Aenarion stood along the ramparts of the tower, looking over the landscape before him. A few days ago, that landscape was clean, and beautiful, but now, now it had been ravaged. Destroyed by a tidal wave of green skins. The horde had sat there for a day, like a dark black/green mass of death. Campfires dotted the mass, and left trails of smoke climbing high into the air the brisk winter air. Aenarion sighed. The sight of a goblinoid army was a terrible thing to behold, and one that he had wished he would never see. The Tower of Lothlerlian was being besieged by Orcs. He knew that an attack was inevitable. He could hear the war cries, and battle songs of the besiegers from his vantage point. He leaned heavily on the ramparts, one hand on the cool stone that served as a defensive barrier to arrows, the other resting on his sword. He glanced to either side, and saw fellow elven troops, all as nervous as he was. They all had longbows slung across their shoulders, ready at a
moments notice. Beside every two men was a large quiver of arrows, enough for about sixty shots each. Aenarion looked back out towards the swelling mass as more and more of the foul species moved inward to join the siege. The attack would come soon, of that the veteran elf commander held no doubt. He just wished to get it over with.
His thoughts were ripped from him as he heard light footsteps of his second, and friend, Tethlis, approach. "Their ranks grow with each passing moment." He commented grimly to Tethlis, who merely nodded in agreement. "Blasted creatures. They are completely content to sit there and wait while we grow nervous and tired, waiting for their attack." Aenarion turned to face Tethlis. "They are not as primitive as we thought. They do have some shred of intelligence, one of warfare. We cannot deny that." Aenarion looked back out over the landscape, breathing in the cool air of winter. Tethlis stood beside him now.
"We have received word from our brothers to the east. They are sending help for us." Tethlis said, hoping to lighten his friends' sour mood. Aenarion turned, and scowled, then turned back to the horde.
"They will not reach us in time. They are more then a ten day's solid march away from us." He sighed again, and tore his gaze from the sight of the Orc army. "No. This is a battle we must fight, and win on our own." Aenarion turned to another elf on the battlements, a scout. "What are they numbered at?" He asked, his mind calculating some sort of defensive strategy.
"Approximately three thousand goblinoid creatures. Possibly more on the way." The elf responded, the discipline keeping him calm, though he was as nervous as the rest.
Aenarion nodded. "Very well. Keep the watch doubled. I will be inside. At the first sign of attack, notify me, and begin the defense of the tower."
"Aye sir."
Aenarion nodded, to both the scout and to Tethlis, and turned to enter the tower, returning to the warmth and safety, possibly the last he would have for a time to come.
*****
The first arrow came soaring over the battlements of the tower as the next morning broke. The sun was just creeping over the eastern horizon as the Orcish horde began they're charge towards the Tower Lothlerlian. The elves, having kept stern vigil throughout the night, were prepared for the attack. Their discipline keeping them from submitting to the fatigue they all felt. As the archers defending the tower returned fire, and the sky darkened from the hundreds of arrows being loosed, both sides began to fill the pinch. Aenarion came rushing out onto the battlements, the sword of Heath in hand. He ran straight to the edge of the battlements were Tethlis already stood, barking orders to the elves firing from the tower. The horde was still a far distance from melee, but they surged forth like that of an incoming tide. Aenarion looked to Tethlis, then back to the horde. His keen elven eyes then caught the glimpse of the crude Orcish war machine being wheeled up closer to the
tower, behind the tide of goblinoids. A catapult. He grabbed the edge of the battlements, and shouted out for the other elves to do the same. He grabbed it just in time as a large stone boulder came crashing into the tower, no more than twenty feet from the commander himself. The force of the rock made the tower shudders, and threw a few of the elven defenders from their vantage point, hurtling towards the ground. Before another was launched, Aenarion turned to Tethlis, a weird gleam in his eye, and a crooked smile.
"Send word to our forces on the lower levels. I will lead them into the field of battle myself." Aenarion turned for the door, and the stairs that would take him to the armoury. Tethlis began to stutter something but stopped mid way, instead offering his hand in friendship and good luck to his friend. Aenarion stopped, and returned the grasp before disappearing into the tower, and the lower levels.
Tethlis turned back to the edge of the battlements, grabbing hold in time for another boulder to shake the tower, and send some more of the elven defenders over the edge. "That's right!" He called to the defenders. "Keep those arrows flying!"
