A/N: Yes, this really is the last chapter in Rhun. And per reader requests, Legolas's on-goings in Ithilien will be revealed in chapter 52.
***Just FYI, I am so nervous about this chapter, but here it goes. Reviews/reactions appreciated of course!
Chapter 51 - The Sun Sets in the West
[39th year of the Fourth Age; 41 years after leaving Minas Tirith...]
Vezely knelt aside her most recent kill, now motionless and face down on the fur lined carpet of her tent. Yanking off his black headscarf, it revealed underneath a face of a youth barely of militia age.
"He's young," Cyane remarked bluntly, her eyes scanning the boy's face briefly while sheathing her scimitar. It was the third time that month assassins had infiltrated their camp, killing members of their guard, posing in the garb of the ones they killed, and trying to off the General and other high ranked officers. The first time it had resulted in the death of their second lieutenant. "They seemed to not have changed their style," she added sardonically, for they had attacked again in the middle of the night, attempting to slit their throats while they slept.
While Cyane started to dutifully fix the General's tent, for its furniture had been knocked about during the fight, Vezely stared a moment longer at the youth, querying where he was born, who his parent's were, and finding again that unsettling feeling in the back of her mind that her sword had been stained with the blood of too many innocents. As her legions marched closer to the main cities of the Dark Lands, the closest they had yet come to victory, she wondered if she had slipped too far back into past habits that her redemption would remain on shaky ground. Even if peace was reestablished and she could return West knowing she had helped achieve it, there was little guarantee she could sail with Legolas to the Undying Lands.
Her meeting with Glorfindel and the confrontation that occurred with the Dorwinion Elves fourteen years ago reminded her of this; the Valar would judge her as an Elf, not as an Easterling. The two prisoners she carried from northern Logathavuld through the Dorwinion forests were eventually tortured and interrogated. The one died before revealing any information; the other offered little more than confirmation of what they already assumed. Having not produced the desired end made Vezely uncomfortable about her means; something she often did not question. Was Glorfindel right? Was it un-Elflike to overlook suffering, even of one's enemies? Was the captain of the Dorwinion guards correct? Was she still a tyrant?
She pulled back the boy's collar, revealing on the nape of his neck a tattoo that counted him among the Brotherhood of Melkor, the most ruthless of the seven military kingdoms in the Dark Lands and the most independent, deeming themselves 'divine' warriors whose main purpose in the war was to harvest slaves for ritual sacrifice. If the price was right, they readily offered their services to task deemed reprehensively even by the Dark Lands' standards.
"General!" Vezely's current second in command, Ashlon, handed her a scroll found on one of the assassins. "It would appear the price on your head is now three times what it was previously," he informed her, having already read its contents.
Vez scoffed slightly as she unrolled the parchment, remarking as she did, "How long before my own soldiers consider the offer?"
"They would not!" Cyane reprimanded her for that comment, even if it was a bit of sarcasm.
Vez apologized for her misplaced remark with a brief nod, knowing Cyane was uncomfortable with these recent developments. The People of the Dark Lands were not engaging in strictly proper warfare since their armies crossed over into their territory. Ambushes, tainted water sources, assassination attempts, all contributed to a tense atmosphere, despite the fact that they continued their takeover of settlements and increased their foothold ever farther eastward. And to add to the discomfort, the desert sun was unrelenting. They had passed into the harsher environments of the Dark Lands and would have to endure the heat of the daytime, the freezing chill of the night, and more intense rationing of water as the summer season was soon to come.
The following year, one of the legions' best contingents of cavalry was ambushed by the Brotherhood of Melkor when returning to base camp from campaigns in the north. The head officers, which included Ashlon, the second in command, had also been taken prisoner. All assumed the men were dead, sacrifices for their cult rituals or slaves for the opiate fields, but when Ashlon returned one evening to base camp, disheveled and malnourished from his journey through the desert, no one expected him or the information he carried.
"...Hundreds of prisoners, and not just our soldiers, but villagers from our borders who have been there for ages, working their opiate fields. They take a few at a time to the capital, to sacrifice in the main temple. With my rank, I would have been next, if they did not find alternate purpose," the man spoke slowly and in between several sips of water as Vezely and her commanding officers listened to his tale. All narrowed their eyes upon the mention of an 'alternate purpose,' anxious for him to continue. He looked straight at Vezely, "They want to make a deal, release of one-hundred civilians and my regiment, in exchange for you, General."
