"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his."-General George S. Patton
A/N: Hey guys, just so you know, I haven't stopped writing .However as I've often complained, my musi are fickle bitches that will drag me kicking and screaming in whatever direction my poor exhausted and often borderline ADHD imagination in whatever direction it can smell sugar off a leprechauns ass. Wow that was a little much even for me! Anyway instead of trying to write it all, which I don't have time for, I've opened a forum called ResonatinAeternum. I've already posted one prompt/challenge which I'm looking forward to seeing answered. Meanwhile, I'll continue trying to update the stories I've already written, and hopefully I'll get back to these "new" ideas later. –Rei
"Talk"
"Vesta talk"
"English"
Thought
Musical Inspiration for this chapter: Otherworld by Two steps from hell, Indestructible by Disturbed, and All around me (acoustic version) by Flyleaf.
TimeForced- Glad you like it, and hopefully the glossary I added to this chapter will make it easier to follow.
KittyWillCutYou- here it comes, and I promise this particular shit storm will be especially messy.
Nilal, youngest warden of the Echad Garthadir rangers was once again watching the enemy camp, amongst the ruins of Clorhir, directly parallel to where the Atalantë posted two guards in front of a tomb. It was an important job, and a testament to his skill as a ranger that four out of the five senior wardens of his current posting would overlook his youth for the intelligence he was able to gather without getting caught. Of course, lately that trust has been under question. "Come on lad; let's leave it for the morrow, those nadorhuan rim ain't doing anything tonight."
Nilal desperately held his tongue against the insults that he just as greatly wanted to verbally flay his burly companion with. Ever since the scout had reported the appearance of a man defeating the dark sorcerers on his own, Belecthir, or any of the other senior rangers for that matter wouldn't let him spy on his own. "Nilal, its wet, I'm cold and tired, there isn't anything to report that is of pertinence right now," Than complained again.
"If you please, Than do shut up," Nilal hissed, gray gaze darkening in annoyance. Than had been complaining for most of their watch, which was nothing unusual since the smaller ranger always complained, but after having to listen to the whining for nearly a year, the typically taciturn Dunedain ran out of patience. The bulky faced brunette wasn't much older than he, but the hazel eyed ranger was no scout, and that stuck the taller ranger's craw even more. Worse still, Than distracted him from doing his job more often than not, and today he was being even more troublesome than usual. "Regardless of what you-"
"Desmond, multiple hostiles are approaching. Your position has been compromised." Vesta disregarded the assassin's swears that answered it's warning, as it "observed" Desmond's progress via satellite. The hooded man had been slowly picking off Harad flunkies for the last hour and a half, by intentionally making conspicuous noises to draw patrollers. And they came, two and sometimes three at a time, but never alone. Not that it mattered. The southerners had no way to counteract Desmond's rapid ambush tactics.
Even with the deep gaping wound on the palm of his dominate hand, Desmond was able to blend in amongst ruined stone of Clorhir, and drag men into the darkness of crawl spaces, while slitting their' throats to prevent any from raising the alarm. And by the time their' compatriots figured out they were dead; Desmond was already using their' murdered kin weapons to kill them. More came, and the assassin killed them all. But Desmond was under no delusion that he could keep this up. Eventually the big boys would take notice, and the last remaining assassin's game of hide and go seek would be up.
Honestly, the former New Yorker had been hoping he could have killed just a few more before the Númenórean stepped in, but he wasn't about to let their' presence effect the outcome. Sliding fluidly into the jagged shadows of one of the many fallen outcrops, he backed away just in time for his instincts to start blaring bloody murder between his temples. A blaze of heat swathed a scorching path across waterlogged stone and moss strewn earth.
Desmond didn't stop moving. He didn't dare. Adûnaic words screamed through the roar of Bunsen blue gouts of flame, heralding his target's awareness of his position, as he darted between cover, and navigated a field of corpses. Peaking around a high wall as he rolled over one of his fallen victims, Desmond noted the orcish screams intermingling with the part enraged part pleading yelling of the few Harad whom were stupid enough to follow their' masters here. Idly the assassin chocked on the near hysterical laughter that wanted to escape his panting lips. Desmond wondered if the two maniacs throwing flames around were aware of the phrase "friendly fire."
Another Adûnaic screech, commanding as it was base and suddenly more enemies were coming. Altair's descendent rushed first Númenórean he could get close to, body low and arms outstretched behind him like wings. And suddenly arrows were flying toward Desmond, falling upon him like iron larks intent upon redirecting his path. But the former New Yorker maneuvered around them, smirking darkly as he abruptly dropped into a baseball slide, speeding between the armored man's legs. Too late did the doomed Númenórean's compatriots realize what Desmond was doing before their' ally was already dead and Desmond resumed doing his level best killing them all.