*****
Aenarion entered the armoury, and quickly gathered his personal armour. He threw a suit of fine elven chain mail over across his torso, and wrapped a cloak over his shoulders. He grasped the Sword of Hoeth tightly, and charged down the stairs, and into the main chamber that would lead to the outside of the tower. Before him stood a force of seven hundred elven warriors, all of which were skilled with a sword, and well versed in the ways of war. He marched to the front of the force, and stood to face them. He surveyed them for a brief moment before raising his sword high into the air. It was met with a cheer the seemed to shake the foundations of the tower itself. Aenarion turned to the gates, and signaled to the gatemen to raise them. As the doors cracked open, the bright light of day surged into the room, encompassing everything, and blinding them elven war host briefly. When the doors were opened fully, the full might of the Orcish horde could be seen charging towards the
tower, the gruesome sight of the beasts, though intimidating to that of a human, or halfing, did little to cause dissent among the ranks of a the war host. Aenarion led the charge, running a full ten paces ahead of the other elven warriors. He seemed to shine, like the tip of spear shines. His sword raised high in the air, and look of grim determination set on his face.
From the battlements above, Tethlis watched as his friend and commander led the charge. Tethlis admired Aenarion. The elven commander held a bravery that Tethlis could never hope to have, and seemed to command respect from every one he met with. Tethlis knew that with Aenarion leading this battle, the elven war host would make the orcs pay for their foolhardy assault of the Lothlerlian.
Aenarion ran, sword shining in the morning sun. Behind him, the sound of seven hundred armed elven warriors thundered. Before him, three thousand Orcish savages surged. Aenarion watched as multiple orcs fell to the stinging bite of arrows from the towers. The orcs seemed not to care, to enraged with a primal bloodlust. He was close enough to hear the war cries of the orcs, and see the primitive standards they carried. He deduced that this was more than one tribe, and was in fact several tribes joined together. He didn't care why. They were blight to the land, and a threat to the Lothlerlian. Aenarion would defeat them. Suddenly, the hail of arrows stopped, and the two war hosts clashed in the field. The green tide being swelled by a silver bolt of elven warriors, Aenarion at the lead. The archers could do little but watch, and fire towards the back of the lines, hoping they would not misjudge a shot. Aenarion cut a bloody swath of Orcish blood as he fought through the tide
of Orc and goblin, his sword rising high in the air, and cutting down in a vicious, deadly swipe. Each attack felling another of the green death. Even in the midst of the chaos of battle, Aenarion shone like a beacon of light, none of the orcs seeming like they were able to touch the mighty commander.
Something filled Aenarion, a rage, and a hatred for the goblin kind. Each attack was made with more and more ferocity. He eventually cut his way through the thick tide of Orcs, coming face to face with a gruesome beast, standing two full feet taller then the short elven warrior. He found one of the Orc War Bosses. The massive Orc, standing a towering seven feet high, wielding a large fierce axe in one hand, and a huge wooden club in the other. The war boss swung the axe with tremendous power, attempting to cleave the lilth elven warrior in two. Aenarion dodged back, cleanly avoiding the axe attack, and the following swing of the club. He reprised with a powerful lunging motion, the sword of Hoeth leading the way. As the two fought, a wide birth became apparent, the other combatents clearly giving them space, while continueing to fight their own battles. To either side, both elf and orc fell, three orcs for every elven warrior, if not more. Aenarion lunged again, but felt the
powerful counter from the orc knock his blade away. He set his feet, and regained control of the chaotic blade, and then reprised with a swift attack to the orcs midsection. The lumbering orc, too dumb to realize it, allowed his gut to be cut open, and his entrails spill out over the field. Soemthing inside of Aenarion urged him forward. The elf leapt onto the orc war boss, who was slowly dieing, and continued to hack at the fallen form, not stopping to notice the horde falling back. He brought his sword down hard on the orcs neck, decapitating it, and was about to continue to dismember the corpse, if it weren't for the resounding cheer that raised up around him, ripping him from the own bloodlust.
He shook his head, working out of a daze. He looked around, the troops under his command, almost half the size it was before charging the field, were standing, watching as the horde fled back to their camps. Archers from the towers continued to whittle down the forces, and the rain of the catapults seemed to stop. Aenarion knew this was not the end, and more would come. He knew it. He felt it in his blood. He knelt over, and picked up the war bosses thick, oily hair in his gloved hand, and held it high int he air, giving a mighty cry of triumph. He turned on his heel, and marched back inside the tower, his war host escorting him. Once inside, the doors closed, blocking the light, and sight of the horde. He stuck a spear through the base of the orc's skull, and placed it on one of the lower battlements. A warning of what would happen to them when they next charged.
