Chapter Five:

The Long Night

The enemy’s return was heralded by the signal of blaring horns sounded by the guards who had taken watch across Lossarnach’s walls. For most of the day, they had waited in place, certain that the enemy would return while within the city, their comrades licked their wounds and prepared for the next wave of attack. Though some deluded themselves into believing that the enemy’s departure the night before was permanent, the more seasoned warriors in their number knew that the retreat could be in no way seen as a victory. It was merely an interlude for both sides to recoup their losses and rethink their strategy.

Aragorn had come to terms with the fact that the leader of the Easterling Confederacy was an equal not merely in his kingship but as was very possibly a warrior in his own right. After Gimli’s encounter with the man Aragorn was now convinced was the architect of this entire war, the king of Gondor found himself concerned that they had underestimated the enemy a great deal. All their suppositions to date in regards to the enemy’s course were no longer valid. The siege of Lossarnach was proof of that. Aragorn resolved that once the threat to Lossarnach was dealt with, he would call another council of war between the kings and lords of Middle earth in order to formalize a new plan of attack. Clearly, the one they had was inadequate to the task of anticipating the enemy, especially one who was proving to be as craft as this one.

The enemy appeared over the horizon and as Aragorn watch them approach the walls of Lossarnach amidst the cacophony of voices mobilizing themselves throughout the city for the ensuing battle, the king of Gondor with Legolas next to him, ascertain quickly what would be the enemy’s plan of attack. In truth, there could be no other alternative in the kind of war they were engaging for the enemy knew just as well as Aragorn that they had to take Lossarnach before the arrival of Gondor’s forces. The most expedient way to breach the walls of the city was to burn it down around the heads of those defending it.

Aragorn’s breath caught when he saw the sky over the army of the Haradrim emblazoned with amber light. There was no doubt in his mind what the enemy intended when faced with the line of flame from one end of the battlefield to another. Lossarnach was flanked on all sides save one by the mountains of Ered Namrais. Part of its favour as an agrarian centre and a summer place for Gondorian nobles was due to this protection. The mountains assured that Lossarnach was always visited with pleasant weather but also ensured that an invading army would have only one direction in which to assail the city. Unfortunately, this direction was now barred with a wall of flame, to be delivered upon the city by means of archers already taking up position.

It did Aragorn credit that the king had anticipated this and every drop of water, save the barest minimum for drink had been marshalled into the resource for the battling the inevitable tool of any siege, fire. Archers emblazoned the field in a straight line that ran from one end of the horizon to the other. They stood against a wall of soldiers armed with pikes that they were beating against the ground in steady rhythm. Some were armed with ladders and ropes but what caught Aragorn’s attention most was construction of wood that had been absent at their first engagement. The reason for this was obvious enough; the Haradrim had assumed they would have the element of surprise when taking Lossarnach. Unfortunately, the fact that it was not so did not deter the Haradrim from a more focussed attack.

During the battle of Pelennor, he had seen them employ the catapult like war machine known as the trebuchet. It was easily built from good wood and required the army wielding it to merely transport the components of elasticised ropes and torsion springs instead of the complete device. Once the wood was found, specialised engineers could construct it swiftly, often requiring little more than a day to have the weapon ready for use. Once employed, it was a weapon capable of devastating power. The enemy could burn Lossarnach around them while battering its walls with rock until one or both methods forced them to yield. Aragorn had expected the fire but he had not anticipated the use of the trebuchet.

“We may not be able to keep them from entering the city,” Legolas declared, staring at the device and the wagons carrying the heavy rocks that would make up it ammunition in the rear of the army assembled before them. The archers were the first of course and there was almost beauty in their formation on the front lines but it was the beauty of watching some awesome phenomena doing its worst. Its power could be admired but could not be mistaken for anything but terrible.

“We won’t,” Aragorn replied firmly, not deluding himself of this fact. “They may breach the walls but there is still a good deal of city left for us to hold. If it must be, we will find them in the streets and in the dwellings of Lossarnach. The Haradrim are accustomed to fighting their battle on the open field where else, we have enough experience fighting orcs and other foul things that we are familiar in close quarters combat. They enter Lossarnach but they are going to pay for every inch of city they invade with blood.”

Legolas did not speak because Aragorn was on the move again, this time rallying the archers of Lossarnach to combat the new menace. Most of them had gathered at the first sight of the enemy but it was clear arrows would not win this engagement. Once again Legolas found himself facing an almost insurmountable enemy, taking the line with other archers who tried to appear unaffected by what was before them. His own mask remained aloof as he attempted to show them that there was nothing to fear and even if there were, it would avail them nothing to succumb to it. He could see their involuntary glimpses in his direction and that of the other elves present and Legolas sensed that they looked to the Eldar to bolster their spirit.

Not that Aragorn was not managing this quite efficiently, Legolas noted. The king of Gondor stood at the edge of the wall, issuing orders, rallying his men with words of praise at their courage, firing their spirit with his own iron clad will. Despite the army preparing to attack, Legolas could see the faces of Lossarnach’s defenders shifting from anxiety to angry determination not to fail their king. There were kings who had ruled for a hundred years and never knew the adulation Aragorn was inspiring in his troops as he held Anduril over his head.

There was a moment of overwhelming silence when both armies waited across the battlefield, sizing each other up in contest of scrutiny as old as the first battle. None spoke during this curious limbo and even the drumming of spears and pikes against the earth ceased for the duration. Aragorn searched the line of the Haradrim for his nemesis but could not see him through the line of fire that preceded the army before him. However, Aragorn was certain that he was there, seeking his Gondorian opposite just as surely as Aragorn was trying to find him. He abandoned his search when he saw the Haradrim archers preparing to shoot their arrows.