Than unceremoniously pulled Nilal down, while himself ducking out of sight as Númenórean sorcerers stormed passed their hiding place, precariously close to their' camp. The younger ranger was too good at his job to make a sound that would alert their' enemies of their' presence, but that didn't stop the white hot glare Nilal leveled his "partner" with. Than didn't even have the good grace to even look the least bit sheepish. Instead the blocky faced brute's dark gaze remained fixated on the Atalantë as they marched past. "Any ideas," he asked seriously.
The younger Dunedain didn't bother to hide his incredulity, "I would have plenty, had you not been complaining for the entirety of our watch." Than let Nilal's hissed distain roll off his back he was finally, finally starting to pay attention. There was a notable drop in how many Harad and orcs there were in the company now, as opposed to when Than and Nilal started their' watch. There was no way to see passed the masked helm of the few Atalantë still at camp, but Than could barely make out the agitated muttering over the quietly drizzling rain.
"Boom!" The roar of a concussive blast drew more than the Dunedain's attention, as those left behind in their' enemy's camp quickly followed their' masters into battle. Nilal was already moving by the time the slightly older ranger opened his mouth, creeping down from their' hiding spot and toward the ruckus further into the Clorhir square. "Nilal wait, we don't know what's going on," almost desperately, the dark eyed warrior clambered after his younger compatriot nowhere near as stealthily, and noisily trying to keep up with the more skilled scout.
Desmond grits his teeth as he grasped yet another meat shield with his injured hand, and blocked a thrust that would've gutted him otherwise. Pandemonium had ensued after the assassin's initial trick. The cleverly engineered murder of one of their' own had caused the remaining black Dunedain to become raging mystic berserkers. What little care they once took to preserve their' own numbers was dropped, in favor of attempting to kill Desmond which led to the magicians' subordinates whom didn't run, to turn against them. All the while the assassin played the field, ducking and dodging in and out of sight, drawing fire, and then taking cover.
Still, Desmond was unable to completely escape in the confusion that he had been planning for. And the former New Yorker couldn't but think that Vesta was right when she expected him to wake the six and just leave her in the vault to run out of power, never to come online again. Claws digging into his shoulder from behind forcibly ripped the brunette from his morbid thoughts. He dropped, as he was spun around and punched in the face. Painfully Desmond rolled away from the kicked that followed, and knocked down an equally lithe figure.
In the confusion of tangled limbs, Vesta's chosen fought to breathe as he desperately wrestled with the one he was tangled with. He was hyper aware of the mix of Adûnaic, Orcish, and Westron, being bellowed all around him. Wait a minute, Westron? Desmond wrapped his arms around the inside of his assaulter's elbows, pulling up and back sharply to lock the limbs in a painfully awkward angle. Driving his weight forward, the assassin managed to force the person he was fighting with face first into the ground, while Desmond sat on the small of his attacker's back. "Who the fuck are you?"
Nilal spat out the earth he had the misfortune of eating. The foreign words meant nothing to him so the scout ignored it in favor of fighting off his attacker. Trying to roll over, the Echad Garthadir warden grunted as his shoulders were wrenched back further. "Sauron's balls!" he cursed trying to get his knees under himself. Nilal painfully looked over his shoulder at the man sitting on him, and cursed again. "Than!" He wasn't about to let the reason for his ostracization and thus misery, slip from his grasp. Suddenly the man on his back was leaning forward, putting even more pressure on his already stretched arms.
Something snapped, and all Nilal saw was white. Desmond had ducked as he was yet again attacked, this time by Nilal's fellow ranger. Than had been desperately been trying to catch up to his "partner" whom he was sure rushed off foolishly in part to get away from him. Than's efforts were rewarded with being blindsided by murderously panicking Harad, and orcs. The burly warden was already limping from being hit in the knee with the sharp edge of an orcish shield, and bleeding copiously from his now useless sword arm, by the time he found Nilal being crouched over by the very man he had once thought didn't exist. "Get off him, whoreson," he yelled while trying to use his non-dominant hand to swing at the scout's captor.
In an act of amazing agility, the man flipped forward without losing hold on Nilal's arms, causing the young ranger to scream in agony when the full force of the Whitehood's weight slammed further up his back. Immediately letting go, the hooded man rolled again, this time to his feet, and made a run for it. Than paid no mind as yet another orc saw fit to attack him, and now with Nilal curled in on himself in pain the older injured warden had to defend both himself and the scout.
