An Instrument of Fate

by Lord Valentai

An account of the Last Alliance at the end of the second age. Please read and review. New chapter added 21st August.

7. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Lunar Eclipse SA3429 Two months later

The sun failed to shine through the banks of dark clouds that covered the sky. Instead, the gloomy air was filled with a suppressed tension. Contrasted against both the black clouds and the grey colour of the mountains nearby was a white city. All around the city was dark but the tower of the moon was made of white stone and had ramparts manned by soldiers. The city was a small enough place, not as much a city as a walled fortress or town. Built with its back to the mountains of the Ephel Dúath, the city was guarded from attack from the rear more completely than any man made defence could ever hope to achieve. Built into the mountains, the city rose up steeply as it moved up the mountain side. The city faced southward over the pass which was the main way of passage between Gondor and the black land. The city of white stone was built on three levels with three walls to defend it. The tower itself was a slender affair of white stone that rose forty feet into the air and was crowned by the great flag bearing the symbol of the white tree. This same tree, the only tree in all of Minas Ithil stood in a courtyard near the tower on the third level of the city. This wide courtyard was guarded by the third wall and was the smallest part of the city. In this courtyard was the palace of Isildur which was neither grand nor impressive. A simple building built of grey stone and a mere three stories tall. On the eastern side of this third ring was the armoury, barracks and stables as well as the cities' granary. It had been an idea of Isildur's to construct a granary in this portion of the city as it would be out of range of any enemy siege equipment. The third gate opened onto a long and steeply slopped ramp that led down the mountain and down to the first gate. The second ring was actually the largest and it was here that the majority of the citizens had lived in the happier times before the threat of siege came. Now, with most civilians having fled, they were occupied by soldiers who took the abandoned houses as temporary barracks rooms.

The first layer of the city was relatively empty as the distance between the first and second gates was a mere two hundred yards. In this area were the remaining barracks rooms as well as the field hospital and command tents. The gateway of the city was guarded by a gate tower of white stone which held two gates within it. The walls ran through this gate tower but there was an area on the roof of the tower which could be used as another place of defence. The walls were thirty foot high and were seven foot thick.

Now however, the city of the moon had its beauty eclipsed. The siege had begun three months before and had burnt anything in the city which could be burnt. The second ring of the city had been reduced to rouble and ash and the soldiers who had used them were forced to find alternative shelters.

The men of Gondor, exhausted and dirty stood to attention as the guard was changed. At the beginning the garrison had numbered some six thousand but now there were less than four thousand men in the lines who could fight. The siege weapons and arrows of the enemy had killed many but disease had killed far more. The Gondorian infantry, shields mostly discarded and plate armour thrown aside in the rising heat as mid spring approached. Now they wore just their helmets and mail shirts with padded armour for protection. the heavy swords of the infantry were employed with both hands by the exhausted, hungry and dirty soldiers. In appearance, they would have been thrown out of a group of beggars but in spirit, the dogged determination to fight on still burned. This was mostly because of one man, though not a thinking soldier, Prince Isildur knew how to lead and inspire. Putting his talents to work he made sure he lived, fought and slept with the soldiers. The men, tired as they were respected him for this and where he passed, a small spark of hope appeared. When his presence was gone however, it faded.

Now the prince strode onto the gate tower roof. Although he took after his mother in temperament in looks he was every bit his father's son. From the tall frame, the brownish-black hair and the piercing green eyes he looked exactly like his father. He had discarded his shield and helmet, which he had never used in battle anyway but still, wore his decorated plate armour. Walking into the interior of the gate tower he acknowledged the salutes of the men on guard with a grim nod. Isildur walked to the top of the gate tower and looked out over the works of the enemy. Minas Ithil was in a smaller cut of the rock, off the main pass but within clear sight of it. That pass was a mere two hundred yards wide. Isildur scratched his straggly beard which he had not had the time or strength to trim in two weeks. The enemy had conducted a good siege, first starting three hundred yards away, they had started digging parallels and counter trenches so that they edged closer and closer. In an effort to delay them, Isildur had led three hundred men out to raid the enemy works, ten had come back. Powerless to stop the enemy as they dug closer and closer, Isildur had ordered his men to stay down in the shelter of the city.

