Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings, if I did I'd be a lot richer and that new series wouldn't have been made, these fantastic stories and worlds are owned by the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema respectively.
Uh, we'll, hey everyone, long time no see, sorry for the incredibly long time this update has taken, you can thank a combination of writers block and life going loopy for it, but I hope to have another chapter out after this one in the next week, now time to give some long overdue answers to reviews!
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Now onto the Story!
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Chapter seven: A journey and a harsh lesson.
Several months earlier.
"You summoned me my Lord?" He rasped, kneeling before the one he'd called master for the past several millennia.
"Ah, Nimrazir, rise, tell me how go your...ministrations to the east, are the men of Umbar answering your call?" That great and terrible voice boomed, even when it was intended to sound welcoming it's presence dominated the very air about it, making him stiffly rise to his feet.
"They are my Lord, whilst they are but a pale shadow of my kinsmen, some of them at least still retain a hint of the longevity and strength we were blessed with…" He intoned, the distaste he felt for those lesser men was obvious for while they retained a shadow of his peoples greatness, it was only in body, their minds were utterly consumed by petty power-plays and mindless ambition, however even so he desired to get back to his work, at least when he was busy he found things were…easier.
"I'm afraid I must draw you away from your task, there has been…a disturbance to the north, something I did not foresee..." That great voice stated, sounding pensive.
"Is Arnor rising again?" He asked, his mind flashing back to his long defeated enemy and the Great Wars he'd fought to reduce the once magnificent northern kingdom, one that had been a rival for even mighty Gondor, to a shattered and ruined shell. It had been the greatest achievement of his life.
"No, I do not believe so, this is something different…something new, a few months ago I felt some great disturbance, not a physical one mind but one that all with the gift for such things will have found obvious, it was to the north as I've said, a power that I had not thought would return to this land…" Here his lord grew silent, the great presence growing thoughtful and almost…nervous? "I'm tasking you, my champion with finding out what it was, if it is something that can be twisted to our purpose you are to do so, if not…you must eliminate it before one of those meddling Istari can get their hands on it." His master stated, clearly still deep in thought.
Nodding his head in understanding, but getting the feeling he wasn't being told everything he stated firmly. "Your will be done sire."
"Very well, you are excused." That great voice said as his masters body dissipated, the Witch King of Angmar bowing and turning to leave the room, his ancient mind full of questions.
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We'd been on the road for a couple of hours and in that time I'd already found that I needed to adjust several different plates and straps in and on my armour as they'd become deeply uncomfortable, whilst the plates themselves were pretty much perfect for my current proportions I knew that I'd probably need to replace them relatively quickly, at least with how fast I still seemed to be growing, the same with the maile, I'd predicted that however and had several sections that could be relatively quickly joined together to make a full hauberk and/or chausses, I'd also swiftly come to understand why knights on horseback didn't wear sabatons, they'd swiftly gone from uncomfortable to downright painful within about an hour, I planned to place them in one of my saddlebags that night.
Wishing to avoid an awkward silence I began to ask questions about characters I'd long been curious about such as Elrond and the other elves I was likely to meet in Rivendell, hiding my more probing questions as mere curiosity about the being who was to be my host, I'd also asked him about the other wizards trying to see if Saruman had already fallen, as far as I could ascertain, whilst certainly arrogant and proud, the greatest of the wizards hadn't yet fallen, my assessment however wasn't helped by Gandalf's unwillingness to talk ill of a being he both respected and considered a friend, especially not to a relative stranger such as myself.
Though there was one character that specifically stood out in my mind, one I'd long been curious about, we'd seen so little of him in the films yet his presence had been utterly terrifying, in the books and appendices his exploits had been expanded upon yet we still knew so little!
"Who was he Gandalf?" Seeing the wizards slightly confused expression I expanded. "Who was the Witch-King of Angmar? I don't mean who was he in the context of his actions, I mean who was he before he was corrupted by the enemy?" Something I'd decided to do was avoid using Saurons name, I didn't know if it'd draw his attention, but I did know I didn't want to risk it…
The Maia in the shape of a man's eyebrows furrowed as he gave me a long searching look, clearly trying to understand just where my question was coming from and why I was asking it.