Desmond didn't get far, as this time gouts of fire cut off his path, followed by a screaming Harad warrior came at him with a mace. He quickly reached for the closest thing to a weapon that he could find, which happened to be a smoldering chain, made serrated sharp by the heat of the Black Númenórean fire. A primal scream wrenched from the assassin's throat as the heated steel met the open flesh of his palm. But he didn't stop. Desmond swung the chain as hard as he could, catching the mace wielding Southerner in the face, and inadvertently lassoing one of the orcs attacking Than. All too aware of the chaos around him, the former New Yorker pulled hard, sending the orc caught in its jagged edges careening toward the fire that was quickly consuming everything in sight.
Meanwhile, Than was being driven further and further away from Nilal by homicidally panicking orcs. The burly warden had already been knocked back by a surprisingly nimble kick to the sternum, and then forced to take a knee when another orc who was half running/half crawling body checked him. The same orc that knocked him back came after him again, this time with the help of another snarling monstrosity. So when one of his attackers fell, Than was shocked into momentary stillness, allowing his other attacker to strike him down. He didn't even have enough time to scream when the crude blade fell upon his shoulder with the brute weight of charging orc behind it.
It felt like his whole arm was being ripped from his body, as black metal sunk deep into his shoulder, breaking the collar bone, and sawing wetly toward his lungs. And distantly, the ranger could hear his "partner" yelling. Desperately, Than tried to fight passed the black now dotting his vision. And saw Nilal being dragged away by the man the younger warden had once swore up and down existed. Blood roaring in his ears, the brunette recklessly launched himself forward, sinking his own blade into his attacker's gut, and fainted from the pain. Hours later he would wake, and hours later he would drag himself back to Echad Garthadir to inform his fellow rangers just how badly they had all failed their' youngest kinsman.
Faun of the Cuthalion house, wife of Brennan Whitehood silently contemplated how far her family has fallen as a whole because of one spiteful man. There was no love lost between her family and Denethor II, whom viewed the exile of the former ruling house in southern Ithilien as just punishment for the enemy occupation of their' once ancestral home. But the current Stewart's obvious disfavor in her husband has resulted in Faun having to let go of comforts that both she and Brennan had worked tirelessly to gain.
Even now the blond haired lady made her way to the fourth ring of Minas Tirith unescorted, save for the only maid the Whitehood household could now afford. Primrose, crafty old spinster that she was, watched the bustling residents of the city go about their' day while remaining close to her lady. Despite being well liked by the common folk, the Whitehood couple was too cautious to think themselves safe outside their' heavily guarded and fortified apartments. And with the disapproval of the influential lord they were suffering, the aging servant wouldn't put it passed some of the houses to take advantage.
Still, the gray eyed noble put on her best benignly pleasant mask, as she walked along battered old streets. She politely acknowledged every greeting called out to her, and never faltered from the quiet dignity she projected, even as she found what she was looking for. The house was a little wooden rickety thing amongst the once white gleaming stone surrounding it. Hardly the only structure of its kind, but still sadly neglected nonetheless. Pulling back her heavy sleeve so as not to catch the expensive fabric on a stray splinter Faun rapped her delicate fist against the door. After a moment it was cracked open a tad, "whose there?"
"I am Faun lady of the house of Whitehood, and I have come to speak with Elena whom once served her grace Vinyaostiel as a lady in waiting." The door was cracked open just a tad more, and Faun was able to make out the tired features of a woman who could easily been a courtier herself. The moon pale flesh stood out against the stark black mahogany of her wide eyelashes. "My husband has been appointed by the Stewart to find her."
"Then why isn't he here?" The woman paused as if just realizing that she was disrespecting a woman of higher station, "my lady." Faun ignored the barb, seeing it for the suspicious tone for what it was. The noble-born was now sure that this was Elena. The petite woman too defensive not to be, her seemingly blank cherubic features could not hide her other tells. She gripped the door with a white knuckled grasp, even as loose chips of wood bit bloody sores into her palms. Big brown eyes darted fleetingly between Faun, Primrose, and the bustling city behind them. Elena was afraid.
"My husband is too busy making ready for our departure from Minas Tirith. Our course will be set once I tell him of my findings here." Suddenly the door was swung the rest of the way open, and Vinyaostiel's former handmaiden was finally fully revealed. And Faun was stunned by just how tiny she was. Elena was a hairsbreadth away from being mistaken for the legendary small-folk of the Shire. Only the delicately elongated set of her bone structure emphasized by ill-fitting wool gown hanging from her thin frame stopped the fair lady from assuming that Elena was some half-breed bastard that Vinyaostiel took pity on.
