Chapter 44
Gondor, June the 11th, 3020
They had almost reached the palisade, when a sudden cry startled them.
"Who goes there?".
Daring to advance a little closer, Míririen pleaded, "We are unarmed and in need of assistance, Sir. Please let us in!".
Understandably surprised to see a woman approaching the outpost in the dead of night, the man who had spoken uttered something unintelligible as he came down from the walkway, emerging moments later from the gaping hole in which a gate had yet to be fitted. The booming voice had deceived Ealith into thinking he was a grown man, when in reality he was but a lad – eighteen years old perhaps, gangly and with uneven patches of stubble covering his otherwise smooth cheeks.
Behind him came another man. Much older, with broad shoulders and short black hair. "Togron, what is going on?", he demanded to know, his voice oozing authority.
"I don't know, Sir. These three just appeared out of nowhere".
The man who appeared to be in charge stepped closer, a torch held in front of him. He scrutinized Míririen before shifting his attention to her, lingering longer as he took in her features, her blond hair, and lastly, the child she carried on her back. He moved the torch closer still, his eyes widening in sudden recognition, his right hand twitching like he was considering whether unsheathing his sword or not: "Put him down", he ordered, his lips curled in a menacing grimace.
Ealith had a half-mind of spitting an angry retort at him, but Alphros sudden exclamation saved her from losing her temper: "I know him! I saw him speaking with father. Many times!".
Looking at him over her shoulder, she pondered what to do. The young Prince had guided them this far, first by recognizing the stretch of shore by which they were sailing, then by remembering there was an outpost nearby. She decided she was going to trust him on this one too and very slowly, she crouched down so he could get down from her back.
He stayed close, the blisters on his feet were making his gait odd and slightly wobbly.
"My name is Ealith. This is Alphros, son of Prince Elphir, and Lady Míririen, wife of Prince Erchirion. There has been an accident in Dol Amroth, deliberately caused with the purpose of abducting the young Prince. We were pursued on sea until sunset, when we landed by the river mouth and fled towards your outpost. I don't know where the villains who chased us are, but I know they are coming. Please, Sir, we need protection. Will you escort us back to Dol Amroth?".
The two men exchanged a grave look. "Wake the rest of the men", the older one barked, scooping Alphros in his arms and beckoning them to follow him. "My name is Carvion and I'm in charge of this garrison. I need you to tell me everything you know about your pursuers".
"We don't know much. Their ship never came close enough for us to see who was on board".
"And yet you are sure they were after you?".
"Yes", Míririen answered resolutely, "they tailed us for hours and I know for certain their ship doesn't belong to the Amrothian fleet. It was a balinger, Sir".
Carvion turned around sharply. "A balinger? That would mean a crew of at least twenty". He muttered a curse and rushed them inside the barracks, "This is a small outpost. It will host fifteen men when at full capacity but as you can see, construction is still ongoing".
Ealith could feel the hope of an easy rescue quickly dimming. "How many men are currently stationed here?".
"Seven including myself. With no horses to spare".
"That is not enough to escort us safely back", she remarked, frustration seeping into her voice.
"No, not with a party of potentially twenty men scouting the woods in search of you".
"What do you suggest we do?", Míririen asked, her voice shaky.
"Togron is my fastest rider. I will dispatch him to Dol Amroth to call for reinforcements".
"How long will that take?".
"Half-day, give or take. In the meanwhile, we have no choice but to shelter you here and hope friends will arrive sooner than foes".
Ealith squared her shoulders. She had never been one for complaining and she surely wasn't going to start whining now. Yes, she had hoped they'd find safety at the oputpost, but there was little point despairing. They needed to prepare for what was to come. "We have barely eaten since yesterday at lunch. We require food, warmer clothing and, if you have it, some ointment to treat Prince Alphros' feet. And weapons. A dagger will do for Míririen, I'll take a sword and whatever else you can give me". Her friend made for speaking, but she raised a hand to stop her: "I don't care whether you've never learned how to use a weapon in self-defence. You'll take the dagger and hide it in your boot".
Carvion studied her, his eyes raking over her scars. "Pelennor Fields?".
"Black Gate".
"Come with me". He walked her to the back of the building, where the armoury was located, and unlocked the door to let her in: "Take everything you need".
It was surprisingly well-stocked, with entire racks and scaffolds laden with all kinds of weapons - some used, some looking like they had just come out of the forge. Neatly aligned beside a whetstone were several daggers: she picked a small one for Míririen and two longer ones for herself; one she placed in her boot, the other she fixed on one of the leather belts the hung on the wall and secured it around her waist. Choosing a sword proved more difficult: there were several long ones, but they were all too heavy for her. After much consideration, she settled for a short sword – not her preferred choice of weapon under normal circumstances, but one that might play to her advantage if it came down to fighting in enclosed spaces.
The entire time, Carvion's blunt gaze never left her. "I apologize for my earlier manners, Lady Ealith".
"There's no need. I was a stranger and a foreigner, who knocked at your door in the middle of the night while in the company of the young Prince. You acted like you saw fit".
He frowned, his expression contrite. "I was there too - at the Black Gate and, before that, at the Pelennor Fields. For what is worth, I'll always count it an honour to fight alongside a Rohirrim".
Ealith nodded distractedly - she never knew how to answer such statements and even though she knew they stemmed from good intentions, she really wished people would stop bringing the war up. Once she was done with choosing her blades, Carvion escorted her to the kitchen, where she helped herself to three hefty portions of cold stew and some slices of bread. He helped her carrying the food back to the barracks, where she was glad to see Alphros' feet had been treated and clothes provided. It took some work to make them fit, but they managed somehow.
An hour later, sated and finally warm, they gathered with the rest of the men to plan ahead.
"You will stay in the lodgings", Carvion decided, "they are in a more central position and, should we be attacked – which we may not be, easier to defend. We will build a barricade to block the outpost entrance and keep our attackers outside the walls for as long as we can, but I will need every last man available on the palisade. Lady Ealith, you will be the last line of defence for Lady Míririen and Prince Alphros. Should we be overrun, make for the stables and ride hard".
A simple plan. Not a perfect one, but the soundest they could afford. "I understand", she confirmed.