"His true name is long forgotten, what little I and others have been able to piece together is that he was a pureblooded Numenorean princeling, most likely a cousin of Ar-Pharazon, he ruled over an outpost of your people in the north, he was relatively young, but powerful, intelligent and arrogant…" The way he looked at me as he finished very clearly conveyed. 'Like you' without actually stating such.
"He must have been incredible in life considering his achievements for the enemy…" I mused softly, from what I'd been able to gather he was certainly an impressive man, wise and with a clear gift for strategy, he'd near enough single handedly reduced the north from a kingdom on the level of Gondor to a barely inhabited graveyard, despite the evil inherently involved in such a thing it was…impressive.
"He was…" The wizard agreed, before changing the subject and asking me about flying machines, something that he seemed particularly interested in, not that I could blame him, they must have certainly seemed fantastical.
"We had various, they're a relatively new invention, barely been around for a century, though they've progressed massively in that time, going from barely powered kites to machines that moved several times the speed of sound." I explained cheerfully, trying to drag up what memories I could of aircraft, they weren't exactly my specialty after all…
"The speed of sound?" The aged looking wizard asked, looking at me curiously from the back of his Bay coloured horse. "I did not know sound itself had a specific speed." He stated, sounding almost amused at the very concept.
"Indeed it does, specifically sound travels…." And here I paused for a long moment as I did the mental calculation. "Two-hundred-and-fifty-three-leagues-an-hour." I stated confidently.
"Two-hundred leagues?!" The wizard sputtered, looking ready to fall off his horse in his shock. "How can anything made by the hands of mortals move at such speeds?" He continued after a moment, staring at me, clearly still stunned.
"Now remember I said multiple times that speed, specifically our fastest aircraft can go six-hundred and-sixty-six-leagues-an-hour."
And so I launched into a several hours long explanation on both the basic history of Supersonic aircraft and just why the SR71 Blackbird was awesome, I was still a man after all and very fast things that looked cool were exceedingly fun.
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That night we set up a simple camp and I offered to take first watch, stating with a cheeky grin. "I know you old men get tired easily." To which Gandalf fired a couple of sparks at me in reply.
Though as I stared out into the gloom I started to ponder my more…long term goals, I wanted to prepare this world for what was coming, especially Gondor, even now that nation was fading, being worn down, as Boromir had said. "Your lands are kept safe by the blood of my people." The north experienced little conflict before the rise of Isengard almost entirely thanks to the sacrifices of Gondor…thinking back to my own nations history I couldn't help but feel a certain kinship with the Gondorians.
Idly drawing my sword, I pulled a wet stone from my belt and began to sharpen it whilst I thought, trying to remember how the Romans had made concrete without modern materials and techniques, that was a trick that could come in rather handy, I also needed to figure out a way to speed up travel times, if I could move troops about faster I could seriously limit Mordors ability to fight…
But all of this was conjecture as for the moment I didn't even have a hundred men under my command…and the men I did have weren't even really under my command at all…for now…
Such thoughts and plans stretching far into the future would consume me for the rest of the night.
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Gandalf awoke in the early hours of the morning, moving to relieve the young Numenorian of his watch, only to find him scribbling away at a piece of parchment in a language he'd never seen before, the piles sitting next to him attesting to the fact that he'd been at this task for a while, he seemed rather absorbed, not reacting as the old wizard lent over his shoulder to observe his scribblings.
"I'd not taken you for a novelist…" the Wizard pondered aloud, glancing at a couple of the other pieces of paper, the flickering firelight illuminating them well enough that he could make out what seemed to be a side on view of some strange cart, it had ten wheels, four smaller and six larger, the larger ones connected by some sort of rod? A large drum of some kind was connected to the rods and hung between the four smaller wheels and the six larger ones, it also seemed to have very little space for cargo or passengers, instead having another even larger drum running most of its length with what almost looked like a chimney poking out of one end...
The other piece of paper he could see was even stranger, seeming to be a large box, with another smaller box on top, several wheels running alongside the larger box and a tube protruding from one end.
"Oh I'm not, I'm writing about a tactic used by arguably the greatest nation to have ever existed, it was a formation that men would assume called Testudo, in common you would say turtle, they would form a square or rectangle with their shields facing out, then the men inside would raise their shields overhead making themselves practically immune to arrows and horsemen." He explained casually, continuing to write.