“Shields!” Aragorn ordered and immediately the standing next to each archer on the wall produced their shields and held them protectively over the bowmen and themselves in tight, formation. Like a ripple on a pool, shields appeared like a new wall of steel springing to live. Even Aragorn had produced one and held it over himself and Legolas to protect them from the onslaught of fiery arrows. There would be only a brief margin of time between the Haradrims’ first release and their swift rearming. It was during that narrow gap that the archers of Lossarnach would act.

Suddenly the battle cry of the Haradrim echoed through the night, shattering the silence even further. A great wind of flame swept across the space between the enemy and Lossarnach as the Haradrim line released their barrage of arrows after long last. Fiery streaks of light shot through the dark sky like falling stars. They did not fly towards the enemy on the wall but continued into the city where its flames would do the most harm. The few that strayed from this predestined course met the hard obstruction of steel and slid of the shields that guarded the men behind it. As soon as the arrows were released, the defenders of Lossarnach emerged from behind their shields and proceeded to deliver an equally deadly attack in a return barrage of arrows.

A third of the Haradrim line collapsed beneath this deadly bombardment. The death of their comrades did not slow the enemy and they resumed their assault with similar vigour although the second wave of arrows was nowhere as numerous as the first. This time however, the archers of Lossarnach did not retreat behind their shields and continued to shoot, certain now that the enemy had little interest in them and was determined to deliver as many flamed arrows to the city in order to raze it. The Haradrim was in no way prepared to sacrifice all its bowmen and an order in black speech sent the send wave of troops racing forward, armed wit pikes and ladders.

Their advance had the desired effect upon the defenders who promptly directed their arrows upon the warriors crossing the distance between Haradrim line and the walls of the city. As the archers busied themselves with kerbing the advance of the Haradrim, the rest of Lossarnach found their attention fixed upon the fires that were breaking out throughout the city. The fires caused by the arrows though small would soon find fuel to burn hotter and further out of control. Roofs made of wood and thatched fibres were quick to ignite and a small arrow if left to burn would soon bathed the whole building in flames.

Those who were not fighting the invasion on the walls were dispersing through the innards of Lossarnach to combat the threat of fire that was spreading quickly through the city. Smaller fires were being beaten to death with heavy blankets in an effort to conserve water, while a human chain had formed from the wells and water troughs to the fires that were raging beyond the capability of any blanket to contain. They worked with great urgency amidst the thickening smoke that was polluting the air around them and the clouds that were sweeping through Lossarnach like an ill wind. Eyes watered and throats burned, the sound of cackling fire was replaced by deep, whooping coughs of men determined to prevail despite their assault by the flames.

Aragorn looked over his shoulder to see their progress and felt a swell of pride in the fierceness of their determination. Some buildings were irrevocably lost, their roof lighting like tinder, casting a fearsome glow of amber throughout the place. Some were being beaten into submission, either by water or blanket. There were people who were taking to using dirt to suffocate the flames, wielding shovels as they fought desperately to keep the fires from spreading further. Unfortunately, the king could allow his attention to stray but for only a moment because the enemy had pushed forward, using their overwhelming numbers to reach the walls.

However, Aragorn was conscious of an even worse threat as he stared at the army before him. He paid little attention to the warriors attempting to scale the wall with ladders and ropes because he knew that the defenders of Lossarnach were cutting down any Haradrim making the attempt. No, his concern lay in the weapon that had so far remained unused. He could see the engineers responsible for its function swirling around the construct, loading it with the appropriate ammunition. At first Aragorn thought that they were merely rocks but the Haradrim had smeared them with something dark. He thought it might have been mud but that made little sense to him.

“What are they doing?” Legolas asked, having caught Aragorn’s gaze.

“They are arming that thing,” Aragorn replied. “That much is certain but I am uncertain of what they have treated the rocks.”

Their speculation ended but a moment later when one of the engineers raised a torched to the seemingly mud encrusted boulder. It caught alight easily enough and the fire spread across its irregular surface with surprising swiftness.

“Tar,” Aragorn exclaimed. “That is tar!”

The word had not left his lips when the mechanism was released and the boulder encrusted with the black was hurled towards the city walls.

“Off the wall!” Aragorn was shouting, aware that in ordering the retreat, they were leaving themselves to be over run. “Everyone, get off the wall!” Unfortunately, once the boulder met its mark, it would make little difference anyway.

Some had already seen what was coming and leapt off the high wall, not caring that they might be injured in the leap but it was far wiser than remaining. Others scurried down the steps away from the wall since it was difficult to predict where the projectile would land. In the final analysis, such foresight made little difference for when the bolder struck, the wall facing the enemy shuddered and groaned as if it had voice to speak. The result was almost an explosion as those who had not put sufficient distance between themselves and the fall were flung outward like the debris of shattering rock. The impact of the boulder immediately collapsed the section of wall in a cloud of smoke and dust.

A fissure appeared through the wall as brick crumbled into dust. The boulder had shattered when it had met the hard stone surface but its destruction produced an even greater threat as fragments of rock, covered in tar sprayed the area with fire. Those who had not died in the initial impact, who remained broken and unable to move, were left to burn in unimaginable agony as they were covered with fiery debris. Their comrades scrambled to aid them but there was little or no time to draw breath before the newly created opening was spilling forth with Haradrim warriors who had finally found their way inside Lossarnach’s perimeter.

And it was but the first strike from the insidious weapon.

