Chapter 14
The Beginning Of The End
Merendir, dazed and nauseous, was taken into the hall of the keep which was a scene of chaos, for there were only a handful of men in the garrison with any skill in leechcraft and many wounded and dying men to tend to, with more being brought in all the time. Seeing the plight of those within Merendir refused to distract those tending the wounded from their task, and pleaded with his nephew to simply be allowed to lie down for a while out of the way. "This is but a scratch and is of no import, there is far more important work to be done here" he muttered, before doubling over and retching on the flagstones, and his nephew complied, handing him over to the care of old Vardamir. His former adjutant took him to the commander's apartment and stripped him of his gear and bathed his wounds, clucking like an old mother hen over his returned former master as he did so. In his weakened state Merendir found it a comfort to find himself back in familiar surroundings and company, and was soon sound asleep in what had been his own cot for so many years.
He slept well into the next day and awoke groggy and filled with guilt at having abandoned his duty to others, for there was always much to be done in the aftermath of a great battle. He called for Vardamir, who responded with alacrity, delighted to be able to serve his old master once again. He brought him a plain breakfast which was devoured hungrily and then he accepted the old man's aid in dressing and putting his gear back on. He was still a little unsteady on his feet and his head was pounding but it was not enough to prevent him resuming his command, and he asked Vardamir to summon Amarion, Amdir and Durthor and tell them that he was back on his feet and wished to see them and hear their reports at the earliest opportunity.
The three men soon arrived, full of concern as to his condition and from their expressions not wholly convinced that he was quite as well as he claimed, for some fresh blood had begin to seep through the bandage that was wrapped around his forehead. He seated himself and asked them to follow suit and then listened as they gave their reports. It seemed by all accounts that they had enjoyed a resounding victory the previous day and their losses had been mercifully light, less than three hundred dead and the same number wounded to varying degrees. This was better than Merendir could have hoped for, and reflected well on the battle plan Amdir had drawn up. He made a mental note to make sure that the King should learn where the credit for the victory lay, and to Amarion also for his bold and decisive stroke in sallying so soon after having been on the verge of being overwhelmed. The losses of the enemy had been tremendous in the end, and perhaps half of their number had escaped the onslaught of the horsemen, the battle soon having turned into a rout. Contrary to normal custom Amdir had given the order to leave the dead of the enemy where they lay, to act as a stern warning to the host that would surely soon follow them. Merendir had no hesitation in endorsing his decision, for it would also save a great deal of labour which would be better deployed to the honourable burial of their own fallen and the preparations for the abandonment of the fortress.
Afterwards he went with them among the wounded, and offered what comfort he could to those who were dying, the belated performance of a difficult task that he had never shirked from after a fight. He was also happily reunited with Duvanien, who had been found unscathed grazing peacefully amongst the carnage of the battlefield, and he was greatly relieved to find her well and whole. She had proved herself the equal of any stallion and performed flawlessly unto the end of her strength in battle, for he did not hold her to be at fault for the stumble which had unseated him. She nickered when she saw him and he made a fuss of her, scratching her neck and rubbing her nose gently with his fingers. "So we both live to fight another day my girl" he told her quietly "let us hope that the next fight we face will turn out the same". His reverie was disturbed by the sound of a rider approaching, and he looked up to see the new arrival halt before Amdir who was waiting nearby and salute in customary fashion. The rider was young but of proud bearing, and Merendir thought there was something familiar about him. He listened as the youth, who had been out patrolling with his squad began to give his report, and on hearing him speak realised with a jolt who he was, for it was none other than Prince Araphor, serving in the garb of an ordinary soldier. When he had finished Amdir thanked him, saluted in turn and sent him on his way, and the prince acknowledged them both before turning his mount and riding off. "Yes it is he" said Amdir, realising that Merendir had recognised him. "His father deemed that the time was ripe for him to see battle despite his tender years, and although I kept him close by me in the fray I need have had no fear on his account, for he is skilled in arms and more than held his own. Better still he listens, watches and learns, and shows none of the impatience that marred his father's character in his youth". They both smiled, remembering. "The future of the kingdom of Arnor is in good hands I think".
The following morning Merendir rode out of the fortress for the last time and joined the long slow moving column of wains, horses and men on foot as they began the journey back to Amon Sul. Behind him upon the hill flames were beginning to leap up from the roofs and towers that had been his home and life for so long, and a thick column of black smoke was rising rapidly into another flawless morning sky. Durthor was at his side, his weathered features grim and impassive. "So here we are again, you and I, just as we were before the last great battle sixty years ago" remarked Merendir, remembering, and feeling suddenly old and weary. "It seems to me almost that the years that lie between, and all our hopes and toils were in vain". But his faithful captain was not downcast. " My Lord, it may seem so, but just as we did back then we will return, rebuild and make this fortress strong again". Merendir found himself abashed by his old friend's reply, and did not speak, but simply acknowledged his words with a stern nod. All about them as they rode along lay the dead of the enemy, and the flies were already busy about their work, rising in clouds as they passed. The stench of death was overpowering, but the riders and their mounts we untroubled by it.