After the men had dispersed, she looked for a quiet corner and found it nearby the stables. She could see the lodgings from there, and the air smelled familiar – a mix of fodder, hay and manure. It was soothing. Comforting.
To her right, two soldiers were sharpening their swords and loading their quivers. Further down, a third one sat on the edge of trough, writing something on a small slip of paper. A letter perhaps, or the thoughts of a man who didn't know whether he'd survive the day. Carvion had fostered a cautious optimism in his speech - their pursuers might not come at all, perhaps they hadn't found their tracks and decided to give up. But Ealith could feel it in her bones that it wasn't over, that they weren't going to be that lucky.
Four-hundred-forty-four days had passed since that morning on the Slagg-Hills. Ten more since she had fought on the Pelennor Fields. She didn't know how or why she could still count them. She just did.
After the war had ended, she had had no wish to fight ever again. Damn, for a while she had had no wish to live at all, not when every waking moment was pain. But even before that, even before she had witnessed war's ugliest face, the spark within her had dimmed, to the point that she hadn't expected to survive the war and, she could see it now, she had been disturbingly calm about it.
And now, some fifteen months later, there she was: in Gondor again; at the eve of a battle she might not survive. Yet there ended the similarities, for she was not the same woman. She looked different – worse, no point pretending otherwise. And she felt different – happier, more at peace, her head brimming with plans and dreams that screamed for attention.
Amrothos.
She smiled thinking of her Prince.
Theirs hadn't been love at first sight - quite the opposite: one day at a time, he had tiptoed all the way inside her heart – silently, discretely, and made himself at home. Until one day she had looked inside herself and there he was, all nice and settled like he belonged there! Fool as she was, she had tried to rip him out, and then to pretend he wasn't there. He was though. And there he had quietly waited, never making any demand: he hadn't asked her to stay with him when she had told him about the Eastemnet, he hadn't press her into promising she'd return. Amrothos could be cocky at times, but on the important matters he was never arrogant, never assumed he knew better - not even on those occasions when, in fact, he did. He was outrageously handsome but also adorably goofy, so much she often went from thinking he was the perfect embodiment of the charming prince, to wondering just how on earth he had made it alive through the first twenty-five years of his life!
Seeing Carvion approaching, Ealith wiped the smile from her face and rose to her feet.
"I've sent out a scout. I know it's a risk, for there's already few of us and we can't afford to lose anyone. But we need to know what we are up against. The barricades are ready, and I must ask that you get inside the lodgings immediately, Lady Ealith. I don't want you out here when the fight starts".
She took one last deep breath, shifted her ankle to feel the hard ridge of the dagger in her boot, checked the one that hung from her belt and curled and uncurled her fingers around the hilt of her sword. With a nod of her head, she obeyed his command and returned to Míririen and Alphros.
They were sitting on the floor, playing one of those card games Amrothos liked as well, the young Prince giving her a little grin upon realizing he had won the round. The game was keeping him distracted, which was a good thing. He had been through so much already.
Míririen invited her to join them, but she declined.
Sitting on a stool, her eyes fixed on the door and her ears open to catch anything happening outside, Ealith waited.
Amrothos stood in the shadows, his demeanour deceptively calm on the outside.
The sun would soon rise. Elphir was in the palace coordinating the search. Erchirion had taken their fastest ship and had yet to return from his scouting mission. It was what they were good at: even with his son missing, Elphir had been able to pull himself together and step up; and as for Erchirion, he was born a commander and if there was someone who could uncover something useful out there on the open sea, it was him.
Amrothos suppressed a dark smile: after years spent hanging around the city's best and worst establishments alike, he knew Dol Amroth better than the most; he was acquainted with its shiniest spots and, especially, with its shadiest ones. He had taken his time interrogating the healers, as well as the guards who had been on duty at the gates and at the harbour the previous day, and he was certain the four missing men who had caused the accident were still in the city. They must have been paid handsomely for what they had done and men like them, there was only one thing they would do when blessed with unexpected wealth: they would squander it in booze and wenches, while they waited for the dust to settle and the opportunity to flee to safer shores. He had visited all the filthiest brothels and the most infamous taverns until finally, a woman had admitted she and her fellow workers had provided their services to four men whose description matched to a tee that provided by the master healer.
A trail of wasted gambling and expensive liquors had brought him where he was now, standing in front of a building that resembled the proverbial rathole. Located in the seediest part of the city, where the streets were soaked with pigs and goats' excrements, most of its windows either broken or missing, it leaned visibly on one side. Inside the basement he had found ash-stained clothes and clumsily hidden pouches of coins - enough to confirm he was in the right place.
Now stationed inside a nearby abandoned shop, a handful of mice to keep him company, Amrothos waited. And then he waited some more. Until finally, just as the sun rose, a raucous distant shouting signalled someone was approaching the derelict building.
Four men. Two women.
How splendid, he thought drily: the bastards would be distracted, his job easier.
He waited until the group had entered the building and started counting. When he had reached one hundred, he abandoned his hideout and crossed the street, a large rusty hammer held in his left hand.
Shadows moved around him, five tall figures trailing him closely behind.
He tried the door and stifled a sneer: shabby idiots hadn't even locked it. The party was in full swing when they descended upon them, a revolting exhibit of buck naked, blind drunk men and lewdly laughing wenches. It was the latter who reacted the fastest to their sudden appearance, shrieking and fleeing the scene with their clothes clutched to their breasts. As for the men, his enforcers were on them before they had had the time to realize what was happening.
"Gentlemen", he greeted them casually.
One of them - the older by the looks of it and the one who, based on what he had gathered, was the leader of this wretched crowd, stuttered, fear creeping into his eyes. Amrothos pulled a chair and sat in front of him, the hammer resting on his thigh. "You recognized me right away as I entered the room. I gather you are an Amrothian".
Silence.
"Your friends?".
"P-Pelargir, Lord".