"Oh? Why arguably?" The wizard asked, his voice curious, though he did think that such a tactic sounded like it would be incredibly effective, though the amount of time required to actually train men to function so well as a whole rather than a group of individuals would more than likely reduce such formations to just a few elite soldiers, after all, most armies were formed primarily of levies with just a few professionals making up the core.
"I say arguably because any nation, no matter how great their technological or philosophical achievements cannot be definitively great when they engage in slavery to the point that for every one free man there are three slaves." He stated coldly, his face twisted in distaste at the thought.
Gandalf knew that he was gaping at the Numenorian in horror, he knew that the men of Umbar engaged in slavery, Sauron and Morgoth before him also had, but such atrocities were the work of evil and twisted beings…
"And Men engaged in such barbarous practices without the influence of Dark beings like the enemy?"
Marcus in response let out a bark of short, sarcastic laughter and shook his head, a cynical smile on his handsome face. "The evil that men can and will do far outstrips anything that Sauron or Morgoth can come up with…we are far more inventive than they after all." He paused here, not caring that I'd said either Sauron or Morgoth's name in my anger as I thought on a people I both respected and yet was disgusted by, taking a deep breath and thinking for a moment before continuing. "Having said that I would choose to live in that society above any other in that time, even as a slave you had more rights and kinder treatment than any other, no mad Druid trying to sacrifice you to an imaginary tree god, or anything the Parthians could come up with…"
"Anyway, that was long before my time and there is no point in dwelling on past horrors you can't change, so you might as well accept them and try to be better, I'll be off to bed."
"One last question Marcus, what was the name of that nation?" Gandalf asked, curious in spite of himself.
The young man said a single name as he made his way to his bedroll. "Rome."
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The next day as we set out I was eyeing the lay of the land and taking in the once impressive form of Amun Sul as we made our way along The East road, not saying much as I formed a mental map, mostly of the terrain and what areas could be and more to the point would be worth fortifying.
Gandalf didn't say much that morning either, obviously deep in his own thoughts, if I was honest I was rather flattered that he felt I was interesting enough to be given a personal escort to Rivendell, though I guess he wouldn't see it that way, Gandalf was famously humble…especially when you took into account his actual power and just what he really was behind the mask of an old man.
Still as we rode along I did find myself becoming increasingly bored, something that surprised me as I'd always been rather patient before coming to this world, I blamed all the teenage hormones I was now subjected to thanks to this new body.
"It's beautiful here, it's a shame more people don't live in these lands." I mused, finally breaking the silence after a couple of hours, looking about the empty wilderness.
"They did once, this land was populous and full of life and people, farms and smallholdings near everywhere, now it holds nothing but memory." He replied after a moment, tone full of sadness at what had been lost over the millennia. "Without a king however, I fear this land will never thrive again."
"The Bree-men are doing well though no?" I half asked and half stated, turning to look at him curiously, one eyebrow raised.
"Doing well? In a way I suppose, they're certainly surviving, but their numbers do not increase, their culture is stagnated, compared to their ancestors they are but a pale shadow." He stated with a certain air of gloom, looking at the barren countryside in thought.
I realised after a moment that he was actually looking at the ruins of what have might once been a town.
"There was a lovely little village here once, but now like so much else it is lost, nothing but a fading memory…like your people, I feel that the greatness of the past is leaving this land young Marcus, the light is beginning to fade, most have not seen it yet, but a shadow dwells upon the world…it steadily grows in strength whilst we all do nothing." I'd never heard Gandalf sound so gloomy, so defeated it surprised me, though the only time I could truly think of was when he'd been contemplating Frodo and Sam's fate in Return of the King.
Saying nothing I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread, I knew exactly what he was talking about, exactly what was coming, I also knew I had to do something about it, I couldn't allow the darkness in Mordor to grow as unchallenged as it had been originally.
"Then we should not let it, if the light is dying we should rebuild it, if we cannot, we should fight anyway, so that those who come after know we did not vanish without a fight!" I snarled, prompting a surprised look from the Istari that swiftly formed into a proud smile and I realised with a start that the wily old man had been testing my resolve.