Aragorn lost sight of Legolas after he had issued his warning but soon found the elf helping one of the injured to his feet. The man had fortunately survived the initial impact but was surrounded by fragments of burning debris and lay in the path of the invading Haradrim. Gimli was already facing the enemy and was bringing down anyone who came across his way with typical gusto. The elves had also abandoned their bows and were now fighting with swords, engaging the enemy with almost grace like skill. Nunaur was proving why he was the march warden of Eden Ardhon for he was a terror to watch on the battlefield. His moves were subtle and graceful, no over extensions or clumsy attempts at brute force but rather short, controlled strikes that made the most impact and rarely needed to deliver more than two before his opponent was a thing of the past.

It was of no surprise to Aragorn who had battled alongside of elves in one arena or another through most of his life. During the War of the Ring, Legolas had been one of his greatest assets on the field of battle; Gimli and he had made a formidable team indeed. Aragorn watched briefly as the elf removed the wounded warrior to a place of safety, though how long it remained that way was debatable. The outcome he had feared was taking place – the battle for Lossarnach would be fought within its walls, not beyond it.

Aragorn was prompted into moving when he saw a Haradrim warrior making his way across the debris covered dirt towards Legolas, who was still busy with his injured comrade and appeared not to have noticed the advance. A slight stiffening in Legolas’ posture told Aragorn otherwise and he released one hand to grope for his sword in order to defend himself. Aragorn could see that he would not be able to react in time, especially when Legolas’ attention was half given to the danger coming at him and the fate of the man in the grip of his other hand.

Before he could think twice, Aragorn had launched himself off the edge of the wall on top of the would-be assassin of his best friend. His weight brought down the Haradrim warrior like a felled boar and Aragorn wasted no time smashing his head against the ground, where he struggled no more. Legolas released a breath at the near miss and acknowledged Aragorn’s aid with a slight nod of his head. They had been comrades far too long to require any more than that. Aragorn rose to his feet as Legolas left the injured man beneath the awning of a building that had somehow managed to escape the onslaught of fire around them. The structure seemed relatively safe and the men offered his thanks to the elf before Legolas turned away to join Aragorn in battling the invading hordes spilling through the orifice.

He had no more than taken two steps when suddenly, his ears filled with an explosion of sound. A force that was not unlike that of a gale threw Legolas forward. The elf face’s scraped dirt as his head swirled with disorientation and the business of hearing become a muffled affair of dull pelting against the ground. He opened his eyes and saw Aragorn running towards him, the king’s expression one of fear. Legolas was confused for a moment, feeling no injury except this odd heat upon his back. Only when Aragorn pulled off his coat and draped it over the elf, did Legolas realise that his back was on fire. That his hair had not ignited was a testament to Aragorn’s speed that prevented that horrific outcome from taking place with his speedy action.

“Are you alright?” Aragorn demanded as he pulled the leather pack where Legolas normally house his bow and his weapons. Fortunately, the pouch carrying the arrows had bore the brunt of the damage which would have been a source of intense gratitude to Legolas who would have surely grieved if Galadriel’s gift to him were damaged.

“What happened?” Legolas asked only because his head was still spinning, though if he had given it more thought the answer would have been fairly obvious.

Looking over his shoulder, Legolas saw the house when he had left the injured man he rescued had been completely levelled. The Haradrim weapon had smashed through its foundations and what it did not set ablaze, it crumbled around the man’s ears in a swift and final end. All there was in place of a building was a pile of flaming debris, almost like a funeral pyre. Of the man, there as no sign and Legolas felt a sliver of pain knowing that his body was buried beneath the destruction. The elf only hoped that his death had been quick.

“That is twice you have saved me,” Legolas said softly, his voice somewhat dazed as Aragorn helped him to his feet.

“I am certain that there will be ample opportunity this day for you to return that debt,” the king replied as his eyes surveyed the damage being caused by the Haradrim construct beyond the walls of the city. Enemy warriors were flooding into Lossarnach with fierce fighting taking place in almost every corner. Amidst this already difficult battle, another was being waged against the fires that were quickly enveloping anything in its path. The militia was battling this equally dangerous enemy with every resource at their disposal and the division of forces was hurting the defence of Lossnarch.

“We have to stop that accursed device,” Legolas declared once he had recovered sufficiently. The bombardment continued relentlessly, until the explosion of sound with each impacting boulder was something they were becoming accustomed to. This barrage was proving to be more detrimental than the great numbers of Haradrim they were facing. Walls were crumbling with each impact, buildings destroyed in spectacular explosions that promised everyone present that if the Haradrim did not take Lossarnach, they would still leave it in ruins.

Aragorn considered that and searched the bodies around him to note that there was a great deal of Haradrim warriors fighting their way into the city. Their thoughts seemed focussed on little else. He made a swift calculation of how many were within his city and wondered if the idea forming in his mind was sensible or not. As king, he should be here leading his people but if this bombardment continued, there would be nothing left of Lossarnach or its people to defend.

“I think you are right,” Aragorn met his gaze. “Care to join me?”

Legolas’ dirt smeared face broke into a smile and he stared at the opening where more and more warriors were making their way into the city. “It is a perilous course,” he advised, “we should tread cautiously.”

“You are correct Master Elf,” Aragorn retorted, grasping his meaning immediately. “We should make Gimli come with us.”

*************

The destruction that had seemed overwhelming when one was within the walls of Lossarnach, seemed even worst when the three of the nine walkers slipped past the bodies of Haradrim racing to take the city, oblivious to everything else. Of course it did help that all three were accustomed to stealth and travelling unseen through the most hostile of places. If it were not for this talent, none of them would have survived the Quest of the Ring even if it had ended prematurely at the falls of Rauros. They moved in darkness, taking advantage of the fact that all eyes were drawn naturally to the illumination of the fires that were running rife through Lossarnach and not the surrounding darkness.