"You are joking?" Cyane spoke up when Vezely did not, her eyes shifting back and forth between the two.
"I am not," he replied to the young captain firmly, "It is what they call a Year of Reckoning. Every decade they hold a three day festival in the capital, and the Brotherhood sacrifices one-hundred of their slaves to appease Melkor. You, however, are worth much more. Not to mention, it would fill their leader's pocket with the coin the other leaders have assembled for your capture."
"They are bold to make such terms," Vez replied unconcerned after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"Even bolder to believe I would betray you for my own added profit," he added forthrightly, not desiring to keep it secret.
Vez nodded politely to Ashlon, grateful for his honesty, "And when is this festival?"
"In three months, during the winter solstice," he informed them.
Vezely milled through plans of her own while looking off into space. Cyane watched her closely; uncomfortable by the possibilities her mind could conjure. Turning her attention back to her second in command, "Rest Ashlon, we will discuss strategy further when you have recovered."
"You are not considering their offer?" he asked concerned, thinking as the others there it was a ridiculous deal to broker.
"I am not. I am considering making use of this information," Vezely returned calmly, "A time of festival is an optimal time of attack. If we can manage our troops to march on the capital during this event, then we have a chance of ending the war and preventing further death to our people..."
After the officers left the council, Cyane voiced her fears, "I do not think we can take the capital in only three months time. Unless you know something I do not."
Vezely quickly went to the map on her table, her eyes scanning the settlements between their current location and the capital, "You once queried the possibility of rekindling negotiations with Khand."
Cyane shook her head, before voicing her concern, "I did, but we both agreed my blood relations would not be enough to sway them from neutrality."
"I think you should try," Vezely spoke encouragingly, "What we need is one last battle to end this war of tiny victories, and we can't do that without superior numbers. We need Khand to join this fight, to help us take the capital."
Looking over the map with her, Cyane then asked a nagging question, "Why did you not mention this among the other officers? Do you not trust Ashlon?"
"I trust Ashlon completely," Vez responded calmly, grateful to have no reason to doubt her men, "He wasn't lying about their offer, though I cannot be assured that our camp is free of spies. Negotiating with Khand will be our wild card, and one I place on your shoulders."
"That is a heavy task," Cyane replied uncertain, her eyes finding Khand on the map.
"One I know you can handle," Vez replied undeterred. She then pulled a scroll from the nearby shelf, handing it to Cyane, "This correspondence came from our main post a fortnight ago. Our leaders are willing to broker a deal with the Variags in exchange for their assistance in this war and I believe you are the best to take them this offer..."
It was not the only negotiations the Reunited Easterling Coalition decided to broker. Vezely thought it was time to call in the favor owed to her by the Haradrim; payment for her aid in Minas Tirith. Two of the men she escorted to their homeland had become high ranking officials and she made sure to remain in correspondence with them ever since. Like Khand, Harad always remained neutral, but the plague and the stunted trade up north made them reconsider their position. They wanted peace in Rhun, but they would not pledge aid until one side's victory was assured, and now it was certainly close for the Reunited Easterling Coalition.
The General accompanied the young Captain to the southern borders, where she would continue on to Khand with a smaller contingent of warriors.
"...If this doesn't work," Cyane started concerned, speaking in private council with Vez before the dawn of her departure.
"It will," Vezely replied encouragingly, knowing she was nervous of failing such a crucial task, "You can convince them."
Cyane always felt unworthy of her mentor's praise, though grateful to have it. Ever since her mother died, Vezely had been nothing but supportive; stern as a mentor who desired her pupil to learn, but caring as a parent who desired her to be emotionally well. Saying in wistful prose as she clasped her hands on the table, Cyane added, "Just one battle to end it all. For peace in Rhun."
"For peace in Rhun," Vez repeated also thinking it over; it was a strange concept to grasp and uncanny to think it could happen in less than three months time.
"And then your departure from it," Cyane spoke with some unhidden sadness on a topic they didn't often discuss, but which she knew was inevitable.
Vez responded carefully, "I will no longer be needed in Rhun."
"You are needed here," Cyane corrected forthrightly, giving her a discerning stare, "You are the people's general, they trust you to lead them."