"There is a poem from my land and it has a line that has always stayed with me, despite that I have never had an interest in or a head for such things, it goes like this. 'Rage, Rage against the Dying of the light.'" I quoted.
"I could not have said it better myself young Marcus." The wizard stated with a warm smile.
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A few days later we were setting up our camp for the evening, we'd chosen a spot just on the edge of the Trollshaws due to the abundance of firewood.
I was unsaddling the horses and pulling out their feed bags, Gandalf was arranging the fire and our food.
Once I'd hobbled the horses and given them their fodder for the night I clanked back over to the Wizard and set our saddles down, yawning after yet another long day in the saddle. "Tell me Gandalf, how close are we to Rivendel? Not that I don't enjoy your company but I am starting to really miss a real bed!" I stated with a small smile to show that I was joking about the last part.
The Maia chuckled before he replied, no doubt feeling a similar distaste as I for our bedrolls, which always seemed to have a rock underneath them that you'd only discover after two hours of trying to get comfortable. "We are approximately two days away from Imladris at our current pace." He stated confidently.
"Two days? Good Lord, I could have done this entire trip in a day, two at most if I had my bike!" I exclaimed, avoiding profanity as I knew the crotchety Old Wizard didn't like it and I wasn't in the mood for an argument.
"What is a bike? You have mentioned that word before?" The wizard asked, looking up from where he was preparing a couple of slices of salted pork.
"It's a mode of personal transport in my word, bike is shortened slang for Motorbike or Motorcycle, the two words are interchangeable, often also called an Iron-horse, it is a two-wheeled, lightweight machine, usually used to only transport one or two."
"Are they as fast as your flying machines? And two wheels? How do they balance?" He asked curiously, handing me a chunk of dry bread as he did.
"Oh not at all, well, some are faster but it depends on the flying machine and the bike, some can do over seventy-two leagues-an-hour, and they fall over if they aren't on a stand or being balanced by the rider, they are incredibly fun but not for the faint of heart." I told him with a small smile, quickly sketching an image of my own Scrambler to show him what I meant.
The Maia nodded slowly as he looked at my sketch, his brows drawing together. "Fascinating, and you owned such a machine? And such speeds, how did you not fall off or injure yourself?" He asked curiously.
I couldn't help my grimace at that question, flashes of phantom pain rushing up my right leg and hand, the sound and sensation of my leg breaking in four places, the sheer agony of a hand broken in five places.
"Skill!" I finally gasped, snapping out of my memories and thanking whatever gods were listening for my new and unbroken body. "Skill and luck…" I finished, idly flexing my right hand and delighting in the simple sensation of all my fingers touching my palm.
The old Wizard simply nodded and looked back to the food, clearly seeing that I wasn't comfortable with the conversation anymore and leaving it alone. "I do believe our food is nearly ready." He stated cheerfully.
We enjoyed a simple meal after that and Gandalf volunteered to take first watch, after the…discomfort triggered by our prior conversation I chose not to fight him on it and went to sleep, only disturbed briefly by the sensation of flying through the air and phantom pains in my hand and leg.
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I'd taken the watch at what was roughly midnight and was just dozing lightly as the sun peaked over the horizon when I could have sworn that just a few hundred feet from our small camp I'd seen movement, at first I wrote it up as just a fox or some such moving through the undergrowth, but after a moment I realised with a sinking sensation that far too much of said undergrowth was moving for it to be a single fox…or indeed if the purposeful way whatever they were were moving towards our camp they could only be one thing.
"Gandalf! Goblins!" I bellowed as I pulled my gauntlets on and drew my sword, the sharp ring of steel surprising our attackers, a fair few of them standing up in surprise, for a moment I thought of stopping to put on my helmet but I decided against it, I just didn't feel I had the time to go retrieve it from my saddlebags, hearing the Maia rising behind me I decided to counter charge before they could come up with a plan now that they couldn't knife us in our sleep.
