Epilogue

The Pauses in Between

Much had taken place by the time Faramir and Aragorn arrived at Ithilien.

Following his encounter with the leader of the Easterling Confederacy, Legolas had released the enemy, relishing a little the fear in his eyes as the man fled his sight, burdened with knowledge that he had unleashed something terrible upon his people by his actions in Eden Ardhon. The call to retreat had seen the enemy and their mumakils fleeing towards the mountains of Ephel Duath, no doubt to begin the journey southwards. Legolas had no doubt in his mind that the enemy would be returning to their own lands following this battle. The leader of the Confederacy knew Legolas had made no idle threat and that the elves would march upon the lands of Rhun and Harad in good order.

For the moment, however, Middle earth found itself in the eye of the storm that was elven rage. Once the enemy had retreated, the men of Ithilien could not deny that there was intensity to the Eldar’s anger that made them uneasy despite the elves aid in achieving this victory. Most had never seen elves and those who had been in their presence before had never seen the race so enraged. While it was gratifying to know that the elves could be just as prone to the darker emotions, it was also unnerving at the same time. Fortunately, this rage was reduced to a simmering heat once the battle was done and the character of the elven warriors took on a less intimidating air.

Despite their victory against the enemy, the cost was still great. Many warriors of Ithilien lay dead, killed by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy prior to the elves’ arrival, or crushed underfoot of the rampaging mumakils. The fortress of the Eastern Eye had suffered considerable damage with the collapse of many of its walls. The victors, both men and elf, shifted through the debris and the rubble, seeking out the injured and the dead. The euphoria of victory had dwindled into the sombre mood of grief. Even the elves for all their rage, felt the sorrow for the dead of Ithilien as well as their own. There was to be no celebration until the dead were buried and mourned.

Into this, did Aragorn and Faramir arrive a day later.

As Legolas had asked, Aragorn led the elves of Eden Ardhon to Minas Tirith for their own safety. Aragorn was rather doubtful of Legolas’ ability to convince the intractable Thranduil that the elves should fight but he agreed with the prince that none of the elves of Eden Ardhon were safe in South Ithilien until the enemy was driven out of their territories. Upon seeing them safely to the White City, Aragorn and his company, which included all the warriors of Eden Ardhon, reached Imrahil who had been in charge of the greater portion of Gondor’s armies. Upon assuming command of his army, they marched to Emyn Arnen to await Legolas and to call another council of war. A message had been sent to Rohan, asking Eomer’s attendance for it appeared the situation required discussion since their enemies were far stronger than any of them envisioned.

Aragorn could not begin to imagine what was running through the mind of Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor when he arrived at Emyn Arnen and saw the Eastern Eye in near ruin. When the message had first reached them of the impending attack upon the fortress and the subsequent reports that told of another army approaching Emyn Arnen from the south instead of the north, they had feared the worst and rightly so. Realising that it was likely that the Haradrim army that had assailed Lossarnach was merging with the Easterlings who had sacked Eden Ardhon, both king and steward came to the conclusion that the defense of Ithilien could not possibly repel an army of that size.

Faramir had remained sedate until the Eastern Eye had come into sight.

In stark contrast to his brother Boromir, Aragorn had learned that Faramir preferred to think his way out of difficulty rather than fight. Like all men he was prone to bursts of temper, but these were rare. It was not Faramir’s way to rush in without thinking. It was a shame that Denethor had put such little stock in his second son because the truth of it, at least in Aragorn’s opinion, was that Faramir would have been far better suited to rule then his older brother. As Steward, he was invaluable to Aragorn because his was a meticulous mind, paying attention to every detail of a situation where Aragorn’s view was much broader. Together, they made a formidable team and Aragorn had come to regard him as greatly as he regarded Faramir’s dead brother.

When the lord of Ithilien saw his realm in such a state of ruin, that calm deliberation had vanished to near panic and for someone like Faramir who had learned to control his emotions to hide from his father the pain of rejection, it quite something to see his deconstruction. Despite the timely arrival of the elves from Lorien and the Woodland Realm, Aragorn knew that Faramir feared the fate of not only his people but also his wife. As they walked past the bodies of the dead awaiting burial, the king of Gondor wondered how many times he would be forced to do this, to arrive with his friends to scenes of terrible tragedy.

“Where is the Lady Eowyn?” Faramir demanded the moment he entered what passed for the royal court of Ithilien.

