A/N: I'm addicted to this story. Quick, get me a 12-step program.
In response to my three new reviews:
-Lily: Gosh, that Boromir sure has a big appetite! You should have put an arrow through his chest or something. Stealing ale and turkey is one thing…but your last chocolate cupcake! That's murder territory. Anyway, I'm glad you like the story.
-Uberdawg: Why thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying it. Hope you like this chapter as well!
-Arahiril: Merci beaucoup! Don't worry, I fully intend on writing until I reach a conclusion, regardless of how many reviews I receive. I'm in love with this idea, and every time I finish a chapter, I immediately begin to brainstorm ideas for the next one. I'm happy you like it!
My disclaimer is cooking me dinner right now, but it wanted me to relay the message: Tolkien's characters are STILL not mine. Wow. Who knew?
Chapter Five: Dark Laughter
The sun hung low in the sky, outlining the leaves of the trees in a brilliant red-orange. Pelilas sat alone on a large rock, long after Coruwen had gone inside. He squinted into the bright copper light, enjoying the burning sensation on his eyelids. He found that if he opened and closed his eyes rapidly, the neon lights danced, creating a beautiful display of fireworks above the water. Perhaps it was foolish, and a waste of one's time, but concentrating on imaginary colors seemed better than dwelling on the disappearance of his father. Colors, Pelilas reasoned, could not hurt him.
There was, of course, one shade that could.
Pelilas jumped at the sound of a twig snapping close by. He turned quickly. The man in red was back, hiding behind a nearby tree. Pelilas's first instinct was to run, for something told him that this man was not a friend. But his legs would not react.
Slowly, Pelilas rose to his feet. He brushed the dirt from his pants, and pushed his red bangs to the side of his forehead. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk towards the man. With every step he took, his heart pounded further.
"You!" Pelilas called, uncertain of where this bout of courage was coming from. "Show yourself!"
But nothing, not even his false confidence, could prepare him for the sight of this man. As he stepped out from behind the tree, Pelilas stopped in his tracks. The man slowly approached him, his steps long and deliberate. He walked like a man who knew he was in control.
"Who are you?" Pelilas asked, his voice losing its steadiness.
The man did not respond. He continued to walk towards Pelilas, his lips twisted in an odd half-grin. His face was painted elaborately; a thick black line ran from his forehead to the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were surrounded in white triangles. His protruding cheekbones were emphasized by painted leaves, and ebony paint dripped from the corners of his mouth like wicked fangs.
"I think," the man said in a deep voice, "that is the question I should be asking you."
Pelilas raised his chin, swallowing thickly as he eyed the sword at the man's side.
"My name is Pelilas," he replied. "I live in the house on top of the hill. My father is called Captain Nemír, and I am to be--"
The man laughed. Pelilas blinked in surprise. He did not know that men who looked as evil as this one possessed the ability to emit sounds of happiness or joy.
"I wanted your name," he said, "not your history."
"Oh." Pelilas wrinkled his brow and glanced at the man's sword again. "And what is your name?"
"I am called Gwarth," he answered, and his painted lips parted to reveal a line of shimmering white teeth. "I dwell in the south."
"The south?" Pelilas echoed.
"From the land of Harad."
Pelilas's sapphire eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards. He had heard stories of the Men of Harad – terrible and frightening stories that could shake any grown man to the core. His father had told him about the legendary Southrons, about how they marched along Harad Road to Mordor, where they would willingly do the Dark Lord's bidding.
"Why do you look at me with those eyes?" Gwarth asked, stepping towards him.
"Stay back!" Pelilas cried. "Do not come any closer!"
"Or what? I see you are not armed. Unless you have a dagger hidden in a place I cannot see."
"Please," he said softly. "I mean you no harm. But you frighten me."
Gwarth's eyebrows, barely noticeable underneath his face paint, raised slightly. He held up both hands and took a small step back.
"There," he said. "Now, do tell me. Where is your father?"
Pelilas regarded him closely, and he hesitated before answering.
"I do not know," he sighed.
