Land of the King
Chapter 39: Blood and Blackwater
"Victory? There were no victors at Morlond, just who lost less."
"Have you come to a decision Your Majesty?" Lord Gaermegil asked him.
They had occupied South Morlond for twelve days now. Despite their best efforts, the raids on their supply lines had not been alleviated in the slightest and in fact had intensified. Ever since the raids had begun, only a single convoy of supplies had reached them. They were going to starve soon.
The elusiveness and skill of the raiders had made it clear to Argeleb that they were commanded by none other than the Rangers. A secretive force that swore allegiance directly to the crown. Unlike the last civil war, not a single Ranger had joined the Purists. Araphant had chosen his rangers well.
Furthermore, the siege had not gone nearly as well as hoped. The raid on the docks had failed and they had lost almost all their barges, leaving them with no choice but to attempt to cross at the bridge.
Seven times they had assaulted the north side, and seven times had they been repelled in some of the bloodiest exchanges Arnor had ever seen.
Morale was at an all-time low. The siege had not been going well and their supplies were not coming. Estimates suggested they had only three days of supplies left. Whispers of desertion were rampant in the army. Some had already tried and had been hanged, but Argeleb was afraid the whole army might soon mutiny.
With such a situation, Argeleb had had no choice but to consider the proposal of Lord Gaermegil. The ruthless but logical decision to rid themselves of extra and unnecessary mouths.
Argeleb turned to Lord Gaermegil, "Yes."
"Then are we executing the prisoners, Sire?"
"Not yet. Hail the Loyalists. Inform them that I want to parley," Argeleb ordered. He would not execute prisoners unless he had no other choice.
A few hours later, Argeleb stood on the bridge waiting for his estranged cousin.
Per the terms of their meeting, the parley would take place exactly halfway between the drawbridges that the Purists controlled and the Loyalist-controlled north. Argeleb and Arvedui would each bring ten guards and a second commander of their own choice.
Argeleb had chosen to bring Lord Gaercar and it seemed Arvedui had chosen to bring Lord Ondoher of Minas Anor.
It was Arvedui that spoke first, "Let's get straight to the point shall we? What do you want and what are you offering in return Argeleb?"
"Curt as ever cousin. I want supplies for my men. Food, medicine and the like. Enough to support my army for the next two weeks. And I want you to call off your raiders who are cowardly attacking my supply lines and savaging my convoys. In exchange, I will return all nine-thousand, eight hundred and seventeen of the prisoners captured in South Morlond unharmed." Argeleb answered.
"The raids must have hurt you more than we dared to hope if you come before me begging for supplies. What is your motive I wonder? Why would you return almost ten-thousand men who would surely take up arms against you and keep you from taking the north? You've already tried seven times, the eighth would be even bloodier if I had another ten thousand guarding this bridge," Arvedui wondered.
"Ten thousand prisoners are a small price to pay if it keeps sixty-thousand of my men alive."
"Yet it would put a nail in the coffin for your plans to take the north would it not? And do not exaggerate, you no longer have sixty thousand men."
Argeleb refused to answer, "I have no obligation to answer sensitive questions pertaining to my military."
"I see. Then that means you have already given up on trying to take the north and have instead switched tactics to holding the south as long as possible so that Raumdor falls. Why should I let you do that? I have the superior negotiating position here Argeleb, these are my terms. Leave South Morlond and I will call of the raiders. You and your men may return to Calenardhon without harassment. You have my word," Arvedui declared.
"You're wrong Cousin. You may hold the north and naval superiority in the bay, but I hold almost ten thousand of your men hostage."
Arvedui almost gaped then and so did Lord Ondoher next to him. Lord Gaermegil smirked.
"You dare!?" Lord Ondoher demanded.
"Yes. You see should you reject my perfectly reasonable request for supplies, supplies that your raiders have been denying my army, I will have no choice but to prioritise the lives of my men over the prisoners," Argeleb responded coldly, hiding the disgust he felt.
Lord Ondoher began furiously whispering in the ears of his cousin but Arvedui waved him off.
"May we have some time to consider this exchange?" Arvedui asked, staring daggers at Argeleb.
"You have until nightfall," Argeleb declared, not a hint of the agony he felt inside writ on his face.
After he had finished telling Arvedui how he could signal his acceptance, Argeleb made to leave and as he did so, his cousin spat at him.
"I thought you were better than this."
"So did I," Argeleb thought.
His ultimatum to Arvedui had been at noon. It was almost nightfall now. According to the conditions he gave his cousin, a blue flag being raised near the bridge would represent his acceptance of the demand and the beginning of the exchange.
Yet as the hours dragged on and no flag was raised, Argeleb fell into despair. He had been too rash at the negotiations, holding the lives of the prisoners hostage and using them as a blunt tool to force Arvedui to concede. Even as a child, Arvedui had been stubborn and unyielding, would he bow now to Argeleb's demands?
With growing dread, Argeleb watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, darkness shrouding the world in his absence. Yet still he waited, and waited.