Isildur stared sightlessly over the enemy positions, tired beyond belief. Three times the enemy had feinted an attack in as many days and the garrison was exhausted. Isildur heard footsteps and saw a man join him. He turned to see the smiling but grim face of his second in command, Torinta Valens. Valens was the Count of Ithilien and a long time friends with the prince. In the retreat to the city, Isildur had ordered more than half of his troops to pull back to Osgiliath. He had ordered the count to go as well but the man had stubbornly decided to stay by his side. Valens was a fifty year old, second generation Númenorian and as such was growing older. Maybe he fancied a valiant death in battle as opposed to retirement or administrative duties. A short man, he had greying black hair and brown eyes. His face was scarred from a famous fight he had had with his wife's lover. The man had sliced open his cheek and scarred his right ear badly. Now, the ragged scar lived he nodded his head towards the enemy.

"They have dug twenty yards closer today." He observed.

"Can we do anything to stop them?" Isildur asked with a hint of hopelessness.

"We cannot stop them getting closer. In fact, I doubt that we can stop them when they attack." Valens said softly so that the nearby men would not be disheartened.

"There is always hope." Isildur said.

"I am listening to any ploys, tricks and strategies you have got lord prince but otherwise I am out of inventions."

"Maybe we should have withdrawn at the start."

Valens gave him a look that came close to speaking something very untactful. "Maybe we should have considered this before." he said dryly instead.

"I hoped that my brother could come to our aid."

"The enemy is in the position of strength here and you know it." Valens said rather sharply. Anger flared in the prince's eyes but his second in command did not back down.

"What of the wall?" Isildur asked after a moment.

"It is crumbling but the enemy will try an escalade before they assault a breach."

For the past six days, huge catapults had been used against the expanse of wall to the east of the city gate. Instead of firing over, they had fired directly at the wall. The great wall was falling apart and there was nothing the prince could do. The enemy was two hundred yards away, within arrow range but were well protected by defences. Even if he had had sufficient arrows to fire, the prince knew that such shooting was beyond even the fittest men. Only an elf could put an arrow into the five inch gap in the barricades for the few seconds the enemy needed to fire before it was covered again.

"And the miners?" Isildur asked.

"We flooded that mine the day before last but have heard no sound of the enemy." Valens said dutifully.

The enemy had also attempted to mine under the walls but so far their attempts had been confined to the west wall and had been blocked. On the last occasion, the enemy tunnel had been intercepted and blocked off with the enemy still inside. Isildur had personally thrown oil bombs into the tunnel and heard the screams of the enemy cut short as the wooden supports collapsed. Isildur smiled at the memory and then he saw the count looking to the west with a strange look.

"Lord prince is that-" Isildur cut him off and was already moving, so it had began.

"All men to their stations. This is it boys! To the west wall, for Gondor. Archers forward. He yelled and drew his sword and held it to the murky light.

He had seen the enemy advancing, advancing with ladders which meant only one thing, an escalade and the start of the war. So the east wall was a trick but he would be ready for the enemy.

Isildur ran to the centre of the wall and looked out. It was no feint, not this time; this was a real assault about to be made by the enemy infantry. Valens arrived beside him and held u his sword to his prince who lightly clanged it against the other blade.

"Torinta, I want you to be on the gate, if they come in the east, handle it until I can get there."

"As you command lord prince." The old man said and ran off. Isildur smiled as he wondered why he thought of the count as old. he himself was four times older than him. He thrust the thought away as the enemy advanced over their works. There was three great phalanxes of perhaps two thousand each with the same number coming up behind. The enemy carried ladders, scores of ladders and grapnel lines and still more carried bows or spears to force their way up the wall. The enemy, orcs with crude weapons and armour roared their challenge so that a mighty shout was let out by the advancing horde of the enemy.

Isildur turned to his men and cried aloud. "Show them no mercy for you shall receive none! Fight like the men of Gondor, I am with you!" He yelled and a great cheer actually drowned out the cries of the enemy.

Now just two hundred yards away, Isildur was tempted to let loose but he had small amounts of ammunition and if he beat off this assault there would be others. He held up his hand. "Hold boys! Hold your fire!" His men seemed to relax as his commanding voice boomed over the din of the enemy. The enemies march became a great tramping that filled the sight of every man of Gondor on the walls.

Suddenly, as they closed to a hundred yards, the enemy raised their weapons, screamed and charged. They ran forward and Isildur walked behind his men. "Fire!" He roared and three hundred bows fired as one and the hail of shot flew out like the hail of doom. Isildur watched as scores of the enemy were cut down but it would never stop them. There was two few arrows for too many foes and the prince knew he must hold them with steel if they could be held at all.