He moved the hammer, the head now resting on the man's kneecap. "You know why I am here. And probably, you think you know what I am prepared to do to make you sing. But you don't, so let me enlighten you: if you refuse talking, if you don't provide me with useful information within the next two minutes, if Ealith, Míririen and Alphros aren't returned to us alive and unharmed, I will crush every bone there is within your body and take great pleasure in doing so". He punctuated his words by slamming the hammer hard between the men's legs, mere inches from his knees and, especially, more vulnerable organs.
The blow took a whole chunk of wood off the man's chair.
On the outside, Amrothos was smiling eerily. On the inside, he detested every second of it, detested giving in to the darker side of him, the one it had taken him so long to tame and accept without feeling the compulsion to drink himself into oblivion. But if Ealith's life depended upon it, he was willing to do everything he had threatened the man with. And worse.
He looked down. To his utter disgust, the man had pissed himself.
"W-we don't know anything, L-Lord. We were hired by the docks, they offered us one hundred s-silver pieces each to sink the b-boat".
"Who hired you?".
"He didn't say his name".
Under his deadly glare, the man squirmed, sweat tickling down his brow, "I swear!", he yelled, "I had never seen him before. He… he had a strange accent! I think he hailed from somewhere in the outback! Please, Lord, we had no idea they intended to abduct the Prince and the ladies!".
"Perhaps you tell the truth. Perhaps you knew nothing of your employer's true purpose. And yet, you neglected to come clean once you found out… Tell me, Gallon", he asked the enforcer who was holding the man, "we've been in this rathole for longer than two minutes already. Have we learned anything useful?".
"No, Lord. Not at all", Gallon answered grimly.
"Keep the man still for me, will you?".
"Yes, Lord".
With great calm, Amrothos raised his arm high, his heart begging the greedy bastard to speak before he'd be forced to make good on his threat.
"A map! I saw a map!".
He halted. "Explain yourself".
"The man who hired us, I saw him studying a map. It seemed like he was trying to figure the quickest way to some place West of Calembel and back!".
Amrothos frowned, the name and the location ringing a bell. Could it be? "Calembel? He was looking at a map of Lamedon? Are you sure?".
The man nodded fearfully.
"Gallon, take these four scumbags to the dungeons and have guards watching them at all times. When this is all over, I will deal with them personally".
Having reinforced his earlier threat, Amrothos wasted no more time in that dump and run back to the palace, as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He barged in his father's study to find Gliril and his brothers speaking animatedly. Erchirion must have just returned from his patrol and, by the looks of it, it had been a wild goose chase.
"I managed to flush out the four men who caused the shipwreck and discovered something!".
He relayed what he had just learnt and didn't even need to voice his suspicions, for he could see them mirrored on his brothers' faces the exact moment he mentioned West Lamedon. It was then that, for the first time in his life, he feared Erchirion might lose it: he was still at first, his face growing progressively red; Gliril took a cautious step back and a moment later, he exploded, kicking a chair repeatedly until it yielded and tumbled to the ground with a vanquished cry of screeching wood.
"I should have killed him that night in Pelargir!", he bellowed, his voice almost unrecognizable.
Elphir grabbed him by the front of his tunic and shook him. "Calm yourself! Radon will get what he deserves but first, we must find him. Míririen needs you to keep your head cool, not to rave around like a madman. You either manage that, or I will leave you behind when we ride out!".
Erchirion's nostrils flared, reason and anger warring for control. The former prevailed, and he was eventually released from his brother's vice grip. "It's a five days' ride to Lamedon. Radon is one day ahead of us but having three hostages will certainly slow him down. We don't know how many men he has in his service, and we might need to fan out in order to find him. I say we take fifty men and ride forthwith: we will intercept him before he reaches his family's estate and put an end to this", Elphir decided.
Less than half an hour later, fifty Swan Knight had assembled in the palace courtyard, none of them wearing armour so to spare their horses the extra weight. They set off in great haste, an angry thunder of hooves that drew many curios gazes amongst the unsuspecting citizens. They rode north for a couple of hours, until they reached the mouth of the Ringló river and took the road that followed its bank upstream. It would take them until the early afternoon to reach the market town of Glanhir, where they'd cross over and make a beeline for Lamedon. It was the fastest route to Radon's estate and, also, the more discreet one – no beaten roads, sparse settlements, leagues and leagues of rolling hills offering plenty of cover.
Amrothos still couldn't believe the man had gone to such extreme just to satisfy his thirst for revenge against Míririen. He remembered that infamous night in Pelargir when they had caught him assaulting her: after he had fished him out of the water, he had made very clear to him that from that moment onward, any offence against Míririen would have been considered an offence against the house of Dol Amroth. All things considered, he hadn't roughed him up too bad and even showed him the courtesy of taking him somewhere private to have their little conversation, so to avoid him the shame of being trashed in public.
Looking back, he still believed they had handled the situation properly. Sure, Radon had behaved like a scumbag; but he had been completely drunk and being the son of one of the wealthiest men in all Gondor, they had had no choice but walking the fine line between reinforcing what was just, without making him feel like they were seeking to antagonize his house. The mistake was committed later on, when they had learned that while they were away fighting the war, two men had been following Míririen. They should have gone to the bottom of it, they shouldn't have left Radon so easily of the hook. But they had had no proof against him and perhaps, they had foolishly thought that with Erchirion and Míririen set to marry within days, the matter would be automatically solved.
It wasn't to Radon though, and the humiliation Éomer served him a few months later in Dol Amroth had been the last straw: his impending wedding to Lord Pedir's daughter had been called off and his own family had all but disowned him, sending him in exile to their remote estate in Lamedon.
Vindictive men who believe they have a score to settle should never be underestimated - especially when they can count on almost unlimited financial means to get them the help they need to execute their revenge. And yet underestimating was exactly what they did: they had allowed the wound to fester and as a result, the people they loved the most were now in danger.
It was maybe the most shocking aspect of this whole mess: the fact that Radon hadn't just gone after Míririen. No, he had gone after their entire family.
His plan had been carefully crafted. He hadn't struck on one of those occasions when his sister-in-law was out sailing on her own. It would have been so much easier to do so, for she normally ventured further from the palace if Alphros wasn't with her. But no, he had chosen to strike when he knew he'd be with her and, in doing so, he had executed what was in all respects a frontal assault on the royal family of Dol Amroth.