Aenarion and the beleaguered war host were met with a resounding cheer, and cries of triumph as they climbed the tower, and entered the main fest hall. The fest hall was a room big enough to house the entire population of the tower, all two thousand elves. From the main doors to the hall, Aenarion led the remaining troops in, and down the aisle of elven people, maidens, children, and warriors alike lining the sides. Aenarion's armour was thick with the blood of orcs, as was the armour of every other elf that had been on the field. Each one wore a mask of pride, and walk with an air of dignity, even though comrades of theirs had fallen this day. At the very back of the hall, Tethlis stood, awaiting his commander and friend with open arms. Aenarion smiled, and embraced his friend, before turning to address the crowd.
"Today, we have fought back the tide of darkness, and won another day of peace. The battle is won, but the war is far from over. We merely delayed the inevitable." This proclamation brought mixed murmurs from the crowd, some confused as how to respond. "We, the elven people of the Lothlerlian, are strong, though. When faced with the maws of Orcs and goblins, we held our ground, and we stayed true to our rights to be here. We will win out in the war. The Horde will not have their way. No, we are stronger, and more resilient then they are. They have the numbers, we have the will." He raised his sword high in the air, and another cry rose up in the room, raising the roof. The crowd broke into celebration, women finding their loved ones among the beleaguered forces, children finding their parents, and friends embracing friends. Aenarion turned back to Tethlis. "Old friend, I would like to speak with you in private." Aenarion's mood turned somber almost immediately, as did
Tethlis'. The two left the Fest hall, and made their way to the war room, which was deserted due to the celebrations. Aenarion stood by the table, a large map rolled across the wooden surface. It mapped the surroundings of the Tower of the Lothlerlian, and the emplacements of the Orcish hordes.
"We sustained heavy loses this day, Tethlis." Aenarion began somberly. He was leaning heavily on the table, not from fatigue, but from sorrow. "Many good warriors, and friends died. They died by the hands the vile orcs." He spun to face Tethlis, his hands clenched in anger. "Why do they persist? We have played this game many times before, but never on this magnitude. I fear. Fear for the safety of the Lothlerlian, and for the safety of my people." He unclenched his fist, and seemed to relax a bit. Tethlis approached, and stood next to his friend.
"We have seen much bloodshed in our three hundred years. I doubt it is going to end soon." He placed a reassuring hand on Aenarion's shoulder, and stood next to him. "We have been in this Tower for half of those years, and defended it for as many. We will fight for it, even if it means our death." He offered a smile at the show of loyalty towards his commander, his friend, and his home, but Aenarion only shrugged.
"I don't know if that will be enough this time, Tethlis." he turned to his friend, his eyes full of sorrow, and angst. "I was out there, and saw something I never thought possible." Tethlis was taken aback. He had always thought of Aenarion knowing everything, and this sudden revelation shocked him. He heard true fear in his words, and for the first time, knew Aenarion to be mortal. "The Orcish tribes have united. They all seem to flock towards each other and the tower. It is a combined force that I don't think we can hold out against!" He stood upright, and paced the room. The room was deathly silent; only the sound of Aenarion's boot falls could be heard. Tethlis worried now. I have the complete confidence in the abilities of these troops that defend the tower, but they are young! They are children compared to us! Children, most of which have not even lived a third of the time we have!" He stopped, and turned to Tethlis, hoping for some reassurance from his friend.
"The tower has stood for five hundred years, and will stand for another five hundred, friend." If we can hold out for a ten-day-" Tethlis was cut off, interrupted by Aenarion in a violent outburst.
"We won't even last half that time!" He shouted, his anger showing. "That horde outnumbered us at least three to one when we met on the field this day. Now, after our casualties, they outnumber us four to one, even with the damage we caused. To add to that, our forces are tired. The instinct of survival, and defending our home can only empower us for so long, while the Orcs have no such drive, they have numbers! Within a day, their numbers will have swelled to that of an insurmountable force! We cannot hope to last until reinforcements arrive!"
