together, Cirion picked up the ice sword and set off toward the Wall.
Cirion did not know how long he had walked. Almost as if Nature itself had conspired against him, a blizzard had swept in shortly after he had left his friend to die. The ground had been covered in foots of snow, blanketing out all of his footprints so could no longer even tell which direction he was going.
Cirion had never been a very religious man, but in those cold biting moments, he had prayed harder than he ever had before. The freezing chill of the blizzard chilled him down to his bones, and the cold sting in his wound was only exacerbated.
On his next step, Cirion found that his tired legs could no longer support his body and he crashed upon the ground.
His last thoughts were on how comfortable and warm the snow was before his world went dark and he knew no more.
In his dreams, Cirion was taken back to the last time he had blacked out. Almost twenty-four years since the day his world had been brought crashing down by the revelation of Ostoher's treachery and yet still Cirion could recall it with perfect clarity. How could he not? It had been and forever would be the worst day of his life.
Yet as he continued his trip down his memories, his mother's voice, waking him from his slumber turned into that of a man.
Cirion's eyes opened wide. Calimehtar was the name of the Ranger who had woken him, one of many who had followed Cirion to the Wall all those years ago.
"You've woken First Ranger. Thank Eru for that. The Lord Commander will be coming soon to debrief you."
Cirion croaked, "Water. Give me some water please."
As he downed the cup that was offered greedily, Cirion rubbed his hand over his wound absentmindedly.
Calimehtar noticed, and said, "You're lucky to have survived. Any longer and you would have been beyond our aid. The other Rangers found you collapsed not ten feet from the Black Gate on their return."
"How did you treat it?"
"Was not I First Ranger, but Amandil. He used up almost our entire stock of athelas trying to treat it. It was the only thing that worked. It's a cursed wound. There is a dark magic upon it. It will never fully heal."
Cirion nodded in understanding. A short while later, Lord Commander Wylis entered the room and Calimehtar excused himself.
"It is good to see you still with us Cirion. I need to know. Where is Aglaran? What happened out there?"
Cirion winced.
"Aglaran is dead."
"Dead? How could this be? What could have done this?" asked the Lord Commander, aghast.
And so Cirion told him his tale. Of how he and Aglaran had espied upon the wildings, discovered the plans of their two leaders, Gendel and Gorne and had been discovered. He continued onto they had fled and how they were later confronted in the Haunted Forest by a demon from the North.
The Lord Commander was deep in thought. "So our sworn enemy has returned at last. This is very grave news. Aglaran did not make it did he?"
"No. And now that I think of it, neither did the sword. Tis missing."
"You mean the ice blade?" the Lord Commander questioned. "The Rangers found it next to you, but the moment we brought it past the Wall, it melted into a puddle of water."
It was Cirion's turn then to be thoughtful. "Then that means the legends are true. The Tawarwaith did indeed weave spells into the foundations of the Wall. That is good news for sure, is it not?"
"It is, but we now have no evidence to show the kingdoms. They will send us no aid if they cannot see the need, and by now the memory of the Long Night has long since faded into legend."
"Allow me Lord Commander, to write to my nephew. He will surely believe us."
"The King of Arnor? Yes… his support would be of much use. If the Others have returned, they may be seeking to bring a second darkness."
"Yet it is the height of summer? Would not their powers be stronger in winter?"
"I do not know Cirion, but what I do know is that whatever the Others are up to, it cannot be good."
Long ago, he had been a man, though his memories of that time had long since faded away. Sometimes when he thought long and hard enough, a brief spectre of a woman appeared in his mind, perhaps someone he had loved? It mattered not.
His life as a human had ended the moment they had taken him. Those little rats who called themselves the Earth-Singers and whom his kin had called the Children of the Forest. The size of children they may have been, but they had possessed a cruelty beyond any child.