Anticipating the first order of business for their lord upon his return, the summons was given to Tadgh, the chief physician in the house of healing. The man made his appearance before Aragorn’s efforts to calm him down fail quickly and Faramir went searching for Eowyn himself. Tadgh appeared worn and exhausted, his clothes covered with blood and grime, stark indication of how the healer had spent his days since the war had been brought to the Ithilien.

“She is well my lord,” Tadgh said quickly, allaying the Steward’s worst fears.

“Where is she?” Faramir asked again. “Why does she not come to meet me?”

“She is resting,” Tadgh offered immediately.

”Was she injured?” Aragorn asked as he saw Faramir’s relief that Eowyn still lived.

“Yes,” Tadgh nodded. “During the battle.”

“She was fighting?” Gimli exclaimed

“Did you think she would not?” Aragorn gave him a look.

“It was the reason I asked her to remain here,” Faramir said softly. “I know how formidable she is in battle and I wanted her to remain here so that she could give hope to our people if difficult times came upon Ithilien in my absence. How badly was she hurt?” He looked up fearfully at Tadgh’s face, almost afraid to ask.

“Her leg was broken and she took a nasty knock to the head but she survived well enough,” Tadgh was happy to report. “However, I prefer that she remain in her bed for a time. It is never wise to gamble with the lady’s health under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Faramir stared at him, the gratitude flooding into his body that Eowyn was not dead or grievously injured, stopped short with that seemingly curious statement.

“She is with child,” Tadgh responded without hesitation and did not realise until the blank astonishment had crossed his lord’s face that he had spoken out of turn. “You did not know?”

“With child?” Faramir stammered.

“Yes,” the healer nodded. “Due in the summer I believe.”

Faramir was at a loss for words and for a moment, he did not know what to say. Suddenly, the pieces felt together in place. Her strange behaviour prior to his leaving Ithilien, the reason why she agreed that it was not her place to fight or to travel. She had known! She had known then and not told him. He understood why of course and it was very much in keeping with her character for she was at the heart of her, a warrior and understood the danger of distractions.

“Congratulations my boy!” Gimli slapped him on the back with that hearty wish.

“This is good news Faramir,” Aragorn said with real pleasure for his friend because it proved life prevailed despite all the death surrounding them. This was news of great hope to all of them, particularly after the dark days they had seen of late. “I am happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Faramir replied, still somewhat dazed by it all. He knew of only one remedy that could assuage his state of mind.

He needed to see his wife.

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

As anticipated, his lady was not at all happy to be confined to bed even for the sake of her health.

Faramir paused at the doorway after entering their private chambers and saw Eowyn lying in her bed, attempting shift her broken foot into a position of comfort with the only thing that was close at hand; her sword. Leaning forward was apparently too much for her as she resorted this most unconventional method of moving her leg to a more comfortable position. Faramir watched her engaged in this activity for a moment, reluctant to give himself away because he wanted to simply look at her and bask in the pleasure at knowing that she lived and that she was carrying his child.

“You know I am certain that was not the intended use of that weapon,” Faramir announced himself with a smile after she had dropped Anglachel on the floor with frustration.

Eowyn looked up at him and broke in a radiant smile before answering in character, “well what am I to do when you are not here?”

Faramir closed the distance between them and gently her shifted her broken leg so she would be more at ease. “Is that better?”

“Much,” she answered and felt even better when he leaned over and met her lips with a gentle kiss. Husband and wife shared a moment of tender embrace and more passionate kisses before Faramir pulled away and Eowyn glowed with pleasure at seeing him.

“You received our message?” She asked.

“Yes,” he nodded as he circled the bed and nestled himself in the empty space beside her. “We rode here as quickly as possible but it appears we were not needed.”

“You were needed,” Eowyn remarked resting her head against his shoulder, happy that he was with her again because it was when she was at her most vulnerable that she could truly appreciate how wonderful he was. “I needed you.”

“I would ride through fire for you,” Faramir met her gaze, meaning it with earnest.

“I know,” she sighed, her hand reaching for his face with affection. “I am glad you are here now for I wish to tell you something. I should have told you before you left to join our armies but I was afraid that it would make it so much harder for you leave. I was wrong in that and I am sorry.”

“Eowyn,” Faramir took her hand from his cheek and squeezed it gently in his own. “Tadgh told me. You are with child.”