There was no change what was going to happen now: to whatever end this ordeal was headed, Radon was not going to survive it. Amrothos could feel it in the rage simmering inside him; he could see it in the coldness of Elphir's expression; and in the agony crooking Erchirion's features.
They all knew what Radon wanted with Míririen and could only hope the bastard had decided to wait until he had reached the safety of his estate before going through with what he had planned for her.
But what of Alphros? What of Ealith?
Amrothos didn't think he'd kill them right away. No, Radon was a far too sadistic monster for that. Which felt like a relief and a curse at the same time: they were alive, yes, but had he harmed them already? Had he let any of his men lay their filthy hands on his shieldmaiden?
He raked his fingers though the mane of his horse and tried not to think about it, least he'd lose his mind for good.
They were halfway to Glanhir, when something urged him to slow down. Like someone was pulling at the strings inside his head to get him to notice something important. When the last of the Swan Knights had passed him, he halted his horse and looked around: there were farmers plowing the fields to the East and the riverbanks were swarm with fishermen. A bucolic landscape, only ruined by the regiment of men riding right across it.
He heard it then: above the sound of hooves trampling the path, a voice.
Someone screaming.
He turned back, his eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. His gaze moved from the road behind them, to the one running along the opposite riverbank. And there, he saw it: a rider, galloping like the wind and desperately waving his arm.
Amrothos yelled to catch his brothers' attention and rode back, intercepting the stranger on a nearby bridge. He was one of theirs, he reckoned, an Amrothian soldier.
"Lord!", he breathed heavily, "Thank goodness you heard me! My horse is exhausted, I feared I wouldn't have been able to reach you. I bear news of Prince Alphros, and of Lady Míririen and Lady Ealith!".
"What do you know? Speak, quickly!", he ordered. Behind him, Elphir and Erchirion had already caught up with him.
"They are at the Malartham Stockade, Lord, safe and unharmed. They arrived last night, told us they had barely escaped a kidnapping attempt. A balinger tried to catch them, but they managed to escape to the Northern side of the bay. They were followed until nightfall, when they were forced to abandon their skiff and made a run for our outpost. Our commander Sir Carvion wanted to escort them to Dol Amroth, but we didn't have the men nor the horses to ensure their protection. I was sent to call for help, Lord! We believe those villains are still out there and that they will try to attack the outpost!".
"How many men were left defending the stockade?", Elphir asked urgently.
"Six".
"Did you see anything while riding here?".
"No, Lord. It was dark and I did not look back".
"A balinger means two dozens men at least, and the stockade isn't even finished yet. Six men won't stand a chance", Erchirion growled, the little spark of hope quickly dying in his stormy gray eyes.
"No. But fifty Swan Knights against two dozens maggots? We will crush them like ants". Elphir's steely resolve had them all stand at attention. Turning to the young rider, he asked, "What is your name?".
"Togron, Lord".
"I thank you for your service, Togron, and ask one last thing of you. Ride to Dol Amroth and inform my wife of what is happening. Tell her that we are riding to the Malartham Stockade and that she is to send reinforcements via sea, as quickly as possible. They are to search for a balinger anchored off the coast and capture the crew. I also want healers on board, just in case".
With that, they split. The young rider took his orders and rode for Dol Amroth, while they headed the opposite direction, their horses kicking a mighty cloud of dust.
The scout Carvion had sent out returned in the late morning. "They are coming, Sir!", he warned as he squeezed through the narrow passage in the barricade that they had left open for him.
"How many?".
"Twenty-seven. They are at a clearing less than two miles to the East".
Ealith's hands balled into fists. Their outlook was bleak: she knew their pursuers were coming, but she had hoped their numbers would be smaller. With reinforcements at least three to four away, they'd have to weather the incoming attack on their own.
"Have you learned anything else?".
The scout nodded nervously. "It's a mixed group, Sir. Some are Gondorians, mercenaries probably. But others are foreigners. They spoke a language I could not understand. I cannot be certain, but I think they are corsairs".
The mood in the room flared. "Gondorians and corsairs working together against the royal family of Dol Amroth", Carvion spat on the ground, "Curse them all!".
"There's more, Sir. It appears there are two men in charge: one is also a corsair while the other… well, again, I cannot be sure for I was some distance away, but I think I recognized him. Maybe I'm wrong, b-but…".
"Out with it!", Carvion lost his patience.
"I think it was Lord Harnon's youngest son, Sir! My father served in his troops and…".
Míririen's voice was like a vicious snarl. "You mean Lord Radon?".
"Yes", the scout confirmed, to which she let out a furious scream that had Alphros gasping in fear. She walked to one of the windows and stood with her back to them, her shoulders shaking.
"Míririen?", Ealith approached her cautiously.
"He's here for me, I brought this upon us!", she growled.
"Explain yourself. Who is this man? Why is he after you?".
"After my father and my brother passed away, I took a job at a tavern called The Whale. Radon harassed me many times until one night, things escalated and he assaulted me. Erchirion and Amrothos intervened and I thought that was it, that I wouldn't have to worry about him anymore, for who dares going against the Amrothian family? But then, just a few days ahead of our wedding, I stumbled upon him in Dol Amroth. There was a nasty public confrontation between him and Éomer King, following which he was disgraced. Months later, his father, Lord Harnon, apologized to me personally and assured me his son wouldn't bother me any longer, that he had been sent away".
"And yet he has returned. This isn't your fault, Míririen, don't blame yourself for…".
"I bloody know it isn't!", she snapped, "I've never wished death upon anyone, Ealith, but I swear I will kill him if it's the last thing I do!".
Ealith breathed an inward sigh of relief. Anger could be a dangerous feeling if not properly channelled, but it was surely better than a crippling fear. "I will be with you the whole time, I won't leave you", she promised, "But Radon is coming and once the battle starts, I need to know you won't do anything reckless or stupid, and that you will look after Alphros while I'm engaged in the fight. Should I fall or lay down my sword, it means we have been overwhelmed and that we have better chances surrendering. If that happens, I want you to follow my lead and trust me".
"Never! You can't possibly ask that of me, to surrender to that swine and…".