And suddenly she and Primrose were being ushered in the woman's dilapidated home. "Come, quickly before you catch the attention anyone unseemly." Faun didn't bat a lash as she glided inside even as her blustering servant followed at her heels. Elena firmly shut the door behind them before she said another word. "Lord Denethor's puppets cornered me when my lady first disappeared. They asked no questions, I was warned to keep my silence or a dismissal would be the least of my problems." For all the youthful fervor of the former maid's features Elena's glare was ancient, "now you come, years later saying the man whom wanted Vinyaostiel to remain gone is sending you on a wild goose chase, only for you to leave me here to face the penalty of breaking my silence? No, you will take me with you."
"Mind your tongue, a noble lady stands before you now." Primrose turned to defend her employer's honor, not at all liking the surly midget whom they were forced to seek out. Faun raised a silencing hand, stilling whatever escalating exchange that could have occurred otherwise. There was good reason for the woman's discourtesy after all. To be dismissed from noble service under the circumstances that Elena had was bad enough, but to be threatened on top of that by a man who had the whole of Gondor to call upon, Faun could understand why a woman with no allies of high standing would be angry.
Still it begs to question, "What is it that you know, that Denethor would feel the need to have his men intimidate you?" Elena scoffed, walking passed them and further into her ramshackle home. It was surprisingly warm, considering all of the gaps Faun and Primrose could see between the wood on the walls, and holes in the thatched roof. The crudely dug out fire pit, in the center of the dirt floor definitely contributed to why the woman hadn't froze to death. Brenan's wife grimaced at the stench that permeated from the sunken enclosure. She didn't want to think about what Elena used to fuel the fire.
The petite woman seemingly had no such aversion, and sat on thick pallet close to the pit. And it was all Brenan's wife could do not to grimace. "I know that Denethor wouldn't send his puppets after a lowly maid unless he thought I knew something worth killing over. Now I'm not saying another word until you promise to take me with you when you leave." So saying, the former handmaiden fell silent waiting for the woman's response.
Faun had to stop her servant from once again joining in on the belligerence that their' less than gracious host instigated, though the lady dearly wanted to do so herself. But the aristocrat knew better than to answer Elena's defensive anger with her own venom. This required a measure of subtlety. "You are right. Denethor wouldn't send men to warn you off, if he thought you knew anything." The blond let the statement linger, telling Elena exactly what she thought of the current Stewart's intelligence, Elena's own usefulness, and thus Faun's willingness to leave her to face that murderous stupidity on her own, without saying a word.
The former maid's petite features warped with a grimacing glare. "You would leave me to die, knowing that your even being here is all but a death sentence?" The former maid spat on the ground before Faun's feet. "I owe you nothing. I owe that pompous lord-ling even less for sentencing me to live in this squalor. At least have the decency to let me keep my life, or are you just another spoilt blue-blood too caught up in your own machinations to mind the consequence to us simple folk?" It was obvious that Elena didn't want to give even the slightest of favors to what she felt was nothing more than yet another interloping noble. And it wasn't as if Faun couldn't understand why she was reluctant. But the Whitehood household could hardly support another servant while in the process of being essentially exiled.
Vinyaostiel's former attendant's silence on the subject represented only that much longer she and her husband would be forced from all they earned. "I am all too aware of your predicament and I want to help, but as things stand, we literally have no time, and no means to support another servant on our journey. At most I can offer coin which you may use to move out of the city if you wish." Not that it would be enough coin to move far, but there was little Faun was willing let alone able to give. "What say you to that offer?"
"I say that before her disappearance, my lady spoke extensively albeit perhaps naively exploring beyond the borders of Minis Tirith. She spoke most amorously of seeing the wonders of Eriador from the Misty Mountains all the way to Rivendell. Mayhap your ladyship starts there. And be there any truth to the lady Vinyaostiel still living, there I think you will find her." Graciously Faun thanked Elena and doled out enough silver pieces from her purse to see the petite woman out of the city, and hopefully into a home far enough away from Denethor's wrath.
When Nilal woke, it was to excruciating pain. His clavicle disjointedly ached, the bones seemingly pressing against livewire nerves for no apparent reason. His arms were nowhere near as painful, but the constant pins and needles sensation made Nilal want to throw up. It was only the soothing solid cold of the bark beneath his back that prevented the man from fainting. "You awake yet? Because we're going to have to move soon in order to avoid the storm."