Two days later, with the sun already low in the west Merendir and Amdir led their column of men and horses into the encampment at the foot of Amon Sul to a joyful but restrained welcome, for though it had been a resounding victory all knew it to be little more than a first skirmish in the great fight that was still to come. The camp had grown in their absence, for Denethor and the remainder of the men of northern Cardolan had arrived and he was there at the King's side to welcome them back. Afterwards they rode up to the fortress with the other lords and captains, and after eating a good meal gathered in the tower to attend the King's council. When all was ready he rose to his feet and began to speak, showing no outward sign of the doubt or despair that Merendir had found so troubling only a few days before. "We thank you all for attending on us, and welcome our brothers from Cardolan, Prince Merendir, Lord Denethor and of course Prince Amarion. In the days to come our numbers will be swelled by other arrivals and these councils will allow us to share important news and prepare our battle plans. Firstly however praise and thanks are due to all those who took part in the recent battle at Amon Perin, and were victorious against much greater numbers. Prince Merendir, I would hear your account of the battle and your thoughts on the enemy we will soon all face?" Merendir nodded, rose to his feet and in well practiced fashion laid out the facts of the encounter and the conclusions that could be drawn from it. He also took the opportunity to credit Amdir for his well executed battle plan and his nephew Amarion for the brave and well timed sortie that had helped break the enemy's will, and was pleased to see the King acknowledge them both as he did so. The enemy had miscalculated, and had not expected to meet such a large number of riders in open country, for it was Merendir's opinion that those who had been sent had come in a serious attempt on the enemy's part to take the fortress. They had been disciplined and well equipped for the most part, fighting bravely while they could, not merely a rabble to be expended to test their strength. But it would be numbers that would count in the test that lay ahead, and any success might depend on how they could best deploy their cavalry. Arveleg nodded and thanked him, and Merendir knew that he must already have been aware of much of what he had reported through the stone. Rising once again to his feet the king spoke gravely. "Now I must announce the news that we have all known must come, for the enemy began to cross the river today and I estimate that we will face battle within ten days against a force at least twice the size of our own. Amdirion and the host of Arthedain will arrive tomorrow or the day after at the latest, and the men of southern Cardolan have reached the pass of Andrath today, so they will reach us in time, all being well. Of the elves however there is no news for the sight of the stone fades beyond the Emyn Beraid, but even if they have received our plea for aid and marched promptly I fear we must make our plans without them, for there cannot now be any hope of them reaching us in time. It seems this battle will be fought by men alone".
As the King had predicted the main host of Arthedain began to arrive the following day, with their elvish looking Captain General Amdirion at their head. They were a truly magnificent sight as they marched into the camp, far more splendid than anything Cardolan had ever put in the field. The sight of them stirred the spirit and gave the men renewed hope, for whilst the enemy might outnumber them they could never hope to match their strength, discipline or skill. Now barring the remainder of his own host who still marched the gathering of the host of Arnor was complete and that evening Merendir found himself looking down from the ramparts of Amon Sul upon an encampment that resembled a small city, spread out in its well ordered ranks out over the plain to the south of the road. It put him in mind of the time before the last great battle, for it had been the same then, and this encampment was no less extensive. Once again he found himself contemplating the course of fate that had seemingly brought him back to the same point, and despite his determination to remain hopeful he remembered how the first battle had ended in the death of the king and a defeat. Afterwards a good part of their forces had retreated to the tower and the other hilltop forts, but the rest including he and his men had been driven back along the east road towards Bree. Arveleg had been with them then and in the days that followed he had showed his worth as heir to the kingdom, unaware that his father had been slain by a stray arrow. The arrival of Cirdan and the elves had allowed them to mount a relief and they eventually drove the enemy back from the hills in a glorious rout. But now, fewer in number and with no hope of the Eldar arriving in time what would be their fate? For a few moments the icy foreboding he had felt before gripped him again and it was a while before he was able to regain his composure. It was a thing that troubled him deeply, for he had never been prone to such doubt or fear before.
If the King was still similarly troubled he did not show it, and in the days that followed remained calm and measured as he reported the progress of the enemy host at the evening councils. They were covering perhaps four or five leagues a day as they came west which meant that they would arrive at the beginning of the second week in May. The southern host of Cardolan, led by his brother Durchon were still reportedly making good progress and had now passed Bree, but their arriving in time would be a close run thing and it was likely they would have little time to recover from their long march before being pressed into battle. The stone had revealed a further small host marching north on the road south of the Andrath, only six or seven hundred strong, but Merendir's heart was gladdened when he learned of it. They could only be from Tharbad, having heeded the call of their kinsmen to aid them in time of need, and Merendir was glad he had thought to sent a messenger there. Although they would not arrive in time for the battle or have been sufficiently numerous to have made a difference even if they had, it was still a sign that a rapprochement with their southern neighbour might now be possible. He knew that his astute and thoughtful brother Maenir would make the most of any such opportunity. Bringing him to mind made him realise that it was time to write his brother another report and perhaps to send another message to Ivrien too, as there might not be many more opportunities to do so. The camp was now a scene of feverish activity from dawn till dusk as men prepared, drilled and practiced for what lay ahead and Merendir spent his days overseeing the preparations of his own men with customary zeal.