“Yes,” she nodded, wishing that she could have told him herself but it no longer mattered as long as he knew. “I did not wish to keep you from doing what was necessary. I feared that you would worry leaving me if you knew. I am sorry my love, it was not my intention to hide from you the truth.”

“I will worry about you Eowyn,” Faramir answered firmly, grateful for her consideration though he would have preferred the benefit of the doubt. Still, she thought very much like a woman in such matters, even if she could fight as well as any man. “As long as I live, I will worry about you because I love you. Whether or not I stay here in Ithilien at your side until the end of our days or journey across the world that will not change. However my concern for you does not alter my responsibilities to my king or to my country. I will gladly fight any battle because I know what I fight for will ensure that our child will never know war. For that I would go anywhere and fight anyone. You need not worry about such news distracting me. How can it be when I know that distraction will only keep me from making this world a better place our child?”

“Our son,” Eowyn declared with surprising certainty.

“It matters little to me if it is a boy or a girl,” he shrugged and surprised himself by meaning it. He was not Denethor “I will love it all the same.”

“It is a boy,” she repeated herself, her eyes dancing with absolute confidence in her belief. “I am certain of it.”

“How?” He regarded with one brow cocked.

“A woman knows these things,” she said smugly, amusing herself with the fact that her response would frustrate him to no end.

“That is not an answer,” he insisted with a frown, aware that she was teasing him. This was not a new debate. “Men never say such things. We do not presume to know without proof how things can be.”

“Well is it not obvious why?” Eowyn stared at him impatiently, her lips curling into a little smile.

“No,” he snorted, giving her a look. “It is not.”

“You are not women,” she quipped as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

Faramir rolled his eyes and cried defeat. There were times when it was far easier battling the enemy than attempting to understand his wife.

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

Eomer was hardly surprised when the message reached him at the Golden Hall of Meduseld.

In truth, he had been expecting it ever since he learnt of the attack upon Eden Ardhon. Since the beginning of hostilities at Lebethron, it was clear that none of the leaders of the Ruling Council of Middle earth knew what they faced. On each front, they had been taken by surprise and attacked in large numbers. It was a sad fact but true, that the past weeks had shown them quite clearly that the enemy far more organised than they had managed to be. Their victory against Sauron had made them over confident and as a result, their people had paid the price for their mistake. They needed to determine a plan of attack or a darkness equal to Sauron’s plans for Middle earth may take place after all.

If the request for an attendance to a council meeting did not surprise Eomer, then the appearance of Imrahil at his court to deliver it, certainly was. The Prince of Dol Amroth had taken the opportunity to ride to Rohan in order to see for himself, the welfare of his daughter while the armies of Gondor led by Aragorn, continued their journey to Ithilien. Imrahil and Eomer had become friends during the War of the Ring. Eomer had ridden at Theoden’s side when the Rohirrim rode to Gondor. Though very different from Theoden, Imrahil had proved himself to be a man of honour and their friendship had strengthened through the passage of years.

Admittedly, Eomer was rather glad to see Imrahil in the Golden Hall because the presence of her father would certainly brighten Lothiriel spirits. Since the attack upon Edoras and the incident in the catacombs when Lothiriel had used her magic to protect the women and children hiding in the caves during the battle, the lady of Dol Amroth had been greatly trouble. Eomer sensed it had to do with the having to see the faces of the men she had sent to death. She had used her powers earlier that day to escape the Dunlendings in order to reach Edoras to raise the alarm. Then she had been so afraid, that her eyes had been closed tightly so that she would see nothing except the evidence of her sorcery when the danger was passed.

It was quite something else to see them die, to see the life drain out of them. To know that everything they would ever in this world or to the ones they loved, was extinguished in an instant and then to remember that she was responsible, that she had been the reason for the diminishing light in their eyes. Eomer understood Lothiriel’s anguish far better than she could have possibly imagined. He was a warrior born, it was all that he had ever known but the first time he had killed had changed him forever. If it were one of his men, he would have told them that it was simply the nature of things, a blooding ritual required of every soldier throughout the ages. He did not know how to say the same things to Lothiriel and it broke his heart that he was unable because he could see her pain and it stabbed at him like a knife.

“I am glad that you are here Prince of Dol Amroth,” Eomer said as he accompanied Imrahil to the garden where Lothiriel could be found, once the greetings were done. “Your daughter needs you.”