There were enemies encountered on the way, opponents who did not look too closely at them or wonder in depth why they had ventured so far from their other comrades, recognising only that they were the enemy. The three walkers dealt with these swiftly, allowing nothing to deter them in their journey. Aragorn cast his gaze over his shoulder during the advance and felt his stomach hollow at the sight of the Lossarnach whose wounds seemed even more grievous from the distance. Columns of thick smoke rose into the night sky, pillars of grey that pierce the heavens themselves. In the brief glimpse he could hear the cries of the wounded amidst the clanging of steel and found that it was necessary to harden his heart or else he could not do what must be done if they were to survive the night, let alone the siege.

The weapon that had allowed the enemy its great advantage was still sending fireball towards the city and with impact and exploding sound, defeat inched even closer than before. If the three of them did not put an end to the accursed device, there would be no Lossarnach to defend, just demolished ruins breathed in fire. Aragorn could accept it if they were defeated by overwhelming numbers for he knew that each any every one of Lossarnach’s defenders were fighting with honour. However, losing because a construct of wood and steel left a sour taste in his mouth.

It was not difficult to find the weapon or its masters once the Haradrim warriors had dispersed into the conquest of Lossarnach. Unmistakable in its construction, they saw at least a dozen men gathered around the weapon, either taking part in its operation or preparing the ammunition with tar and fire for its eventual release upon the beleaguered city. The enemy did not pay much heed to their approach at first, assuming that they were part of the Haradrim number. The darkness aided in this confusion and three walkers were quite adept at stealthy approaches to be able to remain anonymous until the last possible moment.

However, the moment was brief because the Haradrim gathered around the weapon may have been engineers but they were also warriors and it was inevitable that they recognised the three men approaching were not of their own. All abandoned what they were doing as they raced forward to deal with this sudden threat and found that their opponents were more than accustomed to waging a three man army when the mood took them. Sword, bow and axe were proven to be formidable weapons in the hands of master wielders as Aragorn dispatched the first Haradrim to reach him with a swift slice across his belly. Armour or not, Anduril saw little difficulty in penetrating it and dropped the Haradrim in midstep. The king of Gondor did not even pause before moving on to the next challenger.

Legolas who was capable of arming a bow and killing his enemy when he was but a few paces away, made swift work of any Haradrim who might have attempted to accost Aragorn while he was defending himself. The king had done him several good turns this evening and Legolas intended to see that debt paid. With almost flawless grace, he repeated the motion of rearming his bow and shooting arrows in almost cyclical rhythm. Within minutes, Legolas had formed a circle of bodies around him all the way to the trebuchet.

While Aragorn and Legolas battled the machine’s masters, Gimli approached the device itself. Like Aragorn, he had recognised the construct from the battle of the Pelennor. To a dwarf, the weapon was functional but hardly sophisticated. He examined it as one would examine the crude efforts of a novice smith, seeing potential in the flaws but obviously in need of greater instruction. Dwarves, who were unimaginably gifted when it came to working either metal or wood, had little time to build weapons. Of course their axes and blades were the finest to be crafted anywhere in Middle earth. Some were even considered works of art but their innovation seldom lent itself to their weapons. Though they enjoyed battle and relished victory, they did not actively seek it out.

Gimli required only a few moments of examination to come to the conclusion that the weapon was easy enough to disable. He had to admire its simplicity but in that asset was also its weakness. As easy as it was for it to perform its function, it was also ludicrously easy to render ineffective. Stepping forward, he examined the elasticised ropes that acted as the levering mechanism for the construct and knew that this was the pivotal component. Swinging his axe, the blade made a neat arc through the air before it struck the fibres of the rope, snapping it with such force that they recoiled like whips. The main arm of the catapult suddenly gave way and slammed hard against the ground, unearthing tufts of soil in its landing. Gimli repeated this action on the hinges as well until all the components that made the device work lay in ruins.

“Is it done?” Legolas asked after Gimli had concluded his task.

“It will menace Lossarnach no further,” the dwarf retorted grimly.

“It did enough,” Aragorn said unable to be grateful when all he could see in the distance was the damage done to the city. The fires were raging out of control and even if they manage to defend Lossarnach until Faramir arrived with the rest of Gondor’s forces, there was every possibility that there may be little left of the city.

”Come,” he ushered his companions, “we must get back. There is still much to do.”

To this, none of his companions could disagree. Despite the destruction of the device that was causing so much damage to Lossarnach, the danger was by no small means ended. There were still too many Haradrim warriors in the city and the fires ensured that the men who should be fighting them were otherwise occupied in trying to save the city. Aragorn led the journey back to Lossarnach, satisfied that his absence away from its defence had been well worth the effort.

However, as they made their returned to the city, a dozen or more Haradrim warriors emerged from the breach in the wall with great speed. It took no feat of genius to discern that the reason for their hasty departure was due to the fact that the construct was no longer bombarding Lossarnach with its fiery ammunition nor did it take them long to discover who was responsible for it. The enemy fixed their eyes upon the trio whose return path ensured that they could not have from any other direction other than the weapon. The realisation inspired the warriors to rush forward, brandishing their weapons in readiness to strike.

Legolas halted in midstep, seeing no reason to wait until the enemy reached them to attack. The elf was already arming his bow and taking aim when the first of the Haradrim swung his blade to strike. The arrow struck him in the chest, forcing him to stagger back in pain and impending death for Legolas knew where the arrow would do its worst. The lord of Eden Ardhon wasted no time in releasing another arrow and with the skill for which he had become renowned throughout Middle earth, dispatched a further three before his companions were forced to engage the enemy themselves.