They had tied him and so many others up, and in a dark ritual, turned them into monsters. Enslaved utterly to them, he and his brethren had killed so very many of their once kin before they were banished to the far North when their use had expired.
It was then that he had come, their master, saviour, lord, and… father. He broke them out of the chains the Children had enslaved them with in their minds and for the first time in centuries they had been free.
Willingly, he and his brethren had devoted and bound themselves to him. A new bond, a new contract, one signed willingly this time. And through him their powers became stronger than ever before and they were all of them connected like never before.
Now they could see everything each and every other of their brethren saw, hear, smell and touch everything they could feel. Their minds were connected and they could speak to each other even from across the entire world and their ability to manipulate the cold had become incredible.
So they had followed their master, as he led them south on their quest for vengeance. They slaughtered every single Child they could find, and cut down those who stood in their way. They had become intent on covering the world in darkness, honouring their master whose rule they had now sworn to spread to all corners of the earth.
But they had failed. They had forgotten what is was like to be human and so they had forgotten that humans would always rise in times of strife. Everywhere their rule was broken as the mortals rose against them. For the last time in history, the Elder Races fought alongside those who would soon supplant them and heroes pushed him and his brethren back slowly but surely to their fortress at the northernmost point of the earth.
But defeated they had not been, they had regrouped and planned and soon they had marched south again. Yet at the moment when victory was in their grasp, they had felt it.
Far away in the North, their master had been betrayed by his own brethren, his seven younger siblings had joined together and defeated him. Yet his might had been too strong for them to truly overcome.
As their last and most desperate resort, they sacrificed most of their power that remained and imprisoned him deep in the fortress. Seven chains wrapped around his body, keeping him from escaping and also limiting his influence over the world.
He and his comrades had felt the imprisonment of their master, and with it, the vast majority of their newfound powers. Weakened and despondent, they had fled before their enemies though the damage to the world's seasons had already been done.
For so many centuries they had waited in the Lands of Always Winter, their master so close and yet beyond their reach. Yet as the years passed, so too did the weakening of their master's bindings.
Once more they could hear him in their dreams, reassuring them, loving them, instructing them. He promised that one day he would break his accursed siblings' chains and then he would lead them to finish what they had started.
Overjoyed, they had thrown themselves into preparations for his eventual glorious return. They began once more raising the dead creatures and humans of the lands north of the pathetic wall built by the humans.
Little by little their army was raised once more and their powers waxed as the strength of their master's bindings waned.
Perhaps a little foolishly, they had attempted to arrange for the fall of the Wall prematurely when they had sent one of their own, a rare sister, to infiltrate it. Her mission failed and she was slain. Their master was most displeased at their foolishness in allowing the mortals to learn they were still alive, and so they had decided to never again send one of their own south until the time was ripe for their master's return.
That was until their master had contacted them once more. He had spoken of his curiosity of a supposed kingdom of long-lived mortals south of the Wall. Having learned that some of their people had joined the Night's Watch, his brethren had sent him and one of his brothers south to bring them to their master.
He was greatly saddened at the loss of his brother to the dagger of one of the High Men. Yet it was perhaps a lesson in arrogance. The one that had slain his brother had gone south, no doubt to warn his precious Night's Watch.
Summoning a blizzard, he relaxed, knowing that the Ranger would not make it far with his wound.
He looked down upon the other ranger before him. He was near death, so very near. He was not surprised that his companion had thought him dead. He himself had thought him dead until he had inspected him.
No matter. It simply made his mission easier.
Drawing an obsidian dagger, he chanted in a strange and unknown language. Had any mortal been present, they would have described it as sounding like the ringing of ice.
Slowly, he pressed the blade into the heart of the mortal. The mortal's eyes opened, turning as blue as his own and his skin became pale like snow.
He smirked. It was time to welcome his new brother. And now everything that he had known in his mortal life, they knew as well.
It's back boiz. You can kinda expect a return to regular updates (or maybe not if my Genshin Impact addiction acts up).