The brunette cracked his eyes open a fraction wider, and quickly sucked in a lung full of air, ready to bellow out his astonished fury. But the man, whom as far as Nilal was concerned ruined his life, was quick to cover his mouth. The mysterious wanderer sunk his dirty nails deep into the young ranger's face, abruptly cutting off any sound Nilal could've made. "This is going to go one way, and that is my way." Whitehood informed him bluntly. "Your friend is most likely dead; you have 2 recently re-located shoulders, and a punctured thigh. You will not hinder me anymore than you already have by breathing. Are we clear?" semi-pale hand let go of his mouth.
"Why didn't you leave me to die like you did Than?" The question was a harshly ill advised in Nilal's wiser estimation. But in the troughs of terror, the dark eyed warden found himself too enraged to care. The stocky ranger may have worked his nerves, but he was still a brother in arms, and no one deserved to be abandoned in the manner in which his rescuer had seemingly decided upon. The sight of Than bleeding an alarming amount while facing orc alone will now haunt him forever.
"You know, I asked myself the same question." The infamous Whitehood mused sarcastically. "I'm not in the habit of saving fucking future corpses, too fucking retarded to realize I just saved their sorry ass from an in all likelihood painfully slow death." Deeply set cheeks pinched and paled in the indignant fury. But whatever the scout was about to say was lost in the bite of the mysterious wanderer's next words. "Look if you still want to die that's fine by me. Go carry you're crippled ass on to your executioner for all I care, but if you want to live, well your particular brand of bullshit is not going to fly."
The sheer gall of the man stunned Nilal, whom thought himself used t other often harshness of the life in the wilds amongst his kin. Apparently he had the re-evaluate his measure of gruffness to include the sheer venom being spat at him by this slighter man. Having earned his 'bad idea's' momentary silence, Desmond quickly lifted the ranger on his back, and continued on his way to the ruined palace where the vault, and ultimately the Abies awaited.
Nilal's squawk of indignation was lost to his gasp of awe as he finally took notice of where he was. Even in such a deplorable state, Ost Elendil was still a towering gray stained beacon ominously imposing upon its island perch. Desmond said nothing, both grateful and wary of the warden's stillness. It couldn't last, and the former American was in no hurry to think up a lie to tell the man that his entire assassin training told him he should've let die.
Vesta had yet to weigh in on his decision to not kill the man. And Desmond was almost as conflicted about her continued silence as he was about the cold war being waged in his frontal lobe. Though he was reluctant to admit it, the assassin could use a third opinion at the moment. "How did you find your way here?" The last assassin wanted to groan. He knew that the boy's shock couldn't last. "Tyl Annûn has been abandoned since the beginning of the third age, and inaccessible even to the agents of Sauron's evil and the kingdoms of middle earth alike going on nigh 2,000 years."
Reverence seeped in every word, so achingly familiar; Desmond did his level best not to throw Nilal off one of the all too conveniently located cliffs. As much of a killer he had become, the last survivor of the world that was didn't want this man's death on his conscience. "I didn't need to," the assassin said tersely, "this is what is left of my home." A true enough answer Ezio chimed from the confines of his skull. Uncomfortable, both physically and mentally, Desmond quickly readjusted his hold on the injured man in his grasp, and kept moving with the hope that the ranger would just shut up for awhile.
Glossary
Adûnaic- "the language of the west" spoken primarily by the men of Númenor during the second age, but is still used by their' descendants the Black Númenórean.
Atalantë- is a derogatory term for the descendants of the king's men. The Númenórean turned away from Gondor's traditional friendship with the elves and became known as the Black Númenórean because of their worship of Sauron.
Clorhir- large square located in eastern Annuminas, between Tirband and Glinghant, east of Echad Garthadir.
Dunedain- Descendents of the kingdom of Númenor who relocated to Eriador in Middle Earth after the Valar destroyed the island of Númenor in the second age.
Echad Garthadir- Ranger settlement in the south-west Annúminas.
Eriador- Northwestern region of Middle Earth composed of many regions, spanning from the Blue Mountains in the west, to the Misty Mountains in the east, from Forochel in the north to Dunland in the south.
Ithilien- "Moon-land," is the easternmost province of Gondor.
Minas Tirith- "The tower of guard" Southern capitol city of Gondor
Ost Elendil- The palace located on the fortified island of Tyl Annûn in Annuminas, which used to be the capitol of Gondor's kingdom in the north.
Tirband- the courtyard controlled by agents of Mordor that is located on, north of Clorhir and east of the trail to Ariant, the bridge over to Tyl Annûn.
Vinyaostiel- The younger of Denethor's two older sisters, missing presumed dead.
Westron- sub-language derived from Adûnaic and spoken by the majority of the Gondorian Empire after the downfall of Númenor.
Translations
Nadorhuan rim- (Sindarin) cowardly dogs