While not quite possessing Legolas’ finesse in defending himself, Aragorn did strike fear into the hearts of his opponents by the brutal and precise wielding of his sword. Blade met blade with such force that the enemy was driven back. It was not that Aragorn was stronger or more imposing in stature, he merely knew how to strike with great effect. While his rancour in battle might be confused for a frenzied attack, those who knew him and were accustomed to this swordsmanship knew that every strike had a purpose that would ultimately demolish whatever defence position his opponent may deign to take.

Unfortunately, during the course of the battle the triumvirate which had thus so far proved so useful was unwittingly divided. While each were able to hold their own against the enemy, Aragorn found himself drifting further and further away from his companions. Deciding that this was not entirely the best time to become divided, the king defeated his latest opponent and sought to rejoin his comrades when suddenly a dark shape slipped in front of him almost as if he had stepped out of the shadows.

Aragorn knew immediately whom he was facing, remembering Gimli’s description all too well. He was taller than Aragorn but the king was able to say with some measure of satisfaction that the man was nowhere as large as a troll, though he was sizeable to say the least. He stared at Aragorn with flinty eyes, trying to dissect his counterpart in a few seconds of scrutiny. He was not of the race of Haradrim but certainly originated from the Sunlands.

Gimli had been correct when he said that Melia was a hybrid of two races. This man before him was the pure product without question. Like the Haradrim warriors, he wore the customary spiked helmet and corselet of bronze. However, Aragorn noticed the symbol of the black serpent was adorned upon the alloy of the breastplate. Unlike the other Haradrim, this one wore no paint upon his face and his dark hair, tight with curls was worn short against his scalp, save for a thick braid of hair that was held in place by gold running down the back of his neck.

“You lead this army?” Aragorn asked with absolute certainty that this man was king.

“I do,” he nodded sombrely, the weapon in his hand brandished and ready.

“You have proven to be most elusive,” Aragorn remarked, noting the action and making the same preparations.

“I intended it to be as such,” the tall, dark man of the Sunlands answered.

”Now that you are here, may I know to whom I speak?” The king of Gondor asked of his Haradrim counterpart.

The enemy’s brow arched at the question, “is that so important?”

“To me it is,” Aragorn replied.

“Then I refuse because it matters to you so much,” he sneered, his eyes narrowing at Aragorn in contempt.

“It does not have to come to this,” Aragorn replied unperturbed, thinking himself remiss if he did not at least try to talk peace now that he finally had the leader of the Easterling Confederacy before him. In truth, he knew it would make little difference but he had been the responsible leader for too long to not even try.

“I expected better from you King of Gondor,” the warrior king glared at Aragorn with something akin to impatience, “not this pathetic grovelling.”

Aragorn stiffened at the inference but allowed the man’s words to slide off him like water upon a fowl’s back. “I do not grovel for my sake,” he stared at the Haradrim king with a hint of contempt, “but rather for yours. Your people cannot afford to wage war against mine.”

“And yet we have managed well enough this evening,” his opponent retorted.

“You have only managed because you have employed the element of surprise and caught us unprepared. We will not make the same mistake again,” Aragorn replied firmly.

“Your arrogance will be your undoing,” the enemy hissed and raised his scimitar to strike. “It will be my pleasure to teach you how.”

With that, the civilities, what little there were, ended when the Haradrim swung his weapon at Aragorn who immediately deflected the blade with Anduril’s own formidable strength. Steel clanged loudly as the two warriors met on the field, prepared to fight to the death if necessary. In the darkness of twilight, their kingly titles were stripped away and they faced each other in the only way two men of differing loyalties could. Initially, both opponents met each other with exploratory strikes to determine skill and ability. Aragorn found that his opponent was stronger and preferred to end his engagements swiftly through brute force. It was very much a Haradrim characteristic but it was tempered with the skill of a master swordsman, which made him very dangerous indeed.

Aragorn preferred to strike defensively, until he had a better inkling of the Haradrim’s strategy. He parried a sharp thrust of the enemy’s blade and riposte swiftly, forcing the man to take a few steps backwards. Rage flared in his as Aragorn saw how much he loathed being forced to withdraw for any reason. This retreat only forced the Haradrim to swing even more powerfully at Aragorn who once again caught the blow before it could do any real harm. However, as their swords made contact, Aragorn lashed out with his foot, the ball of it connecting to the enemy’s stomach.

A groan of pain escaped the Haradrim king whose response to this was to swing wildly and with such power that if Aragorn had not dropped, he would have lost his head there and then. Forcing to avoid such a savage attack had placed him in a position of disadvantage that his opponent was quick to exploit. A knee slammed into Aragorn’s chest, driving the wind out of him as he landed flat on his back. He looked up just in time to see a blade coming down upon him and Aragorn rolled quickly out of the way before he kicked hard against his enemy’s knee and scrambled to his feet. Giving him little time to react, Aragorn took the offensive and swung Anduril with all the might he could manage.

The Haradrim deflected the blow but just barely. Aragorn did not allow him time to recover and threw a fist in his face. The man shook of the strike and then leapt to his feet with surprising agility to face Aragorn again. Once again, they came together in the dance of clashing steel. Both were well matched and as they battled each other alone and far away from the eyes of their warriors, it felt as if the war had suddenly contracted to this singular engagement.

However, Aragorn could see that the Haradrim was unaccustomed to a protracted swordfight while he had been in situations where he had been called to continue fighting for days. It was understandable of course. Even during the War of the Ring, the enemy was accustomed to striking in numbers where a swift victory was anticipated. Sauron only used his orcs and Uruk Hai for sustained warfare. Having battled them for so long, Gondor and Rohan knew how to last in such tournaments and now more than ever, it was a skill worth its weight in gold.