“Why?” Imrahil stared at him, a silvery dark brow cocked up in question and suspicion. Imrahil had not been completely comfortable with his daughter remaining in Edoras despite his pleasure that Lothiriel and Eomer genuinely cared for each other. It was not proper and in all truth, he had more than sufficient grounds to demand Eomer marry his daughter after her unchaperoned stay in the Golden Hall.

“During the attack upon Edoras by the Dunlending curs,” Eomer began with more venom then he intended. “The women and children were taken to the catacombs below the city to wait in safety. Your daughter went with them and acquitted herself as well as any Lady of Edoras. You would have been so proud of her Imrahil, she kept her head and ensured no one lost hope.”

“She has always had strength,” Imrahil said warmly. He loved his only daughter deeply in spite of her eccentricities. “It exists within her as more than just her magic but in her character as well. She is determined and brave.”

“Qualities which she proved most adeptly when the Dunlendings found the sanctuary and broke through,” Eomer declared.

“Is she alright?” Imrahil asked with natural alarm, the atrocities at Eden Ardhon too fresh in his mind to allow him to take such news calmly.

“She is fine,” Eomer said quickly, assuaging Imrahil’s fears. “They however, are not. Imrahil, she used her magic and saved all of those in hiding with her. We found them buried alive in the ground, as if they had been drowned in sand. I believe Lothiriel saw them die as her spell unfolded. She does not seemed to have suffered physical injury but her soul carries their deaths heavily.”

Imrahil drew in a breath and uttered a short, sardonic laugh devoid of humour. “This discussion in one I expect to have with my sons, not my daughter.”

“She did what was necessary,” Eomer said in Lothiriel’s defense though he need not have worried. “If she had not, none of the women and children would have survived.”

“We both know that the intention behind the taking a life, no matter how right the cause does not ease the conscience of those who are called upon to commit the act,” Imrahil answered softly. “When my sons rode into combat for the first time, I explained to them the way of things as I expect you do to the men under your command.”

“Yes,” Eomer nodded. “If I could tell her the way I tell them it would be simple because we are Rohirrim, we live and we die for the survival of our people. I do not know how to console Lothiriel in this. I love her Imrahil and it pains me to see her so grieved. The Dunlendings she killed would not feel this same remorse in her place, if they even deign to think of it at all.”

“Then I will speak to her,” Imrahil smiled, squeezing Eomer’s shoulder in affection.

“There is one other thing,” Eomer spoke up because there was little time to waste and because they would soon be riding for Ithilien.

“Yes?” The Prince of Dol Amroth regarded the King of the Mark.

“You and I must leave for Ithilien as soon as possible in order to attend the meeting of the council,” Eomer spoke as if his next words were finding difficulty leaving his throat but it had to be said. “When I leave the Golden Hall, I would like to leave it in the hands of my queen. Lothiriel has earned the right to be my queen and she was far more certain of our love then I. I wish to marry your daughter before we depart Edoras.”

Imrahil absorbed Eomer’s request and knew that the young king was quite smitten by his daughter and there was no doubt as to his affection for her. With the times so uncertain, it was understandable that Eomer would desire the joining with Lothiriel sooner rather than later. It pleased Imrahil to no end because he had thought up the match to begin with but he would commit his child to nothing until he had spoken to her. If Eomer was right and his Lothiriel was in pain, then that was the first order of business for the Prince of Dol Amroth.

“You have my consent to marry her Eomer and my blessing,” his future father in law smiled. “Now let me see my daughter.”

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

Eomer had been correct that Imrahil’s presence would be the tonic needed to lift Lothiriel’s spirits. Upon seeing him, the young lady of Dol Amroth ran quickly into her father’s embrace, almost overjoyed at his arrival. The past few days had left her in a deep state of melancholy that no amount of comforting words by Eomer could assuage. Although she knew what she had done was necessary, Lothiriel could not forget the image of those men as they died. It had burned itself into her memory like a branding iron and despite her reluctance to admit it, she knew she would never be the same again.

Imrahil could see immediately that Eomer was right in his assertion that Lothiriel was marked by her actions in the catacombs. In truth, he was rather proud of her and growing more so of late because she had proven him wrong that she would never be able to be a magician of any note. Her resourcefulness had saved the kingdom from the shape shifter threat, which would have proved to be an even greater menace to the people of Middle earth, than the war they were presently fighting. However, despite all her progress these recent months, Lothiriel still came from a sheltered upbringing, one that never meant for her to single-handedly vanquish a number of rabid tribesmen braying for blood.

