The Sons of Elendil- Night of the Barrow-Wights
Fornost was lost. They came unexpectedly in a storm and none could have predicted the outcome. Led by the wizard gandalf, a few brave men faced a horde, as the gate was torn down, they took many with them but soon only the wizard and his trusted friend Beleg were left, desperately hiding in the ruins, the rank scent of orcs surrounding them.
"Beleg.... I can hold them for a little yet, but even now I feel my life is fading... Aragorn must be warned, the Shadow has risen far sooner than we thought. As things are.. Rohan will fall. The White City is already in the hands of the Enemy, tell Aragorn his time must come now, he must take up the sceptre, this land must once more shine forth against the darkness before all is lost!"
"Mithrandir please.."
"Take my horse! He will carry you far! Tell Aragorn... the Sunset Tower must rise once more...Annuminas, it must be rebuilt, Arnor must rise from the ashes and save this world!"
The door gave a tremendous crash and the snarls of the orcs made it clear that this haven would soon be perilous.
"Go. there is an ancient tunnel behind the stairs, I will cover your retreat, my horse is at the end. Go!"
"Gandalf..." Beleg was on the verge of tears.
"GO!!"
He was away. As the door finally gave in, and a myriad of dark shapes spilled through.
"Come on then"
They engulfed him. Mithrandir was no more.
The Oath of Amon Sul
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Three long years had passed. Many brave sons of dead fathers had bravely sacrificed themselves for this one day of peace. The bitter northern wind was hard enough to scrape the skin from men's bones. But not these men. They were the Fathers of Men, the bravest and wisest in all Middle Earth. When most were near death these were just out of childhood, Dunedain, known as Rangers of the North. So few were here but this was a gathering such as had not been for centuries. Every man wore a tiny silver star on his cloak, each carried a bow and sword, every woman and child was tense with excitement. Torches banished the darkness and the air was filled the scent of something.. old. No, something ancient. An idea that had not even been thought let alone spoken was firing from mind to mind like liquid lightning. One man came apart from the rest. He looked no different but there was something about the way he stood, his gaze wasn't met by the women and only a few of the men in that company called him by his name. The rest began to call him Khor, lord. Braver still, others gave him a higher title...
He stood on the highest point of the ruins. Only seven feet up but enough to address the few hundred there.
"My friends. My brothers. For all of you here are kindred to me. You have all fought as I have fought, struggled with me, been wounded and healed by the same hands. Avenged.... the same losses, suffered what all our people suffer still!"
At this there was a hush. Painful memories were almost audible in the silence.
"And I am certain you have all heard of our brothers in the South, of the endless assaults from Mordor and the Haraddrim! They have been pushed back to the stronghold Of Tarnost, and Rohan, Rohan stands on the brink. My brothers, we all know what this land was once, we all KNOW what will happen to the free Kingdoms if we do not do what must be done!"
"But Aragorn, we number so few! The past is the past! What you are suggesting is impossible!"
"WHO SAID THAT!? SHOW YOUR FACE!"
The speaker came out and pulled down his hood.
"Halbarad.. please, if you just-"
"Forget it Aragorn. The past is gone. This land is a ruin now. Our people are too few and too scattered to do much more than cut our losses and lie low. We can continue to delay the inevitable but sooner or later.... Arnor won't even be a memory."
He said it at last. Aragorn smiled.
"Do you remember, Halbarad, how the Kingdoms in Exile came to be? Seven ships, tossed and spiralling from the strongest wave in recorded time. Only Four of those landed here, one of those only a few leagues from this very place. You say we are few, but how many quiet little villages have you seen tucked away in the corners of this sleeping land? I can count at least nineteen in Breeland alone. In every forest, in every cave, anywhere were they are out of sight our people are hiding. Most can't even remember who they are. Long-unused blades rust on the fireplace while spears and arrows and lives fend off wolves and raiders! Yes, we are fading, Halbarad. But only because we are no longer united. Anumminas has decayed for too long. It is little better than a hamlet now, when once it was the Sunset City. We will rebuild it. The lands of Rhudaur and Cardolan lay in the hands of orcs and monsters. We will reclaim them! The House of Elendil is lost. We WILL FIND IT ONCE MORE!"
Halbarad was silent. His usual scowl had turned to a gentle grin. He had hope once more.