Vez shook her head, now correcting her, "To lead them in war, not in peace. I have no skill for that and leave it to those as yourself, who are young and have more optimism than I can spare."
The rarity of her self-deprecation made Cyane smile only briefly; she still felt a need to interrogate her future plans, "Is it worth leaving behind all you have helped build? The respect everyone carries for you?"
Vez explained her thoughts carefully, "If I was of the race of man, I could stay and be proud of all I accomplished as an Easterling warrior; knowing in death I would be honored among my kin."
"Would you not be honored among Elves?" Cyane asked surprised, adding a second query quickly after, "Can you not even be proud of your earned status?"
"Of the bravery my legions continue to show in the face of horror. Of all I have had the privilege to fight alongside. And of you, who I have watched grow into a fine warrior, and who will someday be an even better leader than I could have hoped," Vez answered kindly, pride stirring in her chest, "But of myself," she shook her head, "I do not have a place of honor among my kin and I should not because of my past. It will remain the debt I cannot pay. All I know is I cannot outstay my purpose in Rhun, and I made a promise to return West."
"To Legolas," Cyane ended her sentence by saying the Elf's name unimpressed, "And if he is not there?" She knew about 'the call,' and about the added strain it put their relationship in.
"Then he is where he needs to be," Vez replied calmly, having come to terms with the possibility of Legolas not being in Ithilien when she returned. "And I will follow him across the sea, if I am permitted to."
She rejoined skeptically, "And once there, you would still go to him, even though he did not keep his promise? And don't say because of love." Instead of answering, Vez laughed at her readiness to dismiss any blanketed reply, causing Cyane to raise her eyebrows surprised and desiring confirmation, "After all this time, you still hold affection for him?"
"I do," the words fell from her lips in one quiet breath, as if regretting falling in love with him, for in doing so she imparted the pain of her overlong absence. Adding after, "Even if he no longer holds me in his heart, a promise is a promise and I will return West where at least I can thank him for the added courage he gave me to keep fighting."
"Well," Cyane replied forthrightly, lifting her chin up and crossing her arms, "He is only worthy of you if he waits," which caused a smile to be exchanged between them as they knew their conversation would need to end, for it was time for Cyane to depart.
...Vezely watched contemplatively as Cyane rode south to Khand, carried on her black horse with her cavalry aside her. She waited atop the sand dune until they became a black line on the horizon. "Cyane, I have done much wrong in my life," she spoke quietly to the arid wind as it changed direction around her, "But by raising you, I may have done one thing right."
She would return to base camp to further the plans for the attack only to find the Brotherhood of Melkor has struck again; another contingent was ambushed and taken to their slave camps.
[Dreaming of the past: Third Age 2641; Mirkwood Forest]
"...It keeps trying to breathe," the six year old knelt down and inquisitively watched the carp her father just caught for dinner repetitively open and close its gills and mouth.
"It wants to live," the tall, dark-haired Elf knelt next to his tiny daughter, looking upon the side of her inquisitive face. He took her along with him to work at the riverbed that day; to be a 'helper,' much to the delight of his peers for whom an Elf child was a rarity and a joy for all to be around.
"But doesn't it know it will die?" she asked, sounding overly concerned for the fish's mental well-being.
"Even if it does, should it not try to live?" He followed with another question, for he could not answer for the fish.
She turned her head to see her father yet looking upon her, a calm smile upon his face. "I guess so," she returned still thinking it though; afterwards biting her lip as she quietly debated whether to ask another question.
"C'mon. There is still work to do," he placed a gentle hand on her back to prompt her to leave the fish's side; he needed to help with another set of barrels being moved down stream before they could depart for home.
"One more question!" she chirped, prompting him to stay knelt beside her. "Is it the same for us?" Her father turned his head, uncertain of her meaning, "You said when we die we don't really leave Arda, we just relocate to Aman."
"I did," he looked down upon her with endearing pride, again witnessing an instance where her mind continued to grow and question new knowledge in relation to the knowledge she already had. He told her carefully, "But once we go forth we cannot return to Middle Earth. So, if we are the fish, we might need to decide where we want to live, or perhaps, who is there to live for. And just maybe by trying," he picked up the fish and tossed it back into the river, knowing the learning opportunity meant more than dinner, "Those desires will be met..."