”It is so good to see you father,” Lothiriel said with genuine pleasure, the first she had felt in some time.

“When I learnt that the king desired a meeting between all the members of the ruling council, I took the opportunity to play messenger so that I may visit you here and see how my daughter fares,” Imrahil answered as they both sat on a stone seat in the gardens she liked so well. It had suffered a little damage during the battle but it still provided her with enough beauty to make her troubles seem very far away indeed.

“I fare well,” she lied and was certain he knew it but it was a conditioned response.

“The king tells me you saved a good number of his people,” Imrahil remarked, wishing to draw out the truth about what had happened from her. It would help immensely if she revealed her feelings on what she had done.

“I did so by taking a good many lives,” Lothiriel replied turning away, unable to look at him because she was so ashamed.

“Child,” Imrahil placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and commanded firmly in a voice she could not disobey, “look at me.”

Lothiriel faced him with glistening eyes.

Imrahil let out a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her eyes with one fingertip, “I do not know how to bandy about words that will make this any better for you. There is no consolation to the heart when one has taken a life. It marks you inside, no matter how much you wished it did not. I will say to you the same thing that I have said to both your brothers when they have been forced to ride into combat. In war, people die. Those are the rules we must abide. We cannot change them because it is the way of things. War is not meant to be chivalry and glory. It is a dirty, ugly business that leaves the mark of blood upon your hands for all time. Yet if you spilled that blood in good conscience, in full awareness that there was no other recourse, then you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Oh father!” Lothiriel cried out, her fragile emotional state crumbling instantly. “I cannot forget their eyes as they died, knowing that they were going to die, because of me! How can I bear this weight upon my soul? I know they would not have mourned me if it were me in their place but it make little difference to how I feel.”

“Lothiriel,” her father took her hands in his and met her gaze, “you must learn to live with it. There is no remedy, not in words or magic that can make this expedient. It is simply is as I have spoken. You will learn to live with it, as many of us who have killed in our lifetimes have learnt, because we must. Your life will continue and in time, the pain will lessen. You have the love of your family, a king who is most eager to marry you and your magic.”

“No,” she shook her head, “not my magic. I will never use it again.”

Imrahil wondered if she ought to dissuade her but decided to remain silent for the moment. Time was a healer and he suspected once her heart was not so ravaged by what had taken place, she would think differently. “That is your choice but for now, you have greater concerns to consider.”

“Greater concerns?” Lothiriel wiped her eyes, accepting what her father had said because he was the one source, which she found more irrefutable than all others. When he had chosen Eomer to her husband, Lothiriel learnt how much his father knew her because his selection had been made to further her happiness, not to sell her into slavery as she had originally believed. If she said that she would survive this, then she would believe him. Imrahil may have been angry and sometimes harsh because of her behaviour, but he had never lied to her about anything.

“Yes,” Imrahil nodded, certain she had not really heard when he had spoken about Eomer’s desire to marry her. “Eomer will be riding to Ithilien with me as soon as possible. It is important that we decide what course we are to take to combat the enemy. The King of the Mark wishes to leave Edoras in the hands of its queen when he departs. He wants to marry you and I have consented.”

Lothiriel eyes widened, “he said he wanted to wait…”

“Perhaps once,” Imrahil said with a smile because the idea of marrying her king did not displease Lothiriel and had lit up her eyes with something other than grief. “I think you have proved yourself worthy of his people and he loves you, it shines from his eyes when he speaks of you.”

”I love him,” Lothiriel answered without hesitation.

“Well then, it is settled,” Imrahil grinned, “it appears we have a wedding to attend today.”

And so it came to pass that Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was wed finally to King Eomer of Rohan before the court of Edoras, with her father, the Lord of Dol Amroth in attendance. Though Eomer would have preferred to gather all his friends across Middle earth for the ceremony, expediency required him to proceed. He promised himself that once this war was done, he and his queen would celebrate their union with more fanfare. As it was, the people of Edoras who knew that this was union of love, not merely of political convenience, were terribly pleased for their beloved king and attended the ceremony even it if lacked the fanfare of grandeur.

It was simply enough that in the midst of some much destruction, there was life.

Lothiriel and Eomer shared one night together as husband and wife, discovering secret pleasures in each other that only deepened the bond between them. He was gentle and patient with her, making the experience of the body a wonderful experience she would keep with her until they were able to share another night together again. When he rode away to Ithilien the next morning, there were no tearful farewells, just a passionate kiss and promise to take care while they were apart. Lothiriel stood before the Golden Hall and watched as her king rode into the distance, knowing that time not only healed all wounds but would also bring him back to her.