“You fight well King of Gondor,” the enemy hissed. “The tales of your skill are not unfounded.”

“If this is your attempt to curry favour for mercy, I am afraid that you exhausted that possibility when you butchered the people of Lebethron.”

“A means to an end,” he grinned, white teeth contrasting starkly against dark lips. He swung again with Aragorn blocking the strike easily, however the Haradrim also lashed out with a massive hand and struck the king across the jaw.

Aragorn staggered a little but did not suffer any ill effects other than pain and momentary disorientation. He shook off the pain and weaved neatly past the Haradrim when the enemy came at him again. Slamming an elbow into the man’s rib, he felt some measure of satisfaction in the groan of pain that was produced. Allowing himself no break in his relentless attack, Aragorn kicked him in the back and sent the enemy sprawling into the dirt. The Haradrim landed face first, his body causing a small cloud of dust as he landed. Aragorn hurried forward preparing to end this battle once and for all when suddenly a fist full of dirt was flung in his face.

The king of Gondor cursed indignantly as his eyes reacted instinctively to the unwanted invasion by clamping shut, locking out sight. Aragorn retreated hastily, aware that he had a precious few seconds to recover this cowardly attack or else as far as he was concerned, the war would well and truly be over. It was difficult to see through the welling moisture in his eyes but he was able to make out the shape of the Haradrim king approaching him, sword brandished and ready to deliver a killing blow. Aragorn struggled to offer some kind of defense despite his handicap when suddenly, he saw the enemy groan in pain. An arrow had suddenly speared through this arm, its sharp point jutting out through flesh in Aragorn’s direction. The Haradrim king swung around and saw the approach of Legolas and Gimli who had despatched their opponents and then realised quite to their shock that Aragorn was nowhere in sight.

“This is not done,” the enemy hissed as he glared hatefully at Aragorn and then at Legolas, “my people will bathe Middle earth in blood before this is over and I promise your pet elf is going to pay dearly for his part in this.”

With that, the king of the Easterlings fled into the darkness.

************

When Legolas and Gimli finally arrived at Aragorn’s side, the king of Gondor had sufficiently regained most of his vision, though his eyes still stung from the invasion by dirt. The Easterling leader had fled, obviously unwilling to face the combined strength of Aragorn and his companions. Aragorn searched the field and saw little sign of the man who had most likely hurried back to the battle of Lossarnach where he could lose himself in the numbers of his people.

“Did you see where he went?” Aragorn demanded of Legolas whose vision and senses were far superior to his own, even when it was not half blind from sand.

“I saw him return to the city,” Legolas replied smoothly.

“We must find him!” Aragorn exclaimed and started making forceful strides towards Lossarnach.

“Why?” Legolas asked with some measure of confusion.

“I think he may have been the opponent I faced earlier,” Gimli answered for Aragorn, grasping the truth far swifter because the shape that had hurried away after Legolas had put an arrow in it was decidedly familiar.

“The Haradrim king?” Legolas declared with surprise. He had been so concerned with stopping the man from killing Aragorn that he had thought of little else except halting the progress of that swinging blade. Perhaps he should not have been more final in his action.

“It was him,” Aragorn hissed almost inaudibly. “He would not do me the courtesy of giving me his name.”

Legolas could sense the fury in his friend as Aragorn hurried back to the beleaguered city. He wondered what had transpired during the engagement between the two rivals that could incense the King of Gondor so. After all, war despite its ability to spear through the heart of everyone it touched was still a highly impersonal affair between kings. It was often based on issues that had little to do with the men who wore the crowns but rather the events that transpired between them. Yet there was something personal in the manner Aragorn had emerged from his encounter with the Haradrim king. He hastened his pace to catch up with Aragorn but the king was moving rapidly off the field, fired by anger and matters that Legolas was not privy.

“Let him go,” Gimli advised. “He will tell us later what took place between them.”

Legolas nodded sombrely and was about to comment further when his senses were drawn elsewhere. He could feel it pressing against his awareness but it lacked the edge of danger. He drifted away from Gimli for a moment, staring into the horizon, watching in anticipation. Gimli saw the gleam in his eye, having travelled long enough at the side of the Prince to know what significance it had.

“What is it?” Gimli asked, following Legolas’ gaze.

“Someone is coming,” Legolas replied, still staring.

A few more seconds elapsed and it bore into Gimli’s patience when it appeared that they were staring at nothingness but then like a soft rumble against the ground, the dwarf felt the resonance travel through the soles of his boots into his bones. It was soft at first. Barely discernible because of the noise coming from the battle within Lossarnach was overwhelming all other sound. However, it soon took on a life of its own and grew until it matched easily the commotion emanating from the battle. When it became loud enough to hear clearly, Gimli recognised it immediately for what it was.

Horses.

Leading the way on the darkened horizon, Faramir appeared with the Rohirrim and Gondorian cavalry behind him. It was difficult to tell how many they were but their numbers were many, enough to fill both Legolas and Gimli with gratitude because at last they reinforcements they needed so badly would help turn the tide of the battle. The defenders had been holding their own for almost two nights and while they had fought bravely, the losses that the Haradrim had inflicted upon them were considerable. The fires were threatening to consume the whole of Lossarnach and not even their valiant efforts could save the city when they being were assailed by two enemies.

