I Sit and Think of Times There Were Before by Erdariel  

As the years of my life grow few, I find myself looking back more and more often. I seek patterns, try to find some reason in why things befell as they did, and why I was given the part I played in them. Perhaps there is no reason, but I feel there must be and I cannot help but look for it, though others may see my search as nothing but folly or a touch of the madness of old age. Somehow I hope that writing this down might help me see the pattern at last.

I fought at the late king’s side in the war, for even when my father grew bitter and turned against him, my loyalty always belonged to the king, and he allowed me to remain with him even after the betrayal. I saw much during the war and did many things in defence of my king and my people. I cannot say I remember all of them with pride. I ohtar i arano, the esquire of the king, I know men call me now when they speak of the war, for my name matters less than my place in King Isildur’s service. I was named Zôrzagar by my mother who loved the tongue of Númenor, but the kings prefer the elven tongues to be spoken in their courts, and so Ruinamacil is the name I have worn for much of my life. But I doubt these names will outlive me by very long, though the tale of King Isildur’s esquire carrying the broken sword of Elendil out of the defeat at Gladden Fields to the hands of Valandil Isildur’s son may still be remembered for a time.

Isildur only called me Ohtar, too, that last time he spoke to me. That night is seared into my memory. More than any other event, it divides my life in two; there is a before and an after, irreconcilably different from each other.

I remember the look on his face when he told me to flee. I remember his words, and I do not know if I am resentful or grateful that he did not call me by my name. All the pain of that parting was disguised under an order by a lord to a soldier. If he had spoken longer or more gently, I do not know whether I would have had the strength to leave him. If he had spoken so, I do not know if he would have had the resolve to order me to flee. Yet at times I cannot help but feel bitter that those were his final words to me, as if all the years I spent at his side meant nothing. I wish he would have called me by name, that he would have thanked me for my faithfulness or reassured me of my courage.

In that moment I could do nothing but obey. I took Narsil and Gileinas took a bag of supplies from one of the packhorses, and we fled.

I remember wishing that I could look back. That I could see him once more, mighty and kingly and crowned with a star. I think in my heart I knew it was our last parting, though through all the long days that followed I hoped otherwise. I loved him both as his servant and his kinsman. I had devoted most of my adult life to him. I wanted to look back as I fled, to see him that one last time and let the sight reassure me. But I could not; I had to keep my mind on my task.

Part of my heart lies trodden to the grass of that battlefield.

We were not pursued as we fled. I do not know why. Perhaps the orcs trusted the watchers they had left on the west bank of the river to take care of anyone who might flee. Or perhaps some power of evil drew them to the king and those with him so that they cared for little else. Estelmo and I have since spent many hours together guessing at the meaning of what we heard and saw that night, but I am still not certain of much. I think Lord Elrond knows more than he says, but something has always held me back from asking him. There is a dread that raises its head alongside curiosity when the thought crosses my mind, warning me that the truth is something more terrible than I could bear.

Be that as it may, Gileinas and I fled fearing pursuit or arrows shot after us, but none came. The steep ground was treacherous and we stumbled often, but picked ourselves up and kept running. The sun was gone behind the clouds and gloomy twilight thickened around us. Far below us the Anduin cut the landscape in two with a purple-grey line. We made for it as directly as we could, but the direct way was often too steep and we were obliged to head somewhat northward.

Darkness fell before we made it to the bottom of the valley. We stopped there for a while, breathless, and leaned on each other to stay on our feet. I do not know how many miles we had covered, but neither of us felt that we were out of danger.

“We should keep going”, I said. “Let us continue northward until the night is through. Once it is light again, we can climb back out of the vale and make for the forest. If we are lucky, we might meet King Thranduil’s marchwardens and could wait with them for news of the others.”

“And if we are less lucky, orcs will find us long before then. How do you think that would go?” asked Gileinas. “Besides, the orcs came from the forest. If there are any servants of Thranduil in this region, they must have hidden themselves well from the orcs. I doubt we would find them in time.”

“What other option do we have? We cannot stay here all night either.”

“Cross the river. Then we can head north again and make for the road to Cirith Forn en Andrath. Even if the orcs cross the river after us, at least they cannot corner us against it with nowhere to escape as easily as now, and they will have to spend more time chasing us.”

“It will be a much harder trek north; there may not be any road we could use for most of it. We would also put ourselves out of the reach of any help until we reached Imladris. And how would we cross the river?” said I, though in truth the fear of the orcs was in me, and I already wanted to agree to Gileinas’ plan.

“By swimming, if we must. It will not be easy, but we have done harder things, you and I.”

I ran my fingers across the scratched leather of Narsil’s scabbard and stared into the night for a while. I could see very little, only the faintest gleam of water in the river and vague ghost-shapes of the rest of our surroundings. I did not want to linger in one place much longer. I liked the thought of having the river between the orcs and myself. And Gileinas was right; we had done harder things.

“Alright.”

“Stay here”, Gileinas said. “I will find a good place to get into the water.”

I did not want to be left alone there in the dark, but there was no sense in spending more time arguing. “Do not go too far. Come back soon”, I whispered.

His hand squeezed my shoulder. Then he was gone, a shadow among shadows, the grass rustling under his retreating footsteps.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed. I sat huddled half-under some bush. Dying leaves wavering in the wind that blew across the river from the southwest brushed my skin. The air was chill. I shivered. At any moment I expected to hear screams and the sound of a fight, but all was quiet.