"To the North, an old enemy is sturring. The evil fortress of Carn Dum is being rebuilt. Brick by brick, bastion by rampart our ruin is being reborn. I ride to Breeland, to the Lake, to the Shire, even, for the little-folk too must help us. We must raise an army to strike down our destroyers before they can strike us. Then, we have a Kingdom to rebuild."
One who had been long silent stirred and raised his head. He was young for a soldier of the Dunedain. But he had seen much violence. His face was blighted with the scars of sword and arrow-wounds, his facial hair and skin damaged by fire. Handsome and noble though his bearing was, it was terrible to see so much suffering all in one person.
"For Arnor" said Beleg.
Aragorn turned in surprise to his young battle-brother.
"For Arnor"
"For Arnor!
"FOR ARNOR!" The cry spilled out into the night, growing in confidence and voices, even as the Rangers rode off in every direction, and the few remained around the warmth of the campfire, the feeling only grew, not faded. It had been said at last! It was a sign, for certain. No longer would they be outlaws in their own lands, the King had taken up his mantle and the greatest struggle was about to begin.
"So... what do we do first?"
"We ride to the Blue Mountains. We're not the only ones who hate the Orcs of Angmar."
The Fuel is Gathered
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Throughout the lands of Eriador many quiet meetings took place. Here, there and everywhere strange figures rode through the wilderness, searching for small huts and cottages hidden in the woods and brooks and caves. Birthmarks found, heirlooms discovered and explained, promises made. The villages vanished, one by one. More and more families wandered northwards to a lakeside ruin. The foundations were overgrown with weeds and heather. For the first month or so, the settlers cleared away as much as they could, until the 5th of May, when all that was left were the bare stones of the old city. Then wood was brought in, floating down the Brandywine river from newly cut acres of the Old Forest east of the Shire. By midsummer all the new families had homes, and a great wall was begun, temporary it may have been but it was clearly meant to inspire awe nonetheless; five feet wide, twelve feet tall, banked earth held in place by wooden supports and set with gateways of polished stone and oak, running for four and a half square miles, it enclosed all of the original site. The message was clear, Aragorn intended that soon it would all be filled.
During that year Estel was busy. He rode north, to the blue mountains and the seat of Gloin, near the ancient city of Belegost, long since abandoned. He was welcomed warmly; he had long fought with Gloin's son Gimli in the ettenmoors. His proposal, then, was not unexpected.
"I propose that our two peoples join in an alliance for the purpose of ridding the Mountains of Angmar and the Grey Mountains of every trace of Orcish settlement, and from there move to reclaim the great city of Khazad-Dum and the other mines of the Misty Mountains."
"Are you serious, Strider? In the ruins of Carn-Dum alone there must be at least five thousand orcs. Not to mention in the surrounding land, or the great Hive in Gundabad! I have barely recovered, even now, the losses of the Great War between those folk and mine, and that was nearly two hundred years past! The orcs may be fewer now but so are mine, how can I risk open war?"
"Because my dear Lord Gloin, you will have nearly 400 Rangers at your side, not to mention nearly one thousand militia volunteers"
"400? I had no idea there were so many Dunedain left north of the White Mountains"
"Well... I found them"
".... I still command my boys?"
"of course"
"...and you will include the other great Houses, you are serious in this campaign? This will be the end of the Northern Orcs?"
"As long as I live I will keep that promise."
Gloin took a long hard drag on his pipe, til the embers in the pot glowed near white. He blew out in one steady stream and kept Aragorn's gaze for a long, long time.
"When do we begin?"
Ashes of Glory
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Steward Boromir watched from the mighty walls of Tarnost, seething with indignity as the great line of refugees passed through the fortress into the safer lands beyond.
Cair Andros... that was where it all went wrong. He had personally taken a large part of the garrison, about three hundred men, to help relieve the siege of western Osgiliath. He was sure of victory but when he got there... the Orcs had vanished, and worse still he heard that an innumerable horde, the like that had not been seen for generations was tearing the island stronghold apart. three hundred men.. and himself. might have made a difference.
He stared into the middle distance, growling softly in stress.
Minas Tirith was desperately undermanned, only two hundred men under arms at most, the Rammas Echor were still being rebuilt and there was no chance of holding them. Boromir did what he could. The Rangers of Ithilien were called back, Osgiliath was abandoned, Pelennor evacuated.. he held them for as long as he could, but the price was heavy. Whilst the denizens of Minas Tirith ran for the mountains... the Steward did not. His final dispatch was for Boromir..