Vezely awoke in a cold sweat, her breathing heavy, and her mind groggy; she did not often dream or in this case, revisit her childhood past so vividly. It was the last afternoon she spent with her father. That evening the Orcs raided the small colony where her family lived in Northern Mirkwood, and though she saw her father and mother fall under their blades, she wanted to believe they lived; the thought kept her strong while being relocated and while in the presence of Sauron. She wondered why she now revisited this memory, though her time to contemplate it was immediately nixed when commotion in the camp, cries to sound the alarm, jolted her from her blankets; assassins had struck again.
...She held the lifeless body of Colonel Olani in her arms, the victim of the latest attack. They had laced her wine with poison, killing not only her but several of her company.
"This needs to stop!" Vez cried, emotions raging not only for the loss of Olani, who was dear to her, but despair for those who had been taken and who might be next; that it could easily be Cyane in her arms passed her mind, "There is only one option..."
The second in command, Ashlon, stood defiant in front of Vezely, holding her just relinquished sword by his side, "I know all has been planned, but I cannot in right conscious allow you to do this General. We need you to lead us in this fight."
"Your regiment and the rest of the men they will release are more integral to our victory," she returned firmly, "And once I am delivered to the capital, our enemy will assume by your false coup that we are weak, the Brotherhood will lessen their attacks on our camps, and the rest of our plans can move forward, it is the best solution for right now..."
The People of the Dark Lands had quadrupled the price on her head, leading to more attacks on her legions by the Brotherhood of Melkor, who were more determined to claim the reward. These small skirmishes with the group had become burdensome enough to prevent their progress; putting them behind in their march toward the capital for the festival. The plan was for Ashlon to play the part of usurper of the Reunited Easterling Coalition, handing over Vezely as his prisoner for the price of all taken regiments and two-hundred of their slaves.
"...They will not sacrifice me at the start of the festival, and you will take the capital before its end," she added for reassurance, "And from inside its gates, perhaps I can even aid in our victory..." This was a false claim; she doubted she would be under guarded in their prisons, but it was one she shared to give hope to those who might lose it. "Now," she looked at him bravely, "You better make it convincing." Vezely prepared for the beating; they needed to make the coup appear as one.
In shock by the news, Cyane, who had just returned successful from her negotiations in Khand, relocated herself to a nearby tent to read the letter in private.
Cyane,
I do not expect you to agree with this decision upon first receiving the news, but know it is the only solution we could find to go forward with our plans. Harad will meet us and I have no doubt Khand will be there. Please look after my possessions in my absence. I expect you to bring them to me when I meet you at the gates of the capital.
Strength in times of darkness, courage in times of fear, death to those who oppose. There is still hope.
Vezely
Cyane's grip tightened, crumpling the paper in it, as she tried to keep her rage and fear from releasing in a scream. She picked up the small red silk pouch and spilled it contents into her palm. She starred in disbelief at Vezely's two rings: her gold Blachoth leadership ring and the one she never saw her remove, the pure silver betrothal ring.
Taking a deep breath, she removed the necklace around her neck which belonged to her mother. After unclasping it, she carefully threaded the two rings on its strand, and placed it back around her neck. She then grabbed Vezely's sword, finding it hard not to admire for its expert craftsmanship. She unsheathed it to its midway point and whispered to herself the carving on its polished blade. In Elvish script it read, "The stars still shine, even behind a veil of darkness." Cyane realized she never bothered to ask Vezely what this phrase meant or why she decided to have it engraved there, and in Elvish. You will ask her when peace is assured, she told herself, trying to keep hope during this unexpected situation...
The following weeks were a blur for Vezely. "...You are our greatest foe, but that does not mean we lack respect..." the well-spoken general of the Brotherhood told her at the start of her captivity. They knew torturing her was a waste of time, and some even feared doing so; believing Elves had powers they did not understand.
They slowly moved her to the capital to collect their reward and gloat to the other six kingdoms for achieving what they could not. She knew that the parade through their gates would be the most demeaning and the interrogation after by the leaders the most damaging. She had prepared herself for torture, and the opiates administered prior merely numbed the initial pain of her injures, blurred her vision, and took her to another place mentally, yet she never cracked. Yet they needed her alive for the ritual, so she was given minimal food and water, and left alone.
