A/N: Prodigal son returns?
Chapter Twenty-Five - Rínior
Rínior ran his fingers over every piece of his armor. He checked the buckles, the straps, each point of connection. In the dim light of early dawn, he would not rely on his eyes or the eyes of his men to ensure his safety. After five hundred years, he knew what the armor should feel like beneath his calloused hands.
Instead, he watched the Sons of Rhudaur in their own preparations. This would be their first test. A scout had seen a company of twenty men of Arthedain moving along the northern Weather Hills. There were battlements there even more dilapidated than the once grand Amon Sûl. Weathertop, as the uncouth Hill-men named it. How far it had fallen since his youth.
Aessereg had geared up already. He walked among the ranks, some thirty Dúnedain of Rhudaur. These were the purest of blood or the strongest in battle of all who remained of that dying kind. Rínior had put them through their paces at Minas Eglan. They were good. Very good.
The Witch-king knew how to pick his guards. No orcs or Hill-men. Only the finest of the greatest race of Man. And now Rínior led them, one with the blood of the Eldar to aid him. He smirked. This was how they won the war.
"Aessereg," he said.
He looked over, dropping the belt he had been helping to fasten on one of the soldiers. Strolling over, Aessereg rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Rínior."
"If all goes as it should," Rínior said, "this will be the harbinger of Arthedain's end."
Aessereg nodded. He looked out beyond the little dell they'd sheltered in for the night, days ahead of the bulk of their force. The Hill-men traveled slower and with more grumbling. They were needed only for the assault on Dolindîr.
"That relies on all going according to plan," Aessereg said. "Do not grow complacent with all your victories, hero of the north."
Rínior rolled his eyes. That Aessereg even considered that he did not entertain all possibilities mildly insulted him. "Just do your job, and I shall do mine."
"Archers hit the horses first, then we surround them." Aessereg nodded. "A simple enough plan. But I have been fighting on the side of Angmar for many years, more than you for certain. Do not underestimate the men of Arthedain. They are clever."
"And yet we are beating them quite soundly now," Rínior said.
They went their separate ways to make final preparations. Rínior wanted to move out within the hour. Light began to spread across the horizon, painting the sky a pale yellow that faded to blue.
By the time they reached their vantage point hidden in the trees and thickets atop one of the man hills that bordered the ancient path between ruined battlements, Rínior had cleared his mind. His heart no longer raced before these assaults. They were all necessary stepping stones to ultimate peace at the end of the war.
The swordsmen laid low. Archers hid in the leaves of the trees above them. Arthedain's companies traveled with few horses but what steeds there were could not be allowed to live. It didn't take more than half an hour to hear the tramping of hooves on the fading cobbles.
Rínior watched from his perch. He did not need to give the sign to the archers in the trees. They knew their duty. He focused instead on inspecting the force below them. He did not see Elrohir among their number. He released a small breath and looked at Aessereg beside him. The man nodded back. Rínior ensured his blade was well hidden in the thicket. An errant sun beam catching the steel could give their position away.
Arrows sailed over head. The screams of horses and then their masters filled the dawn. Men scrambled for cover as the bodies of the five steeds smashed a handful of soldiers. Panicked orders were heeded by some but not by others.
Rínior cut the head off the first man he found. They barely had time to react. Blood sprayed his face. He turned away to protect his eyes. Aessereg stepped in front of him.
With the swing of a great axe, he split the skull of another. Rínior stepped back and watched, lips parted, as he watched the ruthless efficiency of his Dúnedain. The sun warmed the air. It stunk of blood and waste.
Red stained the yellow-brown grasses of the Weather Hills. Bodies fell among the blooming violet heathers. He lowered his sword. The Sons of Rhudaur battled the cowering men of Arthedain. A hundred years ago, Rínior would never have allowed such useless soldiers to fill his ranks. How they had fallen.
He raised his sword. Half remained. A few men of Rhudaur had fallen to lucky strikes but most still worked their way toward the encircled center. Rínior rushed forward. He struck down another. Five remained.
Three remained.
"Stop!" Rínior screamed.
Two remained.
"Aessereg! Restrain your men!" He ran forward, pushing two aside. His heart raced. Only one remained as Aessereg, aghast, fell back with the others.
"What?" he screamed.
But Rínior came to stand before the cowering young man. He had blood plastered all over his face. His eyes darted around, unable to remain in any one spot as everywhere he looked, he found the broken bodies of his companions. Rínior leaned down until they stood nearly nose to nose. Now he had nowhere else to look.
"What is your name, boy?"
"Eredher."
"Do you know who I am, Eredher?"
The boy, for he couldn't have been much over eighteen years, trembled. He tried to back up. Three soldiers blocked his movements.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes."
Rínior smiled. "Good. Run. Let everyone know that the Hero of the North has returned, and he's here to end the war."
Eredher shook. Rínior glanced up past him, glaring at the men of Rhudaur to move out of the way. After a moment of hesitation, they relented.
"Take one last look at the battlefield, Eredher. Make sure they know it was me."
Eredher did not look. He turned and ran, leaving sword and helmet where they'd fallen to the ground. Rínior watched him go until Aessereg stepped into view.
"What in Melkor's name are you doing?" he demanded, raising a hand to strike Rínior before having the sense to stop. "That was not part of the plan!"
Rínior rolled his eyes, stepping back to survey the rest of the carnage. "Plans change."
"Your arrogance will get us killed!"
"Arrogance?" Rínior spun back around. He shook his head. "Intellect, Aessereg. When that boy runs back to his betters, he'll ensure they know it was me. Arthedain will panic. They'll send more forces to Dolindîr, spreading the rest of their lines even thinner."
"Dolindîr, where we are heading at this very moment!"
"Exactly!" Rínior could hardly believe they did not understand. "They know nothing of the army following behind us. We have the chance to overwhelm their Western lines entirely. At Dolindîr we can break them in a way they will never recover."
He heard the mutterings of the men around them. Some had turned from the argument to begin looting the bodies. Others walked away. Precious few remained beside Aessereg, who did not immediately respond.
They held each other's gaze. At last, Aessereg stepped over two bodies to reach him. Lowering his voice, he hissed out a barely veiled threat.
"Victory is all that protects you, Rínior. Someday you will fail, and I will be there to see your reward from the Witch-king." He lowered his voice even further. "At Dolindîr we may yet do what it is you intend. But many men will die. We are precious few already. You will not win this war with orcs and Hill-men. Remember this."
"You're right." Rínior leaned in to him, just as he'd done with the soldier of Arthedain. "And we will not win this war through cowardice, either."
Aessereg scoffed, turning away. He took a few moments to gather his men around them and debrief after the fight. Rínior left him to it. They trusted his ability to lead them to victory. But they did not trust him. And Rínior didn't mind.
The fight lasted mere minutes. He looked up at the circling carrion birds. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed. They needed to move back inside the Rhudaurin lines. A few days travel remained before they would be within striking distance of Dolindîr.
With the message now set to spread of his return, they needed to prepare for an even tougher defense. Secrecy had been traded for strength, at last. Rínior stretched, his neck cracking as he shifted beneath the warm sunlight. He'd always preferred the latter.