"We cannot hold this horde in Anorien. You must pull back until you can reach a defensible frontier, my suggestion is the River Gilrain. Tarnost is only a small castle but I have sent orders to the finest masons of Dol Amroth and its fortifications are being improved drastically, you should make your new capital there. Do not despair, Boromir, every shadow passes in the end, good luck my Son, Gondor's fate lies with you.
I will stay at Minas Tirith, whilst her position is now compromised it was my fault alone. I failed the White City and I will pay the price.
Tell your brother I am proud of you both"
Right there and then, Boromir wept. Denethor could not have known, but Faramir, his little brother, had been cut down by a swarm of trolls. He was alone. Mother, Father, Brother, all had crossed to where he could not follow.
The Flint is Struck
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Grathnar was feeling pretty good about himself. He'd just killed the last boss and taken the skull-throne of Gundabad for himself. He had told all the lads that it was hi time they took the lands to the south, from Fornost to Tharbad, they would wipe it away in a tide of fire and pillage and blood. All the loot, all the manflesh, all the glory would be theirs!
He led the largest host that he had ever known, the column stretched back into the horizon and beyond, across the great Bridge of the Freezing River, the border to the lands of Eriador and beyond...
If he had not been so preoccupied with his thoughts of riches and conquest, Granthar might have been more observant. For example, he would have noticed that the riverflow was rather sluggish, as if it was being dammed, and the patches of lightly disturbed ground beyond, not to mention the eerily quiet woodland both north and south of the river. But he did not, and when he heard a clear trumpet ring across the valley, it was too late. A great wall of water came racing down the riverbed, it broke the bridge and dragged many orcs to their death. The patches of ground sprang open, each contained several figures in dark cloaks, who began slicing the column apart with deadly arrowfire. Then, from the woods, bands of horsemen with chains and lances charged into the fray, supported by large groups of dwarvish axemen. Grathnar had played dead when he saw what was happening, and in the confusion slowly began to crawl away. He drew his blade when he saw no one was looking. But then a boot came down hard on his swordhand. He howled in pain and tried to wriggle free. He looked up into the cold eyes of his tormentor.
The man was young, that was clear. But his face was scarred and burnt from terrible battles long past. He looked at Grathnar with silent contempt and overwhelming, burning hatred.
".... Are you Grathnar?"
"Y....yes"
"You led the assault on Fornost. I was there. You took a dear friend from me. No, not a friend, he was more a father. He was there for me when everyone thought I was lost. Now I have no one because of you"
"P..pleasssse, don't kill me, I'll do anything, just spare my life!!"
"Very well. There is one thing that might make me show mercy. He had a ring. Set with a red ruby.Give it to me and I'll let you live"
Grathnar's face eased with relief. He fumbled in his pockets with his good hand, and held up the item. "Is this it?"
The man reached down and picked Grathnar up by his arm and throat, at arm's length. His strength intimidated the Goblin but he knew men kept their word and his safety was more or less assured.
"...Yes.... this is it"
"So, you'll let me go? You promised you would"
"No. I lied"
Grathnar's eyes bulged in shock. The man's hand moved from his wrist to the goblin-King's face, and tightened. For the first and last time, Grathnar realised just how strong these Dunedain really were. And as his vision blackened, he stared in horror into the eyes of the man who was crushing his lifeforce.
Grathnar writhed and feebly grasped for the man's throat, but his strength was gone. With a final spasm, he went limp, just as his skull shattered in a spray and black blood, brain and bone. The man dropped the corpse. Then he bent down and snapped the fingers locked around the ring, wiping it in the waters of the river to cleanse it.
"You are avenged. Rest well, Mithrandir." Beleg turned around without another glance, and drew his sword in a fluid motion, impaling a hill troll and cutting its throat with a dagger. The host of Gundabad were fleeing. In truth hardly any had been killed but after Beleg's terrifying display of brutality that didn't matter.
"So much work... still to be done"
"There will be much more, my friend" Halbarad reigned in beside Beleg, scanning the horizon, gesturing to his mounted comrades to run down the fleeing orcs, to get them before they could regroup.
Beleg drew his bow and fired, reloading and firing at the fleeing ghouls until his quiver was empty. His grief had ended long ago and now he felt hollow. The food he ate was ash, the breeland women he coupled with did not satisfy, he left feeling more hungry then when he came, and even the promise of refounding the lost Kingdom no longer made him truly happy. Beleg was only truly happy when he inflicted pain on helpless foes, when he made them feel as lost and alone and afraid as they had made him. He lived for war and death.
