Tom
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Thorongils Journey to the SouthA short fanfiction written about Aragorn IIs dealings in the south where he often helped the men of gondor under the guise of Thorongil.
I still plan on continuing this so gimme some thoughts and feedback.
The wind ripped the boats forward across the sky blue sea, its white sails bellowing as it brought the ship and its crew forth to their destination, Aragorn looked up as his hair and cloak tugged his head backwards as he faced against the direction of the wind, it whipped against his face like that of a troll being whipped into a frenzy before battle where its next to unstoppable power was unleashed on friend and foe, and yet non was spared pain either being crushed to death or ripped apart in the beasts hands, he had seen to many examples of that before hand, and yet that was the only positive thing about this day it seemed, well he certainly hoped non of the places he was going to raid with what few men the steward of Gondor granted him for such a mission had a troll. Then suddenly their was a whisper in the wind and Aragorn, or Thorongil as he was known to the men of these parts turned his head forward and suddenly he lost his footing as he fell against the portside of the ship, it seemed to rock uncontrollably for a moment like a wild stallion trying to rid itself of an unwelcome rider, as the crew attempted to regain control, then it happened again but this time the ship almost toppled over, and again Aragorn had failed to see what had caused this ruckus until now as he saw one of the other boats in the small fleet smashed asunder by a large boulder the size of a small room, its crew jumping as water flooded the small vessel, some of the unlucky ones would drown under the restraints of their cumbersome armour that was supposed to save them from battle inflicted wounds but it seemed it couldn't save them against the unforgiving sea that would claim their bodies forever and to become servants of Ulmo for eternity until the breaking of the world.
And just as sudden as it started, the rocking of the boats ceased as the crew mustered an effort to correct their course, they must be to close to be bombarded by what crude methods they were using, more likely a catapult, as they came closer to reaching the docks Aragorn took forth from his sheath his sword, it was but half the length of him, and took a two strong arm's to wield it, let alone one as he brought it forth, light straying from its silver edge, it was a sword of fine craftsmanship, but nothing in comparison of a certain Dwarven sword many ages old, the contents of what was left of that fine sword rested in cloth wrapped around and hidden within his coat, he trust few with the knowledge of its existence and never brought it out, it was an heirloom passed down to him only through right alone, he did not earn it like his ancestor Elendil. Alas the ill deeds that had fallen upon the crew within their fine ships had ended as the ships docked and men poured forth to smite a city that wished Gondor ill and often housed pirates who scavenged and pillaged Gondors coastal cities, and leaving them in ruin, now it was time for Gondor to strike back, and defend its lands.
His feet touched the docks and he headed into a full sprint towards the pirates and various scum coming to meet the Gondorians, they clashed with fierce swings of their blades, the ringing of steel filling the air, as sword met sword, Thorongil had clashed with 3 foes thus far and bested them, even knocking one into the sea, he followed many battlefield philosophy's, kill and move on, and he did so till he met his fourth assailant, a young man, not yet come of age it seemed, it always pulled at his heart to kill someone pushed into serving, though he never felt this when it came to slaying Orcs, or the men of Rhun, but to take away life where their was barely any to begin with always felt wrong to him, he would always allow them to run, but they never did, their youthful spirits thinking they could beat a man such as himself, being youthful seemed to go in hand with death during the latter part of this age of middle earth, as the young mans Scimitar met Thorongils blade, again and again they repeated the same steps of this deadly dance, until Thorongil could spare him no more and with the slip of his blade he brought the mans life to an end as it came seeping through the slash in his neck and spilled against the wooden docks as Thorongil spared him one last glance and moved on, hoping he would not have to find a similar fight again today, if ever, but that was wishful thinking at the least during these dark times, where the darkness in the east moved without hesitation, killed without mercy, spared no one.
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