"There's more at stake than your life!", she reproached her, her tone harsh for she needed her to understand. The odds were not in their favour: it was sadly likely they would be taken prisoners and she needed her to keep her wits about her.
Míririen cringed. Her gaze shifted to Alphros, who was holding tight Carvion's hand, fear-stricken eyes looking back at her. "What do you want me to do?".
"Stay behind me and do as I say. Do not question my orders, not ever, just follow them. If you see armed men coming at you, do not fight them and, especially, do not reveal you have a dagger on you – it wouldn't help you anyway, so better you keep it hidden and hope they are too sloppy to find it. When the time is right, we will strike and make our escape".
Ealith hated speaking in such way, she hated giving the men the impression she did not believe they could protect them. But she also needed to be realistic and face the ugly truth of their situation. Still, she tried to build some hope: "We can't win this battle, not alone. But we can hold them off for long enough for reinforcements to come", she told the six men in the room. Many were young, perhaps even younger than herself. Yet she could see the determination in their eyes: they would fight to the bitter end for them.
Carvion moved to stand beside her, his imposing figure almost dwarfing her: "Lady Ealith is right. You know what you have to do, so go to your posts and make ready for battle!", he thundered. After the men had scurried away and in a much lower voice, he added, "Lord Radon's family has an estate in Lamedon. I heard that's where he was sent after being exiled, and I suspect that's where he will try to take you. I agree with everything you have said, Lady Ealith, but I fear there's something you may have overlooked: should you be captured, I'm almost certain you will be separated - not immediately, perhaps in a week or two. You must make your escape before that happens".
"Separated? Why?".
"I believe Radon's family cut him off financially when they sent him away. It's the only reason I can think of, why he would involve corsairs - he couldn't afford hiring all the help he needed, so he had no choice but join forces with them. You are his prize, Lady Míririen, but what's in it for the corsairs?".
"Alphros", Ealith realized.
"Yes. A way to retaliate against the house of Dol Amroth, whose fleet decimated theirs and now controls these shores. I don't think they will split you right away: any hope of stealth their plan held, was lost the moment you slipped through their fingers and forced them to a long chase. Sea and land will be too heavily patrolled in the coming weeks and if I were them, I'd take you all to Lamedon and lay low for a while. But sooner or later, the corsairs will want to return to their harbours. And they will demand to take their prize with them".
A thousand horrible scenarios played in Ealith's mind. The corsairs might kill Alphros. Or they might use him to blackmail the Amrothian family. She had once heard of a young noble lady who had been abducted in similar circumstances, and whose father had been convinced to pay a hefty ransom after receiving an envelope containing one of her ringed fingers. Worse even, the corsairs might try to make Alphros one of their own.
They couldn't let it happen! No matter what, they couldn't allow him to be taken!
Ealith approached the young Prince and took him in her arms. "I won't let the corsairs take you away", she promised, knowing full well she might not be able to keep her oath but needing the reassurance of those words all the same, "You are the bravest young man I have ever met, Alphros. I know you are tired and scared, but I need you to be brave for a little longer. Can you do that? For me and Míririen?".
His bottom lip was trembling, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "Yes, Lady Ealith".
She wiped them away and kissed him soundly. "Thank you, Alphros. Whatever happens, I want you to stay always with your aunt. You are to never leave her side, understood?".
"Yes".
Míririen took him from her, a silent agreement passing between them as their hands brushed.
They had made it this far together.
Somehow, they would make it through what was to come.
After Carvion had left, an eerie silence befell the outpost.
The lodgings were located inside a two-storey wooden building. With only one entrance and – at least on the ground floor, a handful of small windows, it gave Míririen the unpleasant feeling of being trapped in a cage. Yet that was part of the reason why they were there: the stockade had an all-around unobstructed view over the building and once Radon and his men broke through the barricades – which would eventually happen whether they liked it or not, the Amrothian soldiers would rain arrows on them and try to hold them off for as long as they could. And if someone managed to make it inside, Ealith could focus on what was ahead of her without fearing more enemies might assault her from behind.
For a long while everything was quiet, so much Míririen dared hoping the scout had been wrong, that maybe Radon and his men had given up.
But then a sudden cry broke the stillness into which the outpost had descended and in an instant, their plan went awry: "Fire!", someone screamed.
Míririen though it was an order to shoot the approaching attackers, but all too soon she realized there was something horribly important they all had failed to consider: that whatever blend Radon and his corsairs had used to set ablaze the ships in Dol Amroth, they might have taken some with them. She moved closer to one of the windows and looked out: part of the outpost was already on fire and under her very eyes, one of the accursed incendiary devices - a ceramic flask, wrapped in a burning cloth and surrounded by caltrops, hit the nearby section of the palisade. The moments it made contact with the wall, it ignited in a fiery blaze that quickly consumed the wood. Horrified, she observed a burning man falling from his post. He hit the ground with a hard thud and was instantly on his knees, arms flailing around.
To her left, another device hit the roof of the stables.
A moment later, the whooshing sound of arrows filled the air.
"Get away from the window!", Ealith hissed.
She rushed back, her guts churning. Panic threatened to overwhelm her and she fought desperately to push it down. She appealed to her anger, tried to recall the fury that had shaken her not long ago, when the scout had revealed the name of the man behind this nightmare. And she found it, buried somewhere deep but still very much alive.
She needed to stay sane!
The noise intensified, a cacophony of thuds and bangs and cries, all dominated by the angry crackling of the fire. Behind her, Alphros was shaking like a leaf, his arms wrapped tight around one of her legs. Míririen searched Ealith's eyes, but the shieldmaiden's gaze was fixed on the door, her expression completely blank.
Perhaps she should have found her coldness disturbing but, in that moment, it reassured her.
For some long minutes – five? ten? maybe more!, the battle outside continued. The door rattled at some point, but after a thump and a pained moan, the intrusion was cut short. They all knew what that meant: Radon and his men had managed to breach the barricade and knew they were hidden inside the lodgings. The surviving members of the garrison were trying desperately to keep them from breaking in, but for how long could they hold them off?