He picked up a hand axe held by a prone goblin, and flung it in a high arc, right into the centre of a mound of corpses. As if by chance, it hit a live target, another cowardly orc who had played dead. It howled in pain and groped for the heavy blade that had sunk into it's back, Beleg strolled over and looked down on the wretched figure.
"P..please.... end it!"
He held the axe handle and gently tugged. The orc screamed but the axe came loose. He then placed his foot firmly on it's chest, and re-drew his dagger.
"Oh, I'll end it. But you'll have to be patient. I take my time"
He reached down and slowly pushed the tip of the blade into the creature's groin, grinning like a jackal as it tried to get away, howling as the action only hurt it more. He then held his sword and daintily plucked out an eye, his smile only growing as it's cry of pain got louder and louder. Then it stopped. Quizzically, he looked down. An arrow had lodged in its throat, ending the orc's suffering. Beleg stood up and around in one motion, facing Aragorn.
"Why? I wasn't done"
he turned back to his quarry, picking up the axe he swung again and again at it's limp body, until black putrid gore clung to him and spilled over the ground. As the axe came up again Aragorn grabbed it and tugged back hard. As Beleg fell to the ground Aragorn fell with him, pinning him down as the young warrior howled and screamed with primal rage.
"That's enough Beleg! Save your strength! Save your rage! Many more of these monsters remain! Not only that but once we are done here many more battles await, and I can't let one of the finest warriors North of Greyflood burn himself out over a corpse!"
Beleg went limp. Then tears sprang from his eyes, he began to sob, his body shaking with despair.
"They took everyone from me Elessar... my sisters and my mother, my father... then Gandalf. He saved me when I went out alone into the wilderness... I was surrounded by wolves and he cut through to save me."
"Why did he do that?"
"What?"
"Why did he save you?" Aragorn's voice had softened, it was clear that he had been told about this before.
"He said... he said that even when we lose everyone we love, we can't give in to grief and throw our lives away. They all died that I might live. If I waste my life because I miss them too much, they died for naught. He taught me that it was better to hold their honour in life than give in and try to join them."
"Are you honouring your parents now? And your sisters? And Gandalf? What would they say if they saw you here? Now? Up to your elbows in the blood of a fallen enemy? ripping him apart like a starving dog?"
".... I'm sorry Aragorn. I'm just so empty"
"I know how you feel. I lost my parents, too. My father died when I was a baby, my mother not long after. Even though Elrond raised me it was never the same. But I didn't forget. Or forgive. Honestly, if it weren't for those losses, I would not be half the Ranger I am today."
"You... feel that rage too?"
"...Yes. All the time. The secret is to use it in the right way. Hatred can give you strength as much as love. But like love you must not let it blind you. We have to go into Angmar and beyond."
The Chieftain of the Dunedain held his hand out to the the young Ranger.
"Will you join me?"
With a smirk, Beleg clasped his hand, stood up and remounted his horse, following his King across the river...
The Nursery of a future Kingdom
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Centuries in the wilderness had made the few Dunedain strong. They did not understand at first but the high safe walls of Annuminas made it all too clear, for even the few meetings between man and wife in those busy years had many good outcomes. As it was, the streets of New Annuminas rang with the high and spirited voices of many children, lifting the hearts of that melancholy people. The future babbled in imitation of them, played games with them, learnt to fish and hunt on the banks of Nenuial... They will make good bowmen, Aragorn had told his sweetheart Miriel.
Aragorn had been sad to hear, but fearing for the safety of his only daughter, Elrond had sent Arwen to the Woodland Realm.
"The Shadow spreads Elessar... While what you are trying to achieve is brave, Arwen can have no part in it. Only the King of Gondor and Arnor can claim her hand, and the South-Kingdom stands on the brink. I do not want to hurt you, child. But you must find love elsewhere."
And he did. Miriel was young and strong, they named their firstborn son Arassuil, after the Chieftain who last fought so strongly against the Orcs of the Misty Mountains. He grew fast, one day one of the little girls, Hildarith, made him a ringlet of daisies, which the boy wore though with an air of embarrassment. It was the day the army was set to march against the remnants of Angmar.
You may wear a ring of flowers now, thought Elessar. But soon, my boy, you shall stand tall under the crown of the North!
Concerning the White Wizard
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Some time ago, before Fornost was besieged.