Tethlis was silent. He had never seen Aenarion fear something, especially not an Orc army. In their time together, Tethlis had seen Aenarion defeat insurmountable odds before, even be visited by the gods! This was not the man he saw now though. This man was frightened and tired. There seemed to be some inner turmoil Aenarion was fighting, something Tethlis could not help him with. He watched Aenarion pace the room, frustration running through him. Tethlis silently left his friend to his thoughts, knowing that nothing he would say could help his friend right now. What he needed was time. He just hoped the reinforcments would arrive ahead of schedule.
moments notice. Beside every two men was a large quiver of arrows, enough for about sixty shots each. Aenarion looked back out towards the swelling mass as more and more of the foul species moved inward to join the siege. The attack would come soon, of that the veteran elf commander held no doubt. He just wished to get it over with.
His thoughts were ripped from him as he heard light footsteps of his second, and friend, Tethlis, approach. "Their ranks grow with each passing moment." He commented grimly to Tethlis, who merely nodded in agreement. "Blasted creatures. They are completely content to sit there and wait while we grow nervous and tired, waiting for their attack." Aenarion turned to face Tethlis. "They are not as primitive as we thought. They do have some shred of intelligence, one of warfare. We cannot deny that." Aenarion looked back out over the landscape, breathing in the cool air of winter. Tethlis stood beside him now.
"We have received word from our brothers to the east. They are sending help for us." Tethlis said, hoping to lighten his friends' sour mood. Aenarion turned, and scowled, then turned back to the horde.
"They will not reach us in time. They are more then a ten day's solid march away from us." He sighed again, and tore his gaze from the sight of the Orc army. "No. This is a battle we must fight, and win on our own." Aenarion turned to another elf on the battlements, a scout. "What are they numbered at?" He asked, his mind calculating some sort of defensive strategy.
"Approximately three thousand goblinoid creatures. Possibly more on the way." The elf responded, the discipline keeping him calm, though he was as nervous as the rest.
Aenarion nodded. "Very well. Keep the watch doubled. I will be inside. At the first sign of attack, notify me, and begin the defense of the tower."
"Aye sir."
Aenarion nodded, to both the scout and to Tethlis, and turned to enter the tower, returning to the warmth and safety, possibly the last he would have for a time to come.
*****
The first arrow came soaring over the battlements of the tower as the next morning broke. The sun was just creeping over the eastern horizon as the Orcish horde began they're charge towards the Tower Lothlerlian. The elves, having kept stern vigil throughout the night, were prepared for the attack. Their discipline keeping them from submitting to the fatigue they all felt. As the archers defending the tower returned fire, and the sky darkened from the hundreds of arrows being loosed, both sides began to fill the pinch. Aenarion came rushing out onto the battlements, the sword of Heath in hand. He ran straight to the edge of the battlements were Tethlis already stood, barking orders to the elves firing from the tower. The horde was still a far distance from melee, but they surged forth like that of an incoming tide. Aenarion looked to Tethlis, then back to the horde. His keen elven eyes then caught the glimpse of the crude Orcish war machine being wheeled up closer to the
tower, behind the tide of goblinoids. A catapult. He grabbed the edge of the battlements, and shouted out for the other elves to do the same. He grabbed it just in time as a large stone boulder came crashing into the tower, no more than twenty feet from the commander himself. The force of the rock made the tower shudders, and threw a few of the elven defenders from their vantage point, hurtling towards the ground. Before another was launched, Aenarion turned to Tethlis, a weird gleam in his eye, and a crooked smile.
"Send word to our forces on the lower levels. I will lead them into the field of battle myself." Aenarion turned for the door, and the stairs that would take him to the armoury. Tethlis began to stutter something but stopped mid way, instead offering his hand in friendship and good luck to his friend. Aenarion stopped, and returned the grasp before disappearing into the tower, and the lower levels.
Tethlis turned back to the edge of the battlements, grabbing hold in time for another boulder to shake the tower, and send some more of the elven defenders over the edge. "That's right!" He called to the defenders. "Keep those arrows flying!"