The pace of the fight seemed to intensify. The panicked whinnying of the horses joined the grotesque horror taking place outside the lodgings. And then, it happened: the door was smashed and three dark figures poured inside. They were tall, with brown skin and eyes like pools of black. Their clothes were plain but remarkably different from those worn by Gondorian sailors, and one of them had threads of gold braided in his black hairs.
Members of the corsair crew and their captain.
The leader snickered when he spotted Ealith and like he had all the time in the world, like he was not in the midst of a battle his party had not won yet, the arrogant bastard unsheathed his sword and leaned back against a table, his tick arms folded across his chest. He issued some orders, his eyes never leaving the tiny hands that gripped her leg, like a predator watching his prey.
His men advanced towards them and once again, Míririen shifted her gaze on Ealith, hoping she would give her a signal, an indication of what she was supposed to do now.
What she saw, almost made her knees gave in.
The shieldmaiden was panting, the tip of her sword, which she held awkwardly with two hands, trembling visibly. She was clearly terrified and yet, she moved to meet the approaching aggressors, her steps unsteady: "T-take Alphros upstairs", she instructed her, her voice frantic.
Míririen hesitated, torn between the necessity to flee and the desire to stay with the other woman, for she could not leave her, not when her strength was obviously failing her! Through this entire ordeal, Ealith had been the one who had lent her the courage and the strength needed to keep fighting. She didn't know what was happening to her – a lapse into the horrors she had witnessed during the war perhaps; but even though she had promised she'd follow her orders, she now found that she didn't want to abandon her!
She thought of pulling her dagger, of trying to distract at least one of the attackers in the hope it might help Ealith dealing with the other. The corsair leader had stayed by the door, probably deeming two seasoned warriors more than enough to deal with two terrified women and a child. One of them walked right past Ealith, barely sparing her a glance as he advanced with a sinister smile towards her and Alphros. Behind him, his comrade bellowed what sounded like a mocking remark and made ready to deal with the shieldmaiden.
Everything happened so fast then, Míririen could only stare petrified, her eyes seeing but not believing what they were witnessing.
The exact moment the first corsair had turned his back fully on her, Ealith swirled around and slashed at the back of his legs. In the time it took him to howl and collapse on his knees, she had already turned around, a dagger flashing from her hand. It connected with the chest of the other attacker with uncanny precision, piercing him right through his heart and giving her the time to finish off the wounded man.
Her breath was steady, her hands did not tremble. Her movements were fast and efficient, her eyes had returned to their initial coldness.
The realization hit Míririen like a brick wall: it had been all but an act! Ealith had faked her terror and, in doing so, she had induced the corsairs to underestimate her. And once their guard was down, she had struck faster than a speeding bolt. "Take Alphros upstairs", the shieldmaiden repeated her earlier order, her voice sending a cold shiver down her spine.
Without second thought, Míririen attacked the stairs two steps at a time, almost cried a yes ma'am as she did so, pushing Alphros in front of her.
The sounds of a vicious fight erupted downstairs: metal clashed against metal; furnishings were smashed; every now and then, the corsair leader taunted Ealith, but Míririen never heard her uttering a single word back. The acrid smell of smoke was soon filling the air inside of the lodgings, too strong to be coming from the burning stockade outside: if one of those incendiary devices had hit the building's only entrance, they could be trapped! Míririen peeked down from one of the windows: it was a twenty feet drop to the ground, possibly more - too much to jump without risking a broken leg or worse.
"Alphros, pull all the blankets from the cots and bring them to me".
Being assigned a task seemed to distract the young Prince and he was soon dragging quilt after quilt and even opening every cabinet in the room in search for more.
"That's enough. Do you remember what the best binding knot is?", she tried to keep him involved.
"A square knot".
"Very good". With practiced movements she bound the blankets together and secured one end around a pillar. She gave it a good tug to test whether it would hold: the blankets did not bulge, the wooden post was solid enough to hold their weight.
Outside the battle was still raging and the courtyard was littered with corpses. Carvion and his men might have been dramatically outnumbered, but they were putting up a monumental fight. By a stroke of luck, in their all-out initial attack Radon's crew had accidentally set on fire the only access point to the palisade walkaway: until the fire had either consumed the structure or had been extinguished, they could not reach the men hidden at the top nor make it safely to the lodgings.
It was the stalemate they had hoped for, but Míririen wasn't sure it would last for long enough for reinforcements to come.
Through the stairs, smoke was now pouring steadily into the room. It confirmed her fear that a fire had started downstairs and holding Alphros behind her, she stood by the window and waited. Her eyes were starting to burn, her throat itched. She knew they'd have to flee at some point, but she was determined to wait for Ealith for as long as she could! The noises were muffled now, like the fight was reaching its end. There was a moment of silence and then, the rhythmic pounding of someone climbing the stairs. The footsteps were swift and light, and she knew who they belonged to even before seeing the blond head emerging from the thickening smoke.
"Ealith!", she and Alphros cried in unison.
"I'm fine. We need to get out of here. The fire is quickly spreading downstairs and the entrance is blocked". She moved stiffly but didn't seem to have any visible wound.
"We can rappel down the window. There are no foes in sight at the moment".
"Good. We'll try to make it to the stables and flee. It is our only chance to escape capture and it will lure Radon and his men away from the outpost, hopefully giving Carvion and his soldiers a chance to survive".
"The horses are dead, Ealith".
"What?".
"The stables were hit. If any horse managed to escape the fire, it's far from here".
"Damn it!", she cursed, "We need to look for another place to hide then. The armoury might do". Tendrils of fire were crawling up the stairs, and Ealith urged her, "We cannot stay here! You go down first, then Alphros and then me".
Míririen tossed the bundle of blankets down the window and vaulted over, the many years of her childhood spent challenging her brother to climb onboard and offboard their father's boats coming in handy. She sped from one knot to the next and the moment her feet touched the ground, she glanced nervously around: she could hear shouting in the distance, but otherwise the way was still clear. Above her, Alphros was already halfway down, Ealith speaking soothing words of encouragement every time he hesitated. As soon as he was within reaching distance, she grabbed him around his waist and pulled him all the way down.
She checked her surroundings again: the fight was getting closer - she could sense it! "We must hurry!", she hissed.