"Ah," Gwarth said, crossing thick arms in front of his chest. "Do not tell me that he is one of the unfortunate seamen who left for northern Gondor several months ago?"
Pelilas's gaze snapped up to meet his.
"You know of their travels?" he asked, his pulse quickening.
"Of course," Gwarth replied. "It is one of the many reasons why I despise Gondor."
The hairs on the back of Pelilas's neck stood on end, and his mouth felt dry as sand. Yet, he could not stop himself from asking questions. It was as though his voice had a will of its own.
"You…despise Gondor?"
"Incredibly," Gwarth said, glancing out at the water. "I would think you should as well."
"Me?" Pelilas asked, giving him an incredulous glance. "Why should I hate Gondor?"
"What other reason would your father have for traveling the Anduin if not for Gondor's sake?" Gwarth watched Pelilas's reaction to this out of the corner of his eye.
"It is his duty," he said softly, sounding unconvinced.
"Let me be the first to tell you, young Pelilas, the powerful men stationed in Minas Tirith do not care about men like your father. While the seamen may be loyal to Gondor, I must ask you; is Gondor loyal to them? What has Gondor ever done for you?"
Pelilas did not answer. He gave Gwarth a long hard stare, and then turned, walking up the hill.
"Ask yourself then!" Gwarth called after him. "I do not doubt our paths will cross again soon." He laughed, and the sound floated up towards Pelilas's retreating back. As he marched up the grassy hill towards his house, he decided that the sound of Gwarth's laughter was not a pleasant one at all.
Gwarth stared after Pelilas for a few moments, combating the urge to simply shoot him in the back with an arrow. His boyish ignorance angered him, but he reminded himself to be patient.
The sound of heavy footsteps drew his eyes away from the boy, and back towards the trees. Aradhel, the Chieftain, and his companion, was headed his way.
"Fool," he snarled, his gold earrings glistening in the setting sun. "Were you conversing with that boy?"
"Indeed I was," Gwarth responded.
"Why, I ask, did you not kill him immediately?" Aradhel's dark eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"I have a better idea," he said with a grin.
Aradhel let out a low angry sound, whirling on him. "You, minion, are not in charge." He reached for his bow, quickly grabbing an arrow from the quiver on his back. Gwarth placed a hand over his arm, stilling him.
"Listen to me for a moment," he said. "Just listen."
Aradhel said nothing, but he lowered his weapon, giving Gwarth motivation to press on.
"I am not attempting to tell you how to run your army," he said. "But this town is small. We can break it in half with a simple flick of a wrist."
"So what are we waiting for?" Aradhel asked, grabbing his bow again. Once more, Gwarth stopped him.
"The question is," he continued, "do we break it with force, or with wit?"
Aradhel slowly turned his ebony eyes to Gwarth, regarding him closely.
"Think about it, my friend," Gwarth said, cocking an eyebrow. "That boy's heart is weak. I can twist his soul any way I please; he will be wearing a red cloak and painting his face faster than you can blink."
"What do I want with a boy?" Aradhel sneered. "He is no fighter. He will be slain in minutes."
"The boy is not the prize," he said mysteriously. Gwarth pointed towards a small house on top of the hill. Aradhel turned his gaze to follow Gwarth's finger, his eyes falling upon a light-haired man smoking a pipe and polishing his boots.
"Who is that?" Aradhel growled.
"He is a fisherman," Gwarth said, "and he controls much of the trade with Gondor. Look around, Aradhel. Look at the shore, the boats, the possibilities. If we tread carefully, we can gain the alliance of this town. Their power will become our power. The outcome will be greater than if we simply destroy all life in sight. Trust me, as you once did when we were young. Have I led you astray yet?"
Aradhel sighed, returning the arrow to its quiver.
"Very well then," Aradhel said. "Tell me of your plan."
A/N: Mua ha, cliffhanger. By the way, I was really tempted to have Gwarth whip out a business card and hand it to Pelilas. "If you ever feel like turning evil, call 1-800-ORCS-OWN". Haha, I amuse myself.