At length I heard footsteps approaching. Only one set, treading carefully, not the stomping of orcs. I held my breath nonetheless, unable to relax until I heard the voice of Gileinas softly calling my name.

“Here”, I replied and stood up, reaching my hand out to seek him in the darkness. His groping hand met mine. I pulled him closer until we stood so near that I could feel the warmth of his body.

“I found something”, he whispered, sounding tense but satisfied. “Better than a place to swim across.”

I followed him as he searched for the place again. Some impulse made me lay my hand on his shoulder, to assure myself of his presence. Although I was no longer alone, the weight of the night pressing on me from all sides was almost too heavy to stand. When we had run, there had been no time or room to notice it, but now I had been still for too long and had had time to think, and I was all too aware of how small we were in the midst of the vast darkness. Gileinas went half-crouched, feeling his way with his hand. The reeds and rushes grew taller than us at our side, hissing in the wind. The old grass rustled underfoot.

I sensed more than saw a gap in the rushes when we came to it. Gileinas halted, caught my hand, and brought it down near to the ground. I felt rough wood under my fingers, and slowly my eyes began to make out the shape of a raft drawn up to the riverbank.

“Orc-make”, I whispered.

“Some of them must have crossed the river with this”, Gileinas agreed. “But it can get us across just as well.”

In any other circumstances I would not have trusted a thing made by orcs, but crossing the river by raft was preferable to swimming. And if the raft had carried a dozen orcs across without sinking, it ought to carry two men.

We pushed the raft into the water and got on, crouching low to its surface and trying to keep it from tipping. It was not made to be steered easily. We both were sweating by the time we were halfway across the river. The current was swift and strong and swept us a good way downstream despite our best efforts.

The raft was nearing the western bank when the clouds broke. From between their ragged edges the thin sliver of the waning moon shone down on us. I welcomed even that faint light, but my heart was chilled by what it showed me. On the riverbank, near to where our raft would land, I saw metal glint in the moonlight. Four orcs sat there, swords and bows near to hand.

They must not have been very alert or expecting any trouble. Evidently they had not seen us, or else they had taken our crouched forms upon the raft to be those of their fellow orcs. The wind, thankfully, blew in such a direction that they had not smelled us.

I tapped Gileinas on the hand and pointed the orcs out to him as subtly as I could. He nodded a little. We could not speak to make any plan and did not dare to gesture, either. All we could do was trust that we both thought the same thing.

I could see no way out but through. Even if we tried to turn now, we could not get out of the range of their bows before the orcs noticed that something was wrong. We held our course, paddling steadily toward the bank. I kept my crouched position, but I my body grow tense until it strained like a full-drawn bow waiting for the archer to take his shot.

The raft floated nearer and nearer to the bank. Finally one of the orcs raised his head and called out a lazy greeting. We were as good as caught then; if either Gileinas or I replied, our voices would reveal us for what we were, but our lack of reply was equally suspicious. Besides, the orc’s attention was on us then, and it did not take long for him to see that our armour was no kind of orc-gear.

Gileinas moved first, leaping like deer. He had no time to draw his long sword or even his eket, only his small knife, but he was a vicious fighter and at knife-range few were ever a match for him. He must have come upon one of the orcs before any of them could even cry out.

I drew my eket and moved, only a moment behind him. My leap was a little short and my back leg slid down the bank into the water, but Gileinas’ attack had cleared enough room that I could scramble back up. I swung the eket wildly, hoping more to ward off the orcs than to do much true harm. Once I felt the sword bite into flesh, but I do not know whether it killed or merely wounded.

I dashed forward the instant there was nothing blocking my way, then swerved to one side as soon as I thought I was out of the reach of any grasping hands. I ran into the night, weaving my steps like a drunkard to make myself a harder target for the archers. The cries of the orcs faded into the night behind me.

How long we ran I do not know. At first I was not even certain that Gileinas had survived. Words cannot describe my relief when I heard his running footsteps again. But there was no time to halt, no breath to spare for speech.

I only stopped when I heard Gileinas stumble and fall. I helped him to his feet. He was shaking and his breathing was ragged.

“Are you all right?” asked I.

“Yes”, he said between gasping breaths. “But I do not think I can go much further tonight. Ruinamacil, if you must leave me, do it.”

We both knew I had the endurance to keep going. Gileinas was hardy and clever and could survive much, but in a long race he would always fail before I did. He was not born as one of the Dúnedain, and in some things could never quite match us.

Gileinas was a name he adopted only after we first met, though it was the first name I knew him by. He told me once the name he had first been given, but said he had left it behind and that I should go on calling him Gileinas. In a way I suppose I understand; after my father's betrayal only Queen Varyandë ever called me Zôrzagar again, and since her death I have never wished to be called so. There is too large a confusion of emotions tied up with that name. I buried Gileinas’ old name with him and will not dig it back up, not even to write it down here.

Chapter End Notes

Gileinas is possibly janky (as in I'm not very good with the elvish languages and have a hard time telling if i've fucked something up or not) Eldamo-sourced Neo-Sindarin for "Star of Freedom", from the Sindarin "gil" for star, and "leinas" which Eldamo's Neo-Sindarin list gives for "freedom"

Ruinamacil is Quenya for "fiery sword". Zôrzagar is as near as I can get to the same meaning in Adûnaic, constructed with the help of Kimikocha's Adûnaic name spreadhseet

I hope you liked the fic so far, and hope you'll like the rest of it, whenever I get the rest wrangled into something I can post!

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