The tower of Orthanc stood proud and sharp, piercing the sky. Within the Istari Saruman feverishly waved his hands over his Palantir, his eyes locked on it with furious determination.
He saw the island keep of Cair Andros fall. He had never suspected Sauron to have such forces this late, and as he gazed into Ithilien... and beyond... how could he resist this power? without Gondor defending the lower estuary of the Anduin, all of the West was incredibly vulnerable to the Dark Lord. Saruman began to despair. He pondered for some time, sat in his high black chair, drawing intermittently on his pipe, browsing on scroll after scroll of ancient documents. He took out his quill and some parchment, he wrote;
"My Dearest friend, Gandalf.
No doubt you have heard of the troubles facing Gondor. The frontier is breached, Anorien has fallen to the enemy and the dunedain flee for safer lands. This is most inconvenient for us; Rohan is now exposed as well, if they fall then the Enemy has a clear run to the Gladden Fields. He knows that is where the One was last known to be, and if he can send His agents there he will probably find it. I need you to help me, you must find another Palantir, one was held at Fornost, no doubt somewhere in the catacombs beneath you will find a trail. Please, I emplore you to do what you can to help the Northern Dunedain. No doubt a time will come when the lands of Eriador must be better prepared for war. It has been too long that they wander here and there like wild animals. It is uncivilised, and not befitting those of such noble origin.
We must find the Ring. If we do not, the Enemy will, and if he does, we are doomed. Find Strider. The Rangers listen to him, I know well enough.
He folded the letter and sealed it in wax.
"Erkan, you must take this to Gandalf in all haste, from what I know he is either in Bree or somewhere in the Shire"
"At once, my Lord."
Two Months pass.
Saruman had visibly aged. What few wisps of black hair remained had been bleached white, his wrinkles were deeper and he could barely hold himself upright. So, Boromir was rallying his people at Tarnost. fair enough; Gilrain ran deep and fast, near to Dol Amroth it was a wise position to fall back to.
As for Rohan... Thengel put up the best resistance he could, Saruman gave him counsel for the future-Theoden led as many of his folk as he could, perhaps a few score thousand at most, through the Paths of the Dead.. a harrowing thought that some who were so young would have to face those horrors.. but even the Dead took pity on the helpless. They got through, frightened but unharmed. As for Thengel, he held the swarms of orcs for as long as he could, charging them at dawn and riding off into the hills, his men ambushed them in the forests and the Druedain played a crucial role. But it was hopeless. Rohan was now overrun, a land of burning fields and horror unimaginable. Until one saw Anorien, of course. Sooner or later, all of Middle Earth would fall under the Eye. Without his noticing, Saruman's will, considerable as it was, was being eroded. Then he heard a knock on the outer wall. A messenger came, a tall rider with a grey cloak. What would a Ranger have to say to him?
"What do you want, my man?"
"Curunir...I do not know how to tell you this... but Gandalf is dead. He fell defending the ruins or Fornost from the Orcs of Angmar."
Saruman's face darkened with quiet fury. He turned around, to the Palantir. It was filled with a vicious red glow.
"That... will be all." "Of course my Lord, thank you" The Ranger left.
Saruman walked up to the stone, his eyes locked on the cruel gaze that shone out.
"To think... I was so close to falling for your game. I sit in this tower, I scheme and plot and think myself so wise... but you blinded my with this...this toy! I thought so much about the Ring, I failed in all else! Do you know what? I was looking for it, I wanted to claim it as my own, I actually began to ADMIRE YOU! You lied to me through the stone! You used it to keep me out of the way, maybe even seduce me to your service... well... YOU FAILED!"
In one motion, Saruman aimed his staff at the stone, it rose, faster and faster until it reached the roof, where it shattered into countless points of light.
Saruman strode out of the tower, he donned his travelling cloak. He had been idle for too long. He looked out at the lands of Orthanc. One of his guards came to him, and nodded in fealty.
"My Lord.... Rohirrim have gathered outside the Wall."
"How many?"
"I'm not sure my Lord... perhaps several hundred, but more keep coming, what is your will?"