*****
Aenarion entered the armoury, and quickly gathered his personal armour. He threw a suit of fine elven chain mail over across his torso, and wrapped a cloak over his shoulders. He grasped the Sword of Hoeth tightly, and charged down the stairs, and into the main chamber that would lead to the outside of the tower. Before him stood a force of seven hundred elven warriors, all of which were skilled with a sword, and well versed in the ways of war. He marched to the front of the force, and stood to face them. He surveyed them for a brief moment before raising his sword high into the air. It was met with a cheer the seemed to shake the foundations of the tower itself. Aenarion turned to the gates, and signaled to the gatemen to raise them. As the doors cracked open, the bright light of day surged into the room, encompassing everything, and blinding them elven war host briefly. When the doors were opened fully, the full might of the Orcish horde could be seen charging towards the
tower, the gruesome sight of the beasts, though intimidating to that of a human, or halfing, did little to cause dissent among the ranks of a the war host. Aenarion led the charge, running a full ten paces ahead of the other elven warriors. He seemed to shine, like the tip of spear shines. His sword raised high in the air, and look of grim determination set on his face.
From the battlements above, Tethlis watched as his friend and commander led the charge. Tethlis admired Aenarion. The elven commander held a bravery that Tethlis could never hope to have, and seemed to command respect from every one he met with. Tethlis knew that with Aenarion leading this battle, the elven war host would make the orcs pay for their foolhardy assault of the Lothlerlian.
Aenarion ran, sword shining in the morning sun. Behind him, the sound of seven hundred armed elven warriors thundered. Before him, three thousand Orcish savages surged. Aenarion watched as multiple orcs fell to the stinging bite of arrows from the towers. The orcs seemed not to care, to enraged with a primal bloodlust. He was close enough to hear the war cries of the orcs, and see the primitive standards they carried. He deduced that this was more than one tribe, and was in fact several tribes joined together. He didn't care why. They were blight to the land, and a threat to the Lothlerlian. Aenarion would defeat them. Suddenly, the hail of arrows stopped, and the two war hosts clashed in the field. The green tide being swelled by a silver bolt of elven warriors, Aenarion at the lead. The archers could do little but watch, and fire towards the back of the lines, hoping they would not misjudge a shot. Aenarion cut a bloody swath of Orcish blood as he fought through the tide
of Orc and goblin, his sword rising high in the air, and cutting down in a vicious, deadly swipe. Each attack felling another of the green death. Even in the midst of the chaos of battle, Aenarion shone like a beacon of light, none of the orcs seeming like they were able to touch the mighty commander.
Something filled Aenarion, a rage, and a hatred for the goblin kind. Each attack was made with more and more ferocity. He eventually cut his way through the thick tide of Orcs, coming face to face with a gruesome beast, standing two full feet taller then the short elven warrior. He found one of the Orc War Bosses. The massive Orc, standing a towering seven feet high, wielding a large fierce axe in one hand, and a huge wooden club in the other. The war boss swung the axe with tremendous power, attempting to cleave the lilth elven warrior in two. Aenarion dodged back, cleanly avoiding the axe attack, and the following swing of the club. He reprised with a powerful lunging motion, the sword of Hoeth leading the way. As the two fought, a wide birth became apparent, the other combatents clearly giving them space, while continueing to fight their own battles. To either side, both elf and orc fell, three orcs for every elven warrior, if not more. Aenarion lunged again, but felt the
powerful counter from the orc knock his blade away. He set his feet, and regained control of the chaotic blade, and then reprised with a swift attack to the orcs midsection. The lumbering orc, too dumb to realize it, allowed his gut to be cut open, and his entrails spill out over the field. Soemthing inside of Aenarion urged him forward. The elf leapt onto the orc war boss, who was slowly dieing, and continued to hack at the fallen form, not stopping to notice the horde falling back. He brought his sword down hard on the orcs neck, decapitating it, and was about to continue to dismember the corpse, if it weren't for the resounding cheer that raised up around him, ripping him from the own bloodlust.
He shook his head, working out of a daze. He looked around, the troops under his command, almost half the size it was before charging the field, were standing, watching as the horde fled back to their camps. Archers from the towers continued to whittle down the forces, and the rain of the catapults seemed to stop. Aenarion knew this was not the end, and more would come. He knew it. He felt it in his blood. He knelt over, and picked up the war bosses thick, oily hair in his gloved hand, and held it high int he air, giving a mighty cry of triumph. He turned on his heel, and marched back inside the tower, his war host escorting him. Once inside, the doors closed, blocking the light, and sight of the horde. He stuck a spear through the base of the orc's skull, and placed it on one of the lower battlements. A warning of what would happen to them when they next charged.
