Brothers In Arms: A Middle Earth Story

Chapter 7: The Bridge of Cair Sirion

The company's flight led us deeper into the bowels of the city, the stench of death rank in the air. Thorondir's passing still hadn't fully registered in my mind, for it had been far too sudden. I could still see his blood-stained grin etched into my memory, but I couldn't afford to let it distract me.

We plunged ever further into the growing darkness, the shouts of the Haradrim soon fading into a tense silence that was only occasionally broken by our heavy breathing.

Uirion was the first to speak. "We're in the black market."

I glanced around, taking in our surroundings. Though dark, I could see overturned stalls, many of them stained with dried blood. A struggle had taken place here.

"We shouldn't linger here," Eradan breathed as he rested a hand upon his sheathed blade, his voice filled with thinly veiled fear.

I agreed. Something felt wrong.

As we passed the ghostly doors and empty windows of houses and shops, the silence that followed in our train grew nearly unbearable. Normally, I imagined, Thorondir would make a witty remark or clever quip about the state of the city, but his absence was a void that could not be filled by any in the company.

Every now and again I heard what sounded like the patter of bare footsteps on the cold pavestones around us, but they were so light and so infrequent that I dismissed them. Perhaps they were merely the wet steps of an oversized rat, or a stray dog, or perhaps they were echoes of the feet that had once trodden in this city. Nothing more.

"Uirion," I said, wincing as my raspy voice cut the silence like a newly whetted sword against flesh. "Scout ahead. No point in us traveling further until we know where we're going."

The older man nodded briefly to each of us in turn before quickly slinking off into the shadows like a cat.

"The rest of us will search the ruins for survivors. Stay close..." I glanced furtively at the walls that wound around the outskirts of the market village. "They're likely still searching for us."

Ohtar drew closer to me, speaking in a low voice that the others couldn't hear. "You're blaming yourself for Thorondir, aren't ya?"

I turned away, ignoring him as I began to make my way to an open doorway. His large hand on my shoulder stopped me. "You shouldn't be."

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at the large brigand. "What would you know of it? I sent that boy to his death, all over a foolish argument. I should've stayed with him to the last, as a good captain would do."

"And leave the rest of us to our fates? That, Turin, would have been a true shirking of duty. You did the best thing you could have, given the circumstances. To linger in that moment will only lead us to more doom and sorrow." Ohtar's grip tightened on my shoulder and I relented, my expression softening.

"What would you have me do, then? Forget that his death ever happened? That it wasn't the result of my orders?" We both paused as Aerel passed by, giving us a gentle smile before continuing into the house in front of us.

"Learn from it," Ohtar replied, his tone intense. "Listen to your soldiers, but ultimately that final decision lies with you." We made our way into the house, brushing away cobwebs and ash as we surveyed the interior. "I lead men, once. Not proper soldiers, mind ya. Bandits. Highwaymen and cutthroats, men that'd just as soon stab ya in the back as look at ya. We were holed up at Dead Lord's Vale, just up the road from Osgiliath. Made our living by preyin' on the helpless, mostly. But times changed, and we eventually took to waylaying Haradrim bringing tribute up the road.

"It was pouring rain on the day we decided to attack a group of Southrons traveling south back to their homes. We figured it'd be another easy raid; Why wouldn't it? They had just returned from war and were weary and careless. Or so we thought.