"You are to take them in, take care of them but see that they are not idle; they have seen much that will have upset them and such minds must be occupied. Wait for my return. There is much I must do"
Night of the Barrow-Wights
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:It was decided that the best course of action,to secure the realm before the Enemy could gather his servants against them, was to split the army of the North and attack on multiple fronts; Aragorn and Gloin would take the first and largest part of this great company, perhaps in total nearly two thousand dwarves and men under arms, due to the great slaughter that had been achieved during the war of the Dwarves and Orcs, and later the Battle of the Five Armies it was felt that such a company would be more than sufficient to completely clean out the orc-nests of the Mountains. The second company marched under Halbarad, to him was given a force of around eight hundred men, a full quarter were Rangers and they would march south into the lands of Cardolan. The final body of the North was little more than a band; 50 or so rangers mounted on fleet-footed horses, led by Beleg. He had been given clear instructions by Aragorn and rode out from Amon Sul, into the eastlands of Rhudaur.
Halbarad rode forth from Bree on the first day of spring in the year 2992 of the Third Age, and on the first night camped at the foot of the Barrow-downs. His captains grumbled and made clear their apprehension to tarry near such a place.
"I understand your concerns, for the Witch-King's ghouls made the Downs a place of evil, but we will press on in the morning. We are not too close to the barrows, and can rest easy knowing that they will not disturb us so far from their graves"
The men said nothing, but the sense of unease still endured.
In the morning, Halbarad was woken by screams and the clattering of pots and helms. It was dark, but he had spent many nights in the darkness and could see well enough. He opened his tent and made for the source of the din. One of the tents had been forcefully opened, the flap ripped away as if by some bear. Inside was a sight that chilled his bones. The canvas walls were smeared in blood, spears had been lodged into the ground, one where each man had slept. On the points, slack jawed, tongues and eyes lolling, rested the heads of five brave men.
Outside the poor Bree-men gestured frantically to ward off the evil eye, they ran as if demented, or just sat on the ground and howled in despair. Calmly, Halbarad took a torch and set the tent ablaze. The men stopped howling.
"We have lost five good men and all you can do is bawl like children! For shame!
We came here to conquer this land, all of it. Even the Barrow Downs. I for one was expecting that some of us will not live to see Cardolan purged of evil, but it is a solemn thing we do. I knew some of these men; Tom Ferny, Richard Goatleaf and Harry Butterbur. No doubt many of you knew them as well. And you know what will happen if we leave their bodies in the hands of Wights?"
Oh yes, they knew.
"I do not order you all to accompany me on this task, for no doubt the risk is great and we cannot lose many lives so soon in our journey, but who will come with me, to find these poor men's bodies, and clean the downs of these accursed monsters once and for all!?"
In all, a hundred men with twenty rangers among them agreed to help Halbarad.
"Very well, we move at dawn, when the Wights will be going back to their graves, the rest of you, make for the pass of Andrath, we will meet you there"
Dawn came far too quickly, the weak light only made the haunted hills more eerie, as it illuminated the mist with a dull glow. As they rode on the mist only thickened, and soon their progress became hampered, though by what they could not see. Eventually, Halbarad became sufficiently concerned to order a halt, but by then it was too late. The fog thickened suddenly, the light faded, and disquieting shapes rose from the ground.
"Remember lads, they're just ghosts, fear is their weapon. Resolve is yours. These blades are blessed by Elrond himself, we'll cut 'em all down!"
With that, the Wights pounced.
Long-lost Friends
Beleg stopped as he crested the final hill beyond Weather-Top. So here it was... Rhudaur, the Eastern Forests. An ill fitting name indeed, it was mostly rain-soaked moor now, only the Trollshaws beyond Loudwater had any serious woodishness about them; from the Angle to Ettenmoors, from the Weatherhills to Loudwater, the place was a barren, dreary, forsaken and desolate place. Why the hell did Aragorn want it? Why did he send him to this place with barely an honour-guard under his command?
Some would suspect that they were being put to one side, kept busy where they could do no harm, some would be insulted and driven to hatred by such feelings. But Beleg did not, for all his bloodlust and battle-rage, he was not easily angered and had long ago realised why he had so few men under his command. He was not here to conquer, he was not here to use force. But Aragorn had not told him what he wanted him to achieve... this was a test, he needed to watch, to listen and only act when he was absolutely sure as to what he needed to do.
"Ride on, we make for the Angle"
The Dunedain had been driven from Rhudaur long ago. But they came back, there was one place they clung on to the wildest province of their former kingdom with grim hope, and between Loudwater and Hoarwell, the land known as the Angle, there was the place Aragorn wanted Beleg to take his fifty riders. It must be
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Re: The Sons of Elendil
You write well, as soon as I can I'll give you +rep!
Originally Posted by Erebus26
, don't forgot to announce each part sirfiggin, or I'll have to do it