It did not take long for the reinforcements to reach the city and once they did, the battle ended swiftly. The Haradrim, realising that the defenders were now aided with the support of the Rohirrim and the Gondorian cavalry had bade a hasty retreat. Although a sizeable number of them had been killed in the battle, there were still enough of them to cause considerable mischief if they were not pursued. Unfortunately, the arrival of Faramir had only brought enough support to drive away the invaders, not to give chase. That action could wait until Imrahil arrived with the ground troops.

Aragorn had searched desperately for the leader of the Haradrim but upon his return to Lossarnach, he saw no sign of the man whom he had battled to stalemate. Their encounter had proven to Aragorn that unless this formidable warrior was either reasoned with or killed, the war would never end. The hatred in his eyes told Aragorn that he would never cease to consider the Reunified Kingdom and its allies as anything but enemies. As the enemy left the walls of Lossarnach, Aragorn was determined that as soon as it was possible, they would set out after the Haradrim army. He had not said to Legolas the threat made by the Easterling king regarding Legolas and his people because he intended to engage the army before they could take out their vengeance on Eden Ardhon for their defeat at Lossarnach.

Despite the end of the fighting, the battle was by no means ended. Once Faramir and the riders with him had ensured that the Haradrim had gone completely from the area, they returned to join the equally important battle to save Lossarnach from the flames caused by the siege. They worked long and hard into the night, salvaging what they could but unfortunately, the destruction was far too grave and insidious to prevent the loss of many of Lossarnach’s homes. By the time the dawn broke over the horizon, much of Lossarnach appeared decimated. Very little still stood even though they could claim the charred ground the city stood upon as still being a home for one of Gondor’s older fiefdoms.

“The people of Lossarnach will not have much of a homecoming,” Aragorn lamented as he stood with Faramir at one of the structures that had been made into a place of rest following the breaking of dawn when the flames had finally been quelled.

Faramir swept his gaze around his immediate surroundings and was sad to find agreement with his king. The air smelt of smoke and cinders, while the walls of the Lossarnach were charred black. There was not an inch of space on the ground that was not covered with ash or charred cinders. The blackened framework was all that was left of some buildings. Its determination to stand was a monument to futility when all else around it had been burned away. Men wandered about, their heads bent low and their faces a gamut of emotions, shock, anger, despair and relief, a veritable cornucopia of feelings that Faramir could empathise with.

“At least it is still here,” Faramir replied, trying to soothe his king’s inevitable feeling of failure. Aragorn took defeats much too hard, particularly when it was to the detriment of his people. “They can rebuild.”

Aragorn stared at the destruction and swallowed away the feelings of guilt that were climbing up his throat from his insides, threatening to make him useless to all who needed him. “As soon as Imrahil is here, we will leave here and find them.”

“Find them or him?” Faramir asked slyly, aware of the encounter with the Haradrim king.

Aragorn looked at him sharply, “we have to find him and we have to kill him. If we do not, this will never end. They will never be satisfied with peace.”

“How can you be sure?” Faramir inquired, sensing some unspoken anxiety that Aragorn was reluctant to voice.

“I can be sure because I looked into his eyes Faramir and what I saw there concerns me greatly. This whole invasion is because of him. They love him and they will follow him into any battle, do anything that they ask of him. Do you know how great such power is?”

“Yes,” Faramir nodded, often thinking that Aragorn had that kind of strength that naturally drew people to him. “I do.”

“His hate for us is personal and I do not think that he be willing to endure any peace, so long as the Reunified Kingdom exists and this defeat will only make that rage burn even greater. What I feared the most for Legolas has come to pass, the enemy had decided that the elves are to be warred upon like the rest of us.”

“You think that they will move upon Eden Ardhon?” Faramir asked, wishing he could say something that dispelled Aragorn’s fears but he could not.

“I do not think,” Aragorn said with a sigh, “I know.”

*************

Lothiriel had made a difficult choice when she had elected to remain in Edoras instead of returning home to Dol Amroth.

Because she was neither wife nor the betrothed of King Eomer, her status was regarded with some measure of confusion within the Golden Hall. As it was, she was under some ignominy because she had ignored the protocols that required her to be at home with her parents instead of unchaperoned in the realm of a potential suitor. However, Lothiriel knew in her heart that she loved Eomer and saw no reason to be cloistered away from him when he needed her most. Edoras, like the rest of the Reunified Kingdom was under threat and she saw no reason to leave the place she may some day dwell permanently as its queen.

During Eomer’s absence, Lothiriel spent much of her time in the suite of rooms that had become her home away from home since her arrival in Edoras. While the people in the palace treated her well enough, she knew that they viewed her with deep scrutiny as they tried to decide whether or not she was a proper match for their beloved king. Until Eomer returned and her position in his life more secure, Lothiriel was content to remain out of their purview, even though she ventured occasionally from the palace to see for herself how life progressed in Edoras.

It was a very different place from Dol Amroth and yet so alike at the same time. The chief business in Edoras was the sale of horses. Much of the commerce that took place in the city involved the cottage industry that had blossomed in the wake of Rohan’s fame as the breeding ground for Middle earth’s best horses. During the dark years when Sauron still walked among them, even Mordor had desired the horses of Rohan and had stolen them when the Golden Hall had refused to sell them to such a terrible fate. Since the fall of Sauron and Mordor, the security afforded by the Reunified Kingdom had prompted people’s desire to see lands that were once forbidden to them. This need for travel had caused people to seek out swifter means of travel and to that end; Rohan’s horses were eagerly sought.

Lothiriel had never been much of a rider which was part of the reason she seldom left home and was virtually unknown to her cousins in Gondor. However, if she were to be Eomer’s wife, Lothiriel realised she would have to learn. Her first few weeks in Edoras had been spent riding and now she was comfortable enough to ride alone. Since Eomer had left Edoras, Lothiriel had continued her efforts to become more comfortable in the saddle and one of her practices had in the morning was to take a ride in the magnificent horse plains surrounding Edoras.