But when she looked up, the blanket rope was dangling empty from the window. "Ealith!", she called, a bit louder this time but still not daring to scream. Backing of a few steps, she stood on her toes to see if she could figure out what was happening.
Her blood run instantly cold: Ealith was slumped against the wall, unmoving, her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. She knew Alphros had seen it too and instructed him, "Hide behind those barrels and do not move until I have returned!".
Hoping he'd be safe, she grabbed the first knot and started climbing up. She had almost reached the sill, when a sound louder than all others ricocheted across the outpost. Before her brain had had a chance to register it for what it was, Alphros had already abandoned his hideout: "Father's horn!", he yelled.
Míririen's first reaction was incredulity. It was still too soon, there was no way they could be there already! But then it sounded again, echoed this time by another she'd recognized among thousands of others: "Erchirion", she breathed.
Her and Alphros' eyes met.
He took a step back, his expression apologetic but determined at the same time.
"No", Míririen warned him.
"Lady Ealith is unconscious and you can't get her down alone".
"Do not move, Alphros. First I will check on her and then we can…". Before she could finish the sentence, he was already running away, uncaring of the blisters that were surely tormenting him. "Alphros! Get back!".
"I will bring help for you and Lady Ealith!", he shouted and just like that, he was gone.
Swinging several feet off the ground, Míririen's anguished eyes darted between the window above her, and the corner around which Alphros had just disappeared. If she went after him, Ealith would surely die - if not from the fire, then from the smoke and whatever wound she must have remedied during the fight. But if she tried to save her, Alphros might get captured.
Hoping she would not come to regret it, Míririen made her choice.
They didn't send a scout ahead; they didn't make any elaborate plan. There had been no time for any of it: the moment they had seen smoke rising in the distance, they knew they were running out of time and charged ahead with little thought about tactic.
When the Malartham Stockade came in view, over half of the palisade was already burning, tall flames stretching high into the sky from the roofs of the buildings on the inside. On the roaring sound of Elphir and Erchirion's horns, they poured into the outpost at a painfully slow pace, the only way in being a narrow breach in the makeshift barricade that blocked the entrance.
The scene of a carnage greeted them on the other side. At least a dozen bodies were slumped on the ground, each drilled by a cascade of arrows; the southern stretch of the palisade, weakened by the fire, was showing signs of failure; the stables and the barracks were a raging inferno.
Amrothos rolled one of the bodies that lied facedown and his anger instantly soared, "This one's a corsair", he warned.
Several pairs of hate-filled eyes turned on the dead man, the implication clear: Radon had allied with one of their greatest enemies, to whose hands countless innocent civilians had died in the past years. He had led them deep into the heart of Gondor. He had promised them, what exactly? Wealth? Retaliation? Was that why he had targeted both Míririen and Alphros?
The answer, he knew, would have to wait until everyone was safe.
Elphir ordered half of his men to fan out and led the remaining ones towards the Northern side of the outpost, where the battle appeared to be still ongoing. They found about a dozen foes there, some of them corsairs, engaged in a brutal confrontation with the Amrothian soldiers that guarded the palisade. The attackers had axes and hatchets and under the cover of their comrades' shields, they were trying to bring down the whole structure.
One man directed the effort from the safety of the backlines, a torrent of orders and insults flowing steadily from his mouth.
"Radon!", Elphir shouted, his cry so loud that for a moment, everything stopped.
Amrothos was at his right, Erchirion at his left, at least twenty Swan Knights deployed around them and more closing in from every direction. Whatever Radon had hoped to accomplish, it was clear it was over.
Knowing there would be no mercy for him and his men, the disgraced lord made ready for the final assault: if he had to die, he'd rather do it sword in hand.
How heroic, Amrothos thought bitterly, his hands itching - the sooner they got rid of him, the sooner they could go look for Ealith, Alphros and Míririen.
Elphir's second in command pushed through the backlines and whispered something in his brother's ear. His expression did not change, his eyes did not move from the enemy ahead, his voice was low enough that only them could hear him: "Erchirion, Amrothos: leave Radon to me and go".
"No", Erchirion growled, "he was after my wife, you can't ask me to back down!".
"I was not asking", Elphir rebuked him, "and this is not just about your wife – not anymore. Radon has dragged our entire family into his revenge plan and in father's absence, I will deal with him as I see fit. I have just been informed that Alphros has been rescued. He's unharmed and leading our men to Míririen and Ealith. Leave the traitor to me and go find your ladies".
The words had barely left his mouth, that Amrothos had already turned on his heels. Erchirion followed him, albeit reluctantly, often halting to look over his shoulder as if he was still thinking about going back and ensure it would be his, the sword that put an end to Radon's life. "Quit the pissing contest already!", he snapped, probably the first time in his life he happened to be the one with better judgment.
Erchirion had the decency to look ashamed and finally let go. One of their men pointed them to the lodgings which, like most of the outpost by now, were also burning, angry red flames overflowing from the windows on the ground floor, black smoke pouring from the upper ones. Amrothos tried not to think about the possibility that Ealith and Míririen might have gotten trapped inside the burning building: if Alphros was alive and well, so were they, he told himself.
The moment he rounded the corner however, he felt his guts falling out from under him.
"Ealith!", he cried, his arms already hoisting him up the thread of blankets that hung from one of the upper floor windows. Míririen was holding her, their upper halves bent dangerously outwards in an attempt to escape the smoke that was rapidly filling the building, a wet cloth pressed to their faces.
"I'm sorry, Amrothos, I'm so sorry!", she sobbed when he had reached them, "I did not see the wound. I would have insisted she goes first otherwise!".
He barely registered her words, his wide eyes staring at the blood coating the hand that had just touched Ealith's abdomen, reason threatening to abandon him for madness. This could not be happening! They hadn't come this far for things to end this way!
"Amrothos!".
The urgency in his brother's voice startled him out of his quickly plummeting mental state. Erchirion's head peeked out from outside the window. His right hand was clasped with Míririen's, the left one outstretched towards him, "She's still alive but we need to get her out. Right now!".