In the prisons, which were dark and as dismal as the ones in Dol Guldor, she slept, resting to recover her strength, all the while keeping hope she would hear the drums of her legions at the gates and that the end of the war was soon to come. The evening before this event, she dreamt she rode into Ithilien on the back of Leofara, even though the Rohirrim horse that Eomer gifted her in Minas Tirith for saving his life had died from old age eight years prior. She dismounted at the gates of the Elvish colony and walked slowly into the sunlit village; appreciating the unique sight of quaint houses built among the trees. Her ears were yet cloaked under her black headband, and she proudly wore the decorum of her rank. The gold embellished general's sword was at her hip; the sai which had remained her second weapon of choice, were holstered to the sides of her boots. She waited for her presence to provoke some form of recognition; for a resident to come out and greet her so she could inquire where Legolas resided, but all she could hear was the sound of her own footfalls on the crisp fallen autumn leaves. The colony had been abandoned; she was too late.
It was from this dream that the guards awoke her. They cuffed her hands behind her back and moved her to another holding cell, remarking along the way that her time had come.
It was in this new cell that she was visited by an old acquaintance, whose voice she recognized immediately.
"Leave us," the man commanded the guards before he stepped into her sight.
"Remi?" Vez now looked upon an older version of the man who she held much history with. She assumed rightfully that he fled with several of Agasha Dag's commanding officers to the Dark Lands' when the province fell to the Coalition; gaining asylum and even position in their legions. Remi was always a survivor. "If you came here to gloat," Vez started dangerously.
"I did not," he replied quietly, kneeling closely beside her. His eyes roamed her face, amazed to find it unchanged from his memory; reminding him that she was indeed Elf-kind, something he never could truly embrace. As he placed a hand on her arm, she jerked away, fearing his intention. "Nor am I here to cause harm," he told her quickly, causing her to look upon him. She was surprised to find sincerity in his eyes; she believed him. "You do not have much time," he whispered regretfully, "Know if I could stop this, I would."
"Is that supposed to be an apology?" Vez replied unimpressed, her eyes remaining stern.
Remi released a dejected breath, "I do not deserve one." He then ran his hand down her forearm, to the irons cuffing her wrists behind her back; she heard the small click of one cuff being unlocked, though not removed. He whispered in her ear afterward, "I know you will never accept my love, but at least I can give you a chance to die with honor." She looked upon his pain-filled eyes, shocked by this act which undoubtedly would spell treason if discovered. She could tell, despite the power he held, regret of his past betrayals wrecked him through the years.
She slowly bowed her head feeling humbled, "I will not forget this, Remi," she replied quietly, but firmly.
Vezely kept her hands clasped behind her to keep the unclasped cuff in place as guards escorted her up the steps of the main temple, which sat at the highest point above the city that one could peer over its gates and see far into the West. Preparing for the start of the festival, the people of the capital lined the streets below, holding in their hands candles whose flames grew brighter as the sun slunk closer to the horizon. At the top they led her onto a raised stage, and forced her to kneel as a priest began chanting beside her. Her eyes scanned to the left and then the right, finding each side of the stage held four guards holding spears. Immediately beside her were two large enforcers, wearing golden wolf masks; they would hold her as the priest slit her throat and collected her blood as offering.
She would not be the last sacrifice of the festival, but the first; realizing now she made a major miscalculation. She looked back out onto the horizon, to the blaring orange sun about to touch the flat earth below it, to the far West beyond where now more than ever she desired to return, and to Legolas whom she knew had been waiting for her all along. Her heartbeat quickened along with her breath, drowning out the priest's rhythmic chanting beside her and the repeated hymns of the people in the streets below. With her voice at only a whisper, in Elvish tongue Vezely called upon the powers she never before spoke to, "Please hear me, Elbereth," she mouthed the name of the queen of the stars, "So that Manwe can see." It was then upon the western horizon, underneath the sun's glare, a fine black line crept forward; all but imperceptible if not for the keen eyesight of her race. She knew her legions were approaching and the sight stirred pride within her chest; they were on their way to take the capital.
The wolf-masked enforcers grasped hold of her forearms, as the priest took the ceremonial sword from its resting place nearby. She spoke again in Elvish, "My fate after death is yours," she told the two head Valar in meager hope they were listening, "But in this life, there is one more act I must do to aid those I see before me." As the sun collided with the horizon, she felt the cold blade touch her throat and Vezely clicked the cufflink open behind her.