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

For the first time since this conflict had been thrust upon them, the leaders of Middle earth found themselves gathered in each other’s company once again. As they converged within the meeting hall of Faramir’s fortress, the effect of the war was evident upon all them. Personal defeats marked their countenance; from the very slight to grievous wounds no amount of time could heal. In better days, they were more than just allies, they were friends but as they sat around the table in the great hall, devoid of any other presence, they faced each other as leaders of their own realms. For the moment, friendships could wait because war had come to Middle earth and allies had more weight in such times.

Aragorn swept his gaze across his friends despite the serious atmosphere in the room and found his concern largely centred around Legolas. He and the elf had been friends for the better part of sixty years and it was the first time Aragorn had ever seen this side of him. To say that it was unnerving was to put it mildly and it appeared that Legolas’ outrage at what had happened at Eden Ardhon had only served to stoke the rest of the elves into a similar state of fury. When he had arrived with Faramir at Emyn Arnen and seen the results of the elves surprising entry into the war, he had been astonished by the savagery that had seen half the Easterling army lying dead on the battlefield.

Of course he knew they had it in them to be so blood thirsty. The elves had warred longer than any other race in Middle earth and though it might appear that they were a peaceful, tranquil people, it was never wise to assume too much. When properly inspired or provoked, their fury burned brighter than Yavanna’s light in the sky. Only a day ago, Gwaihir, the Windlord had delivered to Aragorn a message from Elladan and Elrohir at Imlardis. While they did not desire to leave their father’s city for such an extended period of time, they were willing to commit troops in the defence of Rohan since Eomer’s Rohirrim cavalry would almost certainly be needed on the front lines.

Haldir sat at the table next to Legolas, representing Lord Celeborn in this council. It was the first time Celeborn had deigned to take part in matters of men since his departure from Lothlorien. However, the real surprise was Thranduil. The Woodland King had a reputation for being uninterested in any matters beyond the Woodland Realm. That he had provided his son with an army would almost be unbelievable if not for the thousands of Easterlings corpses in the of burning process in a funeral pyre beyond the fortress walls.

“Well let’s get on with it,” Gimli rumbled, never able to sit in place too long in silence. The sombre faces around the dwarf were making the situation even more intolerable for the dwarf who decided to take it upon himself to prompt the proceedings forward. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

“Well said Master Gimli,” Aragorn replied, deciding that he was right. They had been caught unawares by everything until now and that they had not managed to lose any territory was mere good luck, nothing else. Luck, Aragorn found, was seldom an eternal spring and would eventually run dry. “The Rangers have sighted the army of the enemy retreating southwards. They may be returning home.”

“After their loses here, it would not be unsurprising,” Faramir agreed, remembering the scenes of carnage as well. However, he did not feel any sense of compassion for the enemy that had been killed, not when Eowyn and their unborn child had barely managed to survive the engagement. “The question is do we let them go or do we follow them?”

“We follow them,” Legolas said firmly and not unexpectedly. “We follow them all the way to their cities and burn it down around their ears.”

“We could do that but I am not entirely certain that is wise,” Aragorn replied.

“I do not see why not,” Legolas shot him a look. “They have plagued these lands for as long as can be remembered, even before this. First, yoked to Morgoth’s harness and then to Sauron. This is only the latest incursion and it will not be the last unless we put a stop to it.”

The intensity of his words made it difficult for anyone to refute him and Aragorn could see that even Haldir was somewhat taken back by the venom in Legolas’ manner.

“I must agree with Lord Legolas in this,” Eomer found himself saying. “Rohan is drenched with blood because the enemy had incited the Dunlendings and the goblins of Moria to become involved in this conflict. Leaderless, they were nothing but rabble, having little desire to stray beyond their territories. Now they have spread to the White Mountains in Rohan and dare to attack Edoras. No,” Eomer shook his head. “This cannot be allowed to continue. The Confederacy must be broken or else we will never know anything more than an intermittent peace.”

Imrahil could see his king’s discomfort at the concept of leading all of Middle earth to war and attempted to speak in a more conciliatory tone. He too agreed with what was being said. With the exception of the elves, Imrahil had experienced more Easterling aggression than anyone present. For years, the enemy both with and without Sauron’s endorsement had plagued Gondor.