Amrothos coughed, the smoke he had breathed in the short time he had been up there affecting him already. He picked up Ealith's limp body and looked down. A cart had been brought under the window. It looked steady enough to hold Erchirion's weight and now also that of one of their knights who had joined him to offer his help.
And yet his arms refused to let his shieldmaiden go.
"I have her", Erchirion coaxed him and slowly, one inch at a time, Amrothos let her slide into his brother's waiting arms, his breath stuck in his chest until he saw him reaching the ground without any accident.
After Míririen had been helped down, he vaulted over the sill with little care for caution.
He was instantly by Ealith's side, half of him wanting to curl by her side and remain there until she had awoken, the other half whispering he had come too late and urging him to go look for Radon. Maybe Elphir wasn't done with him yet. Maybe he could still get the chance to gut him and paint the walls of this accursed place with his and his men's bowels! With an effort that threatened to sap him of every last bit of strength left within his body, he managed retain a fragile equilibrium between despair and madness. "What happened?", he asked.
Míririen was visibly panicking, her words barely coherent. She saved us, and I left her, was all he could make out of her hysterical chant. When moments later Elphir and his second in command approached them, the latter carrying Alphros in his arms, she all but snatched him from his grasp. One second she was kissing his cheeks and thanking the gods that he was alive, the next she was yelling at him, "Why did you run away? They could have taken you!". When his nephew started sobbing, she collapsed on her knees, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Alphros. Please forgive me", she begged cradling him gently to her, seemingly a little calmer now that she had ascertained that he, at least, was well.
His brothers stared at her, Elphir with the assessing gaze of a father who was trying to figure whether he could trust her with his son while she was in such state, Erchirion with the tortured look of a husband who wished above everything else to hold her, but knew the unconscious woman whose head rested on his folded legs needed his and everyone else's attention too urgently to make a move.
Having made up his mind, Elphir turned his back to Míririen and kneeled beside him: "Where is she wounded?", he asked, his hands already probing. Among the three of them, he was the only one who possessed some healing abilities and albeit reluctantly, Amrothos moved back to give him space.
Ealith's chest was heaving, but only barely. The soot covering her clothes concealed the crimson stains. "On her abdomen, she's lost a lot of blood".
Elphir used his dagger to cut her tunic and poured water on the wound. It was still bleeding but not very profusely. "It's not a puncture wound, and it's not very deep either. I don't think it has reached any vital organ", he mused, then yelled, "I need something to use as a bandage!".
A cloak was promptly cut in long stripes. When he signalled them to do so and as gently as they possibly could, Amrothos and Erchirion lifted Ealith's upper body. She moaned, the first sound he had heard coming from her lips since finding her. "If it isn't the wound on her stomach, then what is it?", he asked while Elphir secured the bandage around her midsection.
He did not answer, his attention shifting to her face as he tried to force a few drops of water in her mouth: "Has she breathed a lot of smoke?".
"Yes", came Míririen shaky reply, "the corsair leader and two of his men managed to break into the lodgings. Ealith ordered me and Alphros to go upstairs while she fended them off. I smelled the smoke long before the fight was over. If it was strong on the upper floor, I can only imagine it must have been a whole lot worse at ground level, where the fire started. But she looked fine, she wasn't even coughing!".
Amrothos took Ealith's hand and squeezed it tight – tighter than he should have. Smoke intoxication, when severe, was always lethal and even the most skilled healers were powerless against its devastating progression.
Was that it? Was he going to watch her die slowly? Was he going to take her back to Rohan in a coffin?
Since the day they had left Edoras, they had scrupulously avoided committing to any plan. And yet at the same time they had made so many of them - places they wanted to visit, foods they wanted to try, things they wanted to do, that Amrothos had known ten lifetimes would not be enough to cover them all, that he'd have to settle for one.
But no less than that!
Elphir leaned over Ealith and listened for her breath. "Was her voice hoarse? Did she look confused?".
"N-no. She was already planning our next move, she seemed sharp".
"What are you thinking?", asked Erchirion.
"Her breath is weak but not raspy. Smoke tends to go up. Even if the fire started downstairs, it doesn't mean she inhaled more of it than Míririen and Alphros. And they look reasonably all right. It may be a combination of smoke and blood loss that caused her to collapse. Have faith, Amrothos: Ealith is strong and this isn't over yet. We need to get her out of here though, away from the smoke. The sea air might help her, and our ships are bound to arrive any time now. The healers onboard will have remedies that could help her".
"Wait here. I'll get your horse and help you get her on it", Erchirion volunteered.
After he had left, Míririen took the place he had left vacant. "She saved our lives", she offered, still holding Alphros with one hand while with the other, she tried to remove the smears of dirt from Ealith's cheeks, "If it wasn't for her, they'd have captured us in Dol Amroth. She kept us going, pushed me into doing the right thing when I was barely able to think…".
"… she carried me to the outpost and killed the three corsairs", Alphros sniffled quietly.
Amrothos felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. He didn't care for Ealith's heroic deeds! He didn't want to hear about them! Not when she was still fighting for her life, not when those praises could become cold words of commemoration of a fallen hero in place of the celebration of the most incredible, most beautiful woman he had ever met!
"Our men have gathered in the courtyard. Why don't you take Alphros with you and wait for us there?", Elphir asked and while he posed it as a question, it was far from one. His brother had always been good at reading people and must have known that another wrong word on Míririen's side, and he might have just burst.
"Radon?", he asked.
"Dead".
"His men?".
"All dead".
Amrothos had thought the scoundrel's demise would make him feel better, but it didn't. "Do you really think Ealith will make it?".
"She might, brother, she might".
Author's notes: another cliffhanger, so again no notes! :)
Catspector: I admit I had a lot of fun writing it - especially the dialogues, because of the different personalities involved, which makes me really glad to hear it came out the right way!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: oopps… another one!
anahvolf: aww thank you! For me, there's no better feeling than travelling, being on the road and exploring new places, so I'd have definitely liked to be with them too! Appreciate the feedback on intimate scenes as I find myself constantly torn about them: I like writing them, but at the same time they don't come easy to me, so I always end up re-reading what I have written a million times until I have lost all objectiveness :) No romantic scene in this chapter, but plenty of action, so hopefully you liked it!