"Blood and Glory!" I bellowed as I charged the suddenly rather surprised looking goblins, my blade held low at my side as a grin spread across my face as the battle-lust began to take me, adrenalin pumping through my system as I thundered towards them, my blade cutting cleanly through the neck of the first I reached before he could even raise his own in response, flowing from that cut I lowered the blade and took another goblins leg off at the knee, sending it screeching to the ground even as I moved straight on and took two rapid steps and performed a savage thrust, punching my blade right through another goblins eye and into his brain, the vile thing not making a sound as it fell, though I couldn't help a surprised grunt as I felt my blade become bone-stuck in the twitching body, hearing a trilling cry I saw another goblin charging at me, a crude axe held high, not even thinking I lashed out with my left arm, smashing my vambrace into the side of the axe blade and lashing out with a savage punch with my right fist, crushing it's already disfigured nose flat and prompting a choked cry from the vile creature that I swiftly silenced with a brutal uppercut with my left fist that shattered it's jaw and most of it's teeth, I then sent the mewling creature rolling away with a savage kick, before then retrieving my sword and pausing to quickly survey my handiwork and my remaining opponents.
Gandalf I saw was getting stuck in, whilst he didn't yet have Glamdring the simple longsword of Dunedain make that he used instead was making fantastic progress through the screeching goblins, there can't have been more than forty of the vile creatures, but that was still more than enough to overwhelm us if we weren't careful.
Letting out another bellowing Warcry I charged the nearest goblin and nearly cut him in half with a single overhand cut that split him from head to groin, cutting cleanly through the leather jerkin he wore as armour, one thing I knew when fighting goblins was that putting on a good show was almost as important as fighting well, they were cowardly creatures and so if you appeared to be an unstoppable god of war they would take you for one and put up a far weaker fight and sometimes would even break and run when they still had the advantage.
I could see the ripples of fear that my brutal attacks were causing and had to fight back my smug grin, proud to see my strategy was working.
Twirling my blade I grinned as I parried the attack of another goblin, slashing across its stomach with my own attack and not pausing to watch it's guts spill or listen to it's cry, instead looking for my next opponent.
I raised a brow when I saw what absolutely had to be the leader of this warband, an orc who was actually wearing some real armour instead of the practically useless leather jerkins of the others, instead wearing a maile hauberk and a simple if functional helmet, it was also wielding an axe of decent make, clearly steel and paired with a round-shield.
"Swine-tusk!" I bellowed, catching the orc's attention, it let out a snort and barked something in the Blackspeech before charging at me, its axe raised overhead as it came thundering towards me, bellowing out some savage Warcry, holding my blade at a low guard I swept it up in an attempt to catch my opponents blade and cut at its eyes In the same move, but the orc was too canny for that, bringing its shield up to block my blade and thrusting with the head of its axe at the same time, attempting to break my nose, it almost worked too, only a desperate jerk of my head and an awkward step back saving me from being stunned.
In response and despite my balance being off I performed a quick feint, lashing out at its right knee with the tip of my blade, before then throwing a punch with my sword hand smashing my fist and the pommel of my sword into its face and driving it back with a grunt of pain, though its helmet protected it from any real damage and I wasn't able to capitalise on it, as it brought its shield up even as it stumbled back, pushing my hand up and away and nearly driving my blade from my hand.
Despite myself I had to admit I was impressed, for an orc this one was good, it knew how to use its shield and axe well and wasn't giving me an easy opening like most of its kind would have.
Still I could admire it later as while its warband had formed a circle around us they were goblins and I couldn't exactly trust them to allow us an even and honourable fight.
Faster than it could react I reversed my sword and grabbed the blade with both hands before then raising it overhead and bringing it down on the edge of his shield, hooking the crossguard on the edge of his shield and tugging hard, yanking the shield out of its hand and sending it skittering and rolling away, then taking a step forwards I then slammed the pommel into his throat and in the same movement sending him into a gurgling, choking, coughing fit. With a victorious growl I spun my blade around in my hands and stabbed with all my strength at his chest, forgetting in my exuberance and triumphant arrogance something that I'd been drilling into the collective heads of the militia since day one, you cannot stab, or cut through armour, even his butted mail was more than strong enough to take the worst of my stab, some links tearing and ripping free but the small hole that made only served to bind my blade up for long enough for him to let out his own triumphant roar and bring his axe down on my head, attempting to split it in half, desperately I through my left arm up to try and deflect it, instead I managed to slow it and push the axe off course enough that for a moment I thought I'd stopped it, then the left side of my face was agony and I was screaming, though I only realised that later.
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And that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed and I'll hopefully see you all soon!