“I am more than capable of riding on my own captain,” Lothiriel said impatiently as she rode through the field of tall grass with three Rohirrim guards.

“I am more than aware of that my lady,” Vorigen, the captain of the guard at the Golden Hall replied smoothly. He remembered with some fondness how his predecessor would have the same conversation with Lady Eowyn when she resided in Edoras and considered himself fortunate that Lothiriel was nowhere that spirited. “However, we have not received any word from the king in a number of days and following the intelligence of the Rangers that there is something odd in the behaviour of the Dunlendings they observed, I would prefer not to risk your safety.”

“He is well,” Lothiriel stated firmly, determined not to take Vorigen’s words about Eomer’s silence as a sign of ill tidings regarding her love’s fate.

“Of course he is,” Vorigen answered with genuine belief. “I do not believe that the King could survive the War of the Ring only to fall prey to Dunlendings rogues. He will return soon enough with their heads at the end of his sword.”

“A disturbing picture,” Lothiriel said with a slight frown, “but I think you are right.”

They rode through the idyllic terrain, admiring the majesty of the White Mountains in the background of Edoras as it sat high upon the hill, overlooking the horse plains and the grasslands. It was a pleasant day with the sun shining enough warmth for it to be enjoyable but not uncomfortable. There was a faint trace of dried grass and pollen in the air which did not affect her as much as she thought it would. Lothiriel ran her hand over the neck of her horse, earning a slight nicker of satisfaction from the steed and was pleased that she was developing something of a relationship with the best who was called Star because of the white flare shaped in a star on the bridge of his nose.

“I have been in the service of the Golden Halls for almost a decade my lady,” Vorigen smiled, “I am accustomed to seeing the king returning when we believed the worst.”

“I will trust your judgement….”Lothiriel started to say but never managed to finish the sentence because a spear burst through Vorigen’s chest and splattered Lothiriel with blood. Lothiriel screamed in fright as Vorigen tumbled from the saddle, dead before he even touched the ground. They appeared out of the grass as if they had been hiding there waiting. Her other two escorts immediately unsheathed their swords to attack but were of little match for the scouting party that had unwittingly crossed their path. Lothiriel counted at least six men who were obviously Dunlending tribesmen. She had never seen one before but the descriptions of this warlike barbarian race left no doubt in her mind of their identity.

“It’s a scouting party!” One of the Rohirrim warriors exclaimed.

They felled the two warriors with her easy enough and turned their gaze to the young women, their eyes narrowing with sinister intent. It was all the incentive Lothiriel needed to dig her heels into the flanks of her anxious horse and set the beast running. However, they were anticipating her flight and as she felt the wind in her hair at her sudden departure and dared to hope at her escape, Star’s head reared up in pain. Lothiriel last thought before she was thrown out of the saddle was the arrow that had embedded itself into the animal’s hide.

She hit the dirt hard and felt her shoulder ache in pain at the landing but suffered no more injuries than that. The lady was grateful for that one consolation though she did not believe for an instant that she was safe. Scrambling to her feet, she saw them approach her slowly, stalking her like a pack of wolves about to converge upon a helpless fawn. She saw them lick their lips in anticipation, the sneers across their dirt covered face and knew that it was a far worse fate then death that awaited her if she did not get away from them this instant.

“This can be done with great pain or this can be done easily my pretty,” one of them spoke as he leered at her with blatant lust.

“Cur,” Lothiriel hissed feeling a surge of venom coursing through her. “You will not lay one hand upon me, not unless you wish to die.”

“You are a spirited one,” he grinned and Lothiriel’s cheeks flamed with outrage when the others laughed.

She saw them approaching and knew her window of opportunity was dwindling quickly. Closing her eyes, she could think of only one way to protect herself. Since the incident with the shape shifters, her devotion to magic had lessened because she knew how dangerous the world of spells could be after seeing its mischief first hand. However, she had also been responsible for breaking the terrible spell that had overcome the minds of Middle Earth’s rulers. Following that day, she found her ability had improved much and while she would never be an Istar like Gandalf or Pallando, Lothiriel knew enough to save herself from situations like this.

She searched her mind quickly for the spell required and spoke the incantation quickly, all the time preparing herself to run because she did not know how much of a delay it would provide, if any at all if she failed. The words halted the Dunlending in their tracks because they were a superstitious lot and they recognised its substance even if they did not understand its content. They started to retreat in fear but Lothiriel was no longer paying attention; her mind was too fixed upon the spell she was reciting.

She heard them scream and did not listen, hardening her heart to their cries as they became more desperate. Even Star, who lay wounded on the ground was neighing in distress, its animal senses more attuned to the magic than even Lothiriel herself. The lady of Dol Amroth continued her invocation until the voices were silent and the spell had finally spoken its last. When she opened her eyes, she found herself alone.

Aware that there could be only one cause of this, she ambled forward shakily, her eyes searching the grassy plains until she caught sight of the new patches of bare dirt. Fingers protruded from the newly turned soil, clawing at the air like a man drowning in a lake, only this one was made of sand not water. Lothiriel felt as if she would retch, knowing that she had killed these men but the guilt over their deaths passed by quickly when she remembered what one of her escorts had said before he was killed.

A scouting party.

If these men were the scouts, where then were the rest of their company?

Lothiriel started running, leaving her injured horse behind because she realised unless she returned to the Golden Hall and warn them of what she knew, Edoras was going to learn the hard way.

TO BE CONTINUED