“Sire,” he turned his gaze to the king. “For as long as we can remember, the Haradrim and the Easterlings had constantly waged war against Gondor. Whether it was at the insistence of Sauron or through their own auspices, they have made it clear that there will never be a peace so long as they are allowed to govern themselves. We have never pursued them back into their lands, we have never been strong enough. Not for many ages have we been allied together as strongly as we are now, we will neve have another opportunity and I fear if we do not take it, they will simply lick their wounds and return when their numbers have risen again.”

“I know,” Aragorn offered Imrahil a grateful smile. He knew all these things but he was not a warring man by nature and an offensive campaign was not a course he was comfortable with, no matter what the justification. “I have long attempted to avert this very situation from becoming a reality but I must concede that all your arguments have good weight and that they will never cease their attacks upon our lands unless we put a stop to it in theirs. Their leader has united them and has conspired with others in our lands to war against us in order to weaken our defences. We must show them the consequences of their actions.”

Aragorn paused a moment, drawing his breath because he had spent a great deal of time considering how they would proceed once this inevitable decision was made. “We will leave one third of our forces behind to bolster the defences of our cities. Master Gimli, are your people agreeable to aid Rohan and harbour some of the its people in case of an attack?”

“Most certainly,” Gimli replied boisterously. “There is plenty of room in Aglarond and if we have to, we can certainly repair the damage at the Hornburg and return it to its former strength.”

“Rohan thanks you,” Eomer said to him warmly.

“In addition,” Aragorn added. “Imlardis will despatch what warriors it can to defend your realm should the Dunlendings and the goblins attempt to attack Edoras again. That will leave the Westfold protected while the armies remaining here will protect Ithilien and Gondor. Faramir, it would be wise if you sent Eowyn to Minas Tirith as soon as she is fit to travel. Your women and children should move further away from the border. I do not think the enemy will attempt to attack once they learn that we are marching towards their lands but it is a wise precaution nevertheless.”

“It will be done,” Faramir nodded in agreement with all of Aragorn’s orders, particularly the suggestion that Eowyn should be sent to the White City. He knew she would protest this but he would have her there even if he were forced to send her there across the back of a horse, bound and gagged.

“The question now remains, in which direction do we go?” Aragorn eased back into his chair, waiting for the council to comment.

“We go to Harad,” Legolas declared without hesitation.

His response was unexpected for they were all certain that he would have preferred to pursue the Easterlings into their homeland in vengeance for what they had done to Melia and the elves of Eden Ardhon. Legolas was well aware of all eyes upon him and supposed that they could not be blamed for their surprise. After all, his actions of late had done nothing to disprove their belief that the elves were waging a very different kind even if they were allies in this conflict. However, Legolas’ desire for justice did not blind him to the fact that it was war they were fighting and their strategy had to be based on expediency not emotion.

“You were right,” Legolas explained himself as his eyes met Aragorn’s. “Their leader is among the Haradrim. If we can defeat them, we will show our enemies at home that their allies in the south are not as strong as they believed and it would be wise to desist in any further provocative action. The Easterlings look to Harad for their instructions, without it they are leaderless and divided. We can deal with them at a later time. I say that it is at Harad that we first strike.”

“He makes a good point,” Gimli remarked in agreement. “We should cut off the beast’s head and watch the rest of it flounder.”

“Are we in agreement of this?” Aragorn stared at the face around him and saw grim approval in their eyes. What lay before them was a campaign that would take them into unfamiliar territory and separate them from their loved ones for many months, if not years. However, it had to be done. Too much blood had been split, to many lives left in ruin because of the enemy’s refusal to believe that peaceful coexistence was possible.

“Yes,” came a chorus of unanimous replies, leaving no question about the course they were agreeing to take.

For so long Aragorn had tried to avert this. Since becoming king, Aragorn had sought to reconcile the races of men and mend the wounds that had kept them at war for so many years. He had made gestures and attempts at goodwill and the outcome of all that effort was to have the Confederacy raising enemies on the borders of everyone of his allies. Innocents had been murdered and people close to his heart had been brutalized and hurt. No more.

There was a time for peace and time to fight. They were beyond even that now.

Legolas was right in what he had told the Haradrim king. They were coming and nothing was going to stop them.

The enemy had wanted war, what it would receive would be annihiliation.

THE END FOR NOW.

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