But the blue flag never appeared, and the last shreds of his honour would be forfeit because of it.
"What are your orders Sire? They have not raised a blue flag. Their rejection is clear." Lord Gaermegil asked.
He had no choice now did he? If he did not go through with it, his army would starve. They would not even have the supplies to make it back to Calenardhon. Furthermore, he had made a threat, he could not back down.
"Sire?" Lord Gaermegil asked when he did not answer.
Almost in a daze, Argeleb remained staring at the north and the conspicuous rejection of the Loyalists.
He prayed for forgiveness.
"Execute the prisoners."
But who now would give it to him?
Across the river, men were dying. His men. Men who had been called away from their families and homes to fight for him. Many had been glad to do so, believing that he was the rightful king, that he would bring a new era of equality and prosperity for all to Arnor.
It was only now that Arvedui realised that he had gotten himself drunk on these delusions, allowed himself to believe that they justified this war, justified him selfishly clinging to his 'birthright' and dragging all of Arnor into chaos.
All this time he had let himself believe that he was better than Argeleb and the Purists, that he was not the one who had started this war, that they were the ones in the wrong. Only now did he realise that it was all just a lie. And he Arvedui, was the liar.
All his generals had told him to reject the offer. More men were coming from Siriand they said. Ten thousand men were nothing to an entire province. Nothing to an easier and shorter way to end the war. They were not wrong, but it did not make it right. It would never be right to throw away the lives of ten thousand people.
In the end, the final decision was Arvedui's, and decide he did. He took the advice of his generals and condemned thousands of men to die. Because of his choice, all of those men would never see their families again, never even know what it was they were dying for.
"The scouts have reported back. All the prisoners have been executed," Ondoher reported.
"I see," he replied.
The guilt was crushing. He was just as much to blame for their deaths as Argeleb. The façade had broken and he looked in the mirror to see the truth. That he was no different than Argeleb and all the other Purists that he had cursed and blamed for this war.
Just like them, he was throwing away the lives of his countrymen so he could win this war. The dream that all those men had died for, the dream of a just and equal Arnor was but a lie. Yet when one had sunk too deep in a pit of lies, the only way to escape was to turn those lies into the truth.
Arvedui would not let down the expectations of the people of Annúminas who had chosen him when there was little hope. He would not disappoint the soldiers who had given their lives for his cause.
He prayed for forgiveness, but could he ever earn it?
The next day, the Purists launched an eighth assault on the bridge. To Arvedui, who knew that they had neither the men or supplies to take North Morlond, this was puzzling until he saw the massive casualties that they were taking.
You do not even have the supplies for all your men to return home, do you Argeleb?
It made perfect sense now. The King's Rangers were truly an amazing force to have pushed Argeleb to such measures. Why else would Argeleb execute prisoners unless he did not even have the supplies to feed his army as they retreated? And when Arvedui had refused his demands, he had just as good as signed the execution writs of those prisoners.
After a day of bloody fighting, the exhausted Purists ceased their assault and Arvedui knew that they had given up.
Two days after the prisoners were executed, Argeleb's army left Morlond but not before breaking the drawbridges behind them.
Arvedui had immediately sent his army ahead to reclaim the south side of the city.
The fleet had helped transport soldiers over to the south while men worked in repairing the drawbridges. Thankfully the bridge itself was built from black stone and indestructible.
Yet as his army secured the south, they found the remains of their executed comrades, burning on great pyres.
Their hatred for the Purists had been stoked yet many had also turned their anger upon him and their commanders, demanding to know why they had let their comrades be executed.
Arvedui knew, that though their wrath against him was justified, it would only impede their shared desire to get justice for their executed comrades. Therefore, he had assembled many in the courtyard of the southern city so that he could address his army.
"Today, all of us saw what was done to our captive comrades. Many of you have put the blame on the Purists. Others have put it on my fellow commanders and I.
I accept that blame. We refused the demands of the Purists. They demanded supplies, supplies that would have enabled them to remain in South Morlond and hold it long enough for Raumdor to fall, no doubt prolonging the war and causing many more to die.
If their demands were not met, they threatened to execute the prisoners, proving just how honourless they are. In the end it was the Purists who made the decision to execute our comrades. That blame lies on them and them alone.
Everyone will die someday. Even we the descendants of Númenor will someday leave the circles of this world. Does that mean life is meaningless? Was there even any meaning in our existence on this earth? Would you say that our fallen brothers' lives meant nothing at all?
No they did not! Our courageous fallen, they died trusting that we would carry on their work! It is us who give their lives meaning! Do not pity the dead! Pity we the living who bear the burden of avenging them!
Even if we too may die, we must keep moving forward until all our enemies are destroyed! For our fallen brothers! For justice! For Arnor!"
"FOR ARNOR!" the army cried in response.
"I will make the lies into truth," Arvedui swore to himself.
Author's Note: I've been watching too much Attack on Titan again.