The unseasonably warm bright weather continued unabated, day after day of clear skies and bright sunshine, until the men, prone to superstitious thought at the best of times began to grow suspicious of it. Merendir dismissed their speculation at first, chastising them that they would have had much more to grumble about of if it had been raining every day, but even he was a little unsettled when a great pall of cloud stretching from horizon to horizon in an unbroken line gradually crept into view across the northern sky. Each day brought it a little further south, carried on invisible winds high above them, and the far distant lands below it were plunged into a gloom made all the deeper by the contrast with the bright sunlight in which they stood. "I was wondering how the enemy's orcs were going to fight in this weather" remarked Durthor in an unguarded moment "and now we see how, for it seems this cloud will most likely be upon us just in time to mark their arrival". Merendir had laughed off his old friend's implication telling him that it was merely a coincidence and a stroke of good fortune for their foes, not the work of some unnatural agency.
But that certainty was shaken when he received an unexpected summons to the tower the following morning, and happy to take the opportunity to exercise Duvainien had her saddled up. After warming her up in walk for the first part of the climb up the hill he asked her into trot and she maintained it almost the whole way up that steep road, much to his satisfaction. It was another fine morning, and the short ride with its ever increasing vistas had lightened his spirits, but they were brought sharply back to earth by the manner of the King when Merendir was shown into his private chamber high up in the tower. Once again Norgalad was with him he also looked grave, the previous calm and assurance gone again for the time being. He was offered a drink and given a seat, and waited for Arveleg to come to the point. "Merendir, old friend. I trust that no word of what we are about to discuss will pass beyond these walls, for this is a matter of the gravest import". Merendir shook his head in assurance. "Of course not. How may I assist you?" The King rose to his feet and walked a few paces, clearly pondering how best to phrase his question. "You served many years with Esteldir and his company of exiles from Rhudaur, and he was a learned man who knew much of the history of that land. Now as I understand it the Dunedain of Rhudaur, for all their faults were the only ones bold enough to prosecute a campaign against Angmar in the early days of that realm, and to face the king of that land directly in battle. Would that we in our great pride, impregnable as we thought ourselves had done the same at the time and much sorrow might have been averted. Did Esteldir ever speak of this?" Merendir nodded. "Indeed he did, for his uncle and father both fought in those campaigns and won renown doing so, and it was a popular tale on long winter nights in the hall at Amon Perin, for the stories of their past glories cheered the exiles of that land greatly. Their own King fought the ruler of Angmar directly in single combat and received a head wound which troubled him greatly to the end of his days. The King of Angmar was reported to be a mighty warrior, fair of face and clad in silver and of a height beyond the measure of normal men, even those of Numenorian descent which is what they held him to be. Perhaps he was some renegade whose ancestors also managed to escape the downfall just as Elendil and his sons did?". Arveleg thanked him and glanced across at Norgalad before continuing. "I have often searched for a sign of him, but until today he had eluded me, but this morning I finally beheld him riding with his guard at the head of his host. He was exactly as you describe him, a magnificent warrior in armour of antiquated design. But then something happened that I cannot comprehend, for somehow he became aware that I looked upon him and... he returned my gaze, and it was filled with a palpable malevolence. I was not expecting it and the shock of it almost overwhelmed me before I was able to master it and drive his thought aside. It would seem that this enemy is no mere mortal, but rather some great sorcerer, and perhaps deathless too. For no rumour or report of any succession in that realm has ever reached us and the man I saw today closely matched a description given from a battle that took place almost ninety years ago. Perhaps only in Mithlond or Imladris can his equal be found, and we must now face this witch king without their aid. We have only stout hearts and sharp steel with which to defy him, and I fear that this time they will not be enough. If needs be I will die here just as my father did, but before I do so I will make sure this enemy pays most dearly for his victory". As he spoke he drew himself up and regained some of his previous calm and assurance.
After a short silence Merendir cleared his throat to speak, paused and then continued, his tone cautious and deliberate. "My Lord, I do not doubt that you speak truthfully here, and perhaps our foe is indeed so powerful that he can also influenced the weather as some of the men have been suggesting. If so there are two things that I would urge you to consider, though they might seem to be craven counsel. Firstly send Prince Araphor back to Fornost before the battle, for should our worst fears be realised the line of the Kings must not be brought to an end here. That way, even if we are defeated there will still be hope, and Araphor may yet turn the tide with the help of Cirdan just as you once did yourself. Secondly when he departs he must take the seeing stone with him, for it is a weapon of incomparable power and cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of this enemy. In any event it will serve us little once his host stands before us on the plain". Arveleg came around the table and rested a hand on Merendir's shoulder. "Nay, this is wise counsel my friend and I thank you for it, for we must not risk all through mere pride. It will be good to have you at my side once again when battle comes".