Aenarion and the beleaguered war host were met with a resounding cheer, and cries of triumph as they climbed the tower, and entered the main fest hall. The fest hall was a room big enough to house the entire population of the tower, all two thousand elves. From the main doors to the hall, Aenarion led the remaining troops in, and down the aisle of elven people, maidens, children, and warriors alike lining the sides. Aenarion's armour was thick with the blood of orcs, as was the armour of every other elf that had been on the field. Each one wore a mask of pride, and walk with an air of dignity, even though comrades of theirs had fallen this day. At the very back of the hall, Tethlis stood, awaiting his commander and friend with open arms. Aenarion smiled, and embraced his friend, before turning to address the crowd.
"Today, we have fought back the tide of darkness, and won another day of peace. The battle is won, but the war is far from over. We merely delayed the inevitable." This proclamation brought mixed murmurs from the crowd, some confused as how to respond. "We, the elven people of the Lothlerlian, are strong, though. When faced with the maws of Orcs and goblins, we held our ground, and we stayed true to our rights to be here. We will win out in the war. The Horde will not have their way. No, we are stronger, and more resilient then they are. They have the numbers, we have the will." He raised his sword high in the air, and another cry rose up in the room, raising the roof. The crowd broke into celebration, women finding their loved ones among the beleaguered forces, children finding their parents, and friends embracing friends. Aenarion turned back to Tethlis. "Old friend, I would like to speak with you in private." Aenarion's mood turned somber almost immediately, as did
Tethlis'. The two left the Fest hall, and made their way to the war room, which was deserted due to the celebrations. Aenarion stood by the table, a large map rolled across the wooden surface. It mapped the surroundings of the Tower of the Lothlerlian, and the emplacements of the Orcish hordes.
"We sustained heavy loses this day, Tethlis." Aenarion began somberly. He was leaning heavily on the table, not from fatigue, but from sorrow. "Many good warriors, and friends died. They died by the hands the vile orcs." He spun to face Tethlis, his hands clenched in anger. "Why do they persist? We have played this game many times before, but never on this magnitude. I fear. Fear for the safety of the Lothlerlian, and for the safety of my people." He unclenched his fist, and seemed to relax a bit. Tethlis approached, and stood next to his friend.
"We have seen much bloodshed in our three hundred years. I doubt it is going to end soon." He placed a reassuring hand on Aenarion's shoulder, and stood next to him. "We have been in this Tower for half of those years, and defended it for as many. We will fight for it, even if it means our death." He offered a smile at the show of loyalty towards his commander, his friend, and his home, but Aenarion only shrugged.
"I don't know if that will be enough this time, Tethlis." he turned to his friend, his eyes full of sorrow, and angst. "I was out there, and saw something I never thought possible." Tethlis was taken aback. He had always thought of Aenarion knowing everything, and this sudden revelation shocked him. He heard true fear in his words, and for the first time, knew Aenarion to be mortal. "The Orcish tribes have united. They all seem to flock towards each other and the tower. It is a combined force that I don't think we can hold out against!" He stood upright, and paced the room. The room was deathly silent; only the sound of Aenarion's boot falls could be heard. Tethlis worried now. I have the complete confidence in the abilities of these troops that defend the tower, but they are young! They are children compared to us! Children, most of which have not even lived a third of the time we have!" He stopped, and turned to Tethlis, hoping for some reassurance from his friend.
"The tower has stood for five hundred years, and will stand for another five hundred, friend." If we can hold out for a ten-day-" Tethlis was cut off, interrupted by Aenarion in a violent outburst.
"We won't even last half that time!" He shouted, his anger showing. "That horde outnumbered us at least three to one when we met on the field this day. Now, after our casualties, they outnumber us four to one, even with the damage we caused. To add to that, our forces are tired. The instinct of survival, and defending our home can only empower us for so long, while the Orcs have no such drive, they have numbers! Within a day, their numbers will have swelled to that of an insurmountable force! We cannot hope to last until reinforcements arrive!"
Tethlis was silent. He had never seen Aenarion fear something, especially not an Orc army. In their time together, Tethlis had seen Aenarion defeat insurmountable odds before, even be visited by the gods! This was not the man he saw now though. This man was frightened and tired. There seemed to be some inner turmoil Aenarion was fighting, something Tethlis could not help him with. He watched Aenarion pace the room, frustration running through him. Tethlis silently left his friend to his thoughts, knowing that nothing he would say could help his friend right now. What he needed was time. He just hoped the reinforcments would arrive ahead of schedule.