Hey all, I'm back. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been busy. Which is the default excuse, but this time it's true. But you aren't here to listen to me blather, dear reader, you're here to listen to a tale. So I give you…
Chapter Three: Man of the West
Artharion had never said goodbye to his father. The thought galled him, and made him feel no small amount of shame, but now was not the time to think of such things. Now was the time for battle and death, and to have his thoughts turned elsewhere could made a warrior sloppy, perhaps fatally so. Artharion knew this better than most.
As he and his men rounded a corner, they nearly collided with a band of Orcs charging from the opposite direction. Both sides recovered from their momentary confusion, and then steel crashed against steel.
Artharion dodged a blow from an Orc-mace and countered with a sword-thrust. His blade pierced through a weak point in the shoulder of the Orc's mail, and the creature went down with a sound halfway between snarl and scream. Artharion brought his sword down for the killing blow, and the Orc's screams ended abruptly.
Artharion took no joy in killing. He had wanted to be scholar, to research ancient lore and forgotten tales deep within the walls of Minas Tirith's renowned library. But his father would hear none of it. The eldest son of the family had served as a knight of Gondor for generations out of mind, and the tradition would not be broken.
Artharion parried an Orc-sword with his shield, and responded with a blow from Túrrív, his sword. It had passed down through his family from time out of memory, and was now his. It was a beautiful blade, wrought from fine steel and inlaid with Elven runes:
Im Túrrív, tolog Glosminas.
I am the Edge of Victory, stalwart of the White Tower.
The ancestral blade struck true, cleaving the Orc's head from its shoulders. Despite his reluctance to take up the arms of the warrior, Artharion had proven himself to be a surprisingly able swordsman. He had killed many of the foul creatures of Mordor in his lifetime, and had risen to a position of renown amongst the defenders of the White City.
He was no longer a young man, and had taken a wife more than a few winters ago. Halvwen was beautiful, a proud and fair lady of Dol Amroth, and he loved her dearly. She returned his love in equal measure, and they had lived together happily. She had borne him four children; three sons and a daughter. The eldest, Caundaer, was now a man, and had joined the Knights of Gondor like his father, and his father before him. It had been his own decision -Artharion had not wanted to force knighthood upon his son as it had been forced upon him, but Caundaer had long desired to perform brave feats on the field of battle.
Though still hale, Artharion had begun to tire of his service in Gondor's army. He longed to settle down with his wife to raise their children in peace, but the world had grown dark. Artharion had sworn an oath of fealty to the empty throne of Gondor, and would uphold his duty until death. All else came second -even his family.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, and the blood from his blade. The group of Orcs they had run into had been driven off. Seven Orcs and three Gondorians lay bleeding on the ground. The Orcs were already dead, the Men moaned in agony and pleaded for help. But no healers remained in the streets to carry the wounded to safety. All was fire and chaos and death, the ringing of steel on steel. Those not too seriously injured to keep fighting were quickly bandaged and pressed forward towards their waiting foes, their pale faces stern and grim, the cold steel of their blades naked in their hands.
Artharion's departure from his family had been hurried. He had kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, embraced his two younger sons, and left with Caundaer to defend the ramparts of the White City. Where his eldest son was now, he knew not. They had been separated during the battle, and Artharion had joined the men Mithrandir had ordered to hold the Second Circle.
Now he and his men were cut off from the rest of their army. The remaining defenders held a gate on one of the higher levels. The fourth, maybe? There was no way to be sure. A horde of Orcs lay between Artharion's men and the other warriors of Gondor. From above came the hoarse battle-cries of the Orcs, accompanied by the terrible, inexorable bass beat of the Troll war-drums. Outside the gates could be heard the now-familiar sounds of battle: the clash of stell, the shouts and screams of the living and the dying alike.
"Artharion!"
This came from his second-in-command, Cammir. They had known each other since the early days of their service to the Steward, and had fought alongside one another for many years. They looked little alike; while Artharion was tall and dark-haired like many of the noble houses of Gondor, Cammir was stout and ginger-haired, and more scars lined his grizzled face than did Artharion's.
"What are we to do, Artharion?" he asked, dark eyes looking questioningly at his captain. "Some of the men argue that we should go to the upper levels, to try and find other survivors. Others say that to do so would be suicide, and we should instead head for Pelennor Fields, where we will at least have a fighting chance. What is your command?"
Artharion closed his eyes. He was tired. He was tired of war. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of being the leader, of bearing responsibility for the lives of his men. He wanted nothing more than to set aside his sword and stop fighting, to return to his home and his family. He wanted to lay in his wife's arms, to smell the sweet, flowery scent of her hair, to feel her soft skin…
He opened his eyes. His men looked at him, the weariness in their eyes and in their faces reflecting his own tired feelings. They too wanted nothing more than to give up this fight, to return safely to their loved ones and lay down the troubles and terrors of war. But they could not. They were men of Gondor, valiant and bold, and would follow their duty to their deaths.
Artharion was not born to be a leader, nor a warrior. He loved books and knowledge, not war and deeds of renown. But these men looked to him now, to be there leader, their captain and guardian. He had not wanted this responsibility; it had been thrust upon him, one more burden for him to bear. But he bore it nonetheless, as he had borne every challenge of his life.
He led these men because he had to.
Because there was no one else to lead them.
"We go to Pelennor Fields," he declared, his clear voice ringing into the early morning air. He strode towards the entrance to the First Circle, and to the battlefield beyond. His men followed, eyes shining in admiration. "The Rohirrim will have need of our sword-arms."
He led them because it was his duty.
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Aitra: Glad you like it. Interesting indeed…
Ellyn: I think the best stories should have beginnings that intrigue you…thanks for the tip about the hyphens. I find Haytham to be an interesting individual. It's fun writing him.
Sarahbarr17: Thanks for the compliment. POV is now restricted to one individual per chapter…at least until the last chapter. Hugs to you, too.
Calenlass Greenleaf1: Sorry about the hurriedness, I couldn't think of much to put down for Gorlâk. I think the Orc is going to be the hardest to write for. And of course, I'm glad you like it!
szepilona10: First off, I want to say that I love how you end each review with "God Bless!" I'm glad you like it, and Haytham's story is only one part of this tragedy…
Virtuella: Thanks! I don't think Tolkien completely neglected the Haradrim, Sam does wonder about what made them fight the Gondorians; whether it was greed and hunger for conquest or the lies and conscription of tyrants. The point of this fic is not so much to display the ugliness of war as to display how similar all the human characters are, especially in contrast to the savagery of the Orcs (like Gorlâk). Another underlying theme is the bravery of soldiers fighting to protect those they love, without whom battles could never have been won. No, this is actually my second fanfic. First one for Lotr, though. And as for the PM thing, I'm adding it to my profile soon. Thanks for the suggestion!
FireChildSlytherin5: Thanks. Glad you think it's great, and there will be plenty more to come…