"Fire at will!" He shouted and as the enemy approached a fail of arrows tore into them. Moving with the fevered speed of those knowing their life depended on speed, the archers fired. Few were their arrows but it was fortunate then that they had to drop them and draw swords as the enemy ploughed forward. Isildur saw Valens organising a company of archers to fire into the flanks of the attackers from the gate tower.  Then Isildur had to forget everything except his sword and the enemy who scrambled up the ladders. Grapnels handed near him and he called at his men to cut the lines. Though would with wire, the lines were cut to drop their cargos to the bloody dust. Ladders by the score were pushed up and the prince saw one rise near him. Almost instantly, an orc leapt up but a well aimed sword cut caught him in his chest. The enemy had brought up archers an now they racked the walls with a torrent of fire and death. Not caring for the lives of their own troops, they kept up a constant rain of arrows at the walls top. An arrow hit the man to Isildur's right fatally but the prince was running to the ladder closest to him. An orc swept a sword cut which drove back two men and the orc leapt onto the battlements. Isildur charged the creature and his sword hewed it down before it could even raise its own blade. With a cry, the prince rushed at the ladder and punched the orc at the top in the face. Men ran to him and together they pushed the ladder back so it toppled into the mass below. More ladders were coming though and more were being raised against the walls. The men were fighting like heroes and their swords were reaping dozens of foes. The enemy was also causing damage as well. In one section, towards the gate tower, the enemy had cleared a section of wall. Isildur turned a score of men about to counter charge but suddenly the enemy fell to a hail of arrows. The ladders nearby were swept by heavy fire and Isildur raised his eyes to the gate tower. Valens saluted and ordered his men to reload. Isildur turned back and saw the enemy falling, dropping and dying. Isildur called out encouragements to his men as he hewed left and right to clear the enemy off. Isildur raised his sword and his men cheered.

"Keep it up boys! They are breaking!" The orcs tried to push on but the men of Gondor seized up their bows and shot down their rival archers with heavy fire. Isildur drove another enemy down and helped his men clear a ladder with a boulder and then looked around. He could see the enemy waning, victory was in sight and then the real enemy attack struck. The wall moved and suddenly the air was filled with dirt, noise and the enemy.

Valens heard the noise and turned to see a part of the eastern stretch of the wall collapse into a sea of dust. Valens could not believe his eyes and for a second he just starred. Then, his lifetime as a soldier took over and he bellowed at his men.

"To the east wall. Captain tell the prince to come here now!" He shouted and the man ran to the west wall. Valens drew his sword and charged forward. In his heart he knew it was hopeless but he would not give up.

The enemy, with typical carelessness for their troop's lives had sacrificed the attackers on the west wall as a diversion. The wall, weakened by the siege weapons had been mined. Digging under the wall, the enemy had collapsed the pit underneath quickly, while the battle still raged in the west. Weakened and battered, the wall had fallen into the pit that had been uncovered by the collapse of the mine. Now the wall, parapet and guards on the wall plunged to ruin in to the deep crater which filled with stone and earth to form a bridge to victory for the orcs. Valens ran down the stairs and led those men he could muster in a dead run to reach the breach before the enemies' forces could. Valens, his heart pounding in his chest ran up the breach, kept his footing on the slippery rocks and confronted the enemy as they ran over the wall. Valens was not a good swordsmen but he was no slouch either. What he lacked in speed and technique he made up for in a stubborn and brutal strength. He hacked down on the first foe, did not stop to see if it had killed and hacked on as more men ran up behind him to reinforce the count. Finally driving a foe down, the count received a slash on the arm but he ignored it and pressed on. The orcs, spear and sword armed rushed up to drive his men back. The treacherous slopes of rubble made many of both sides slip and fall to the blades of their foe. Valens hacked his sword down but could not see if it did damage because he was rushed and driven back bodily. Unable to swing his sword he stepped back to avoid a sword cut. Part of the wall fragment behind though was unstable and it collapsed so he fell backwards. His sword fell from his grip as he rolled down the mound. He counted himself lucky he had still been wearing armour as it had cushioned the blow somewhat.

He staggered to his feet and saw his men falling to the numbers of the foe. Valens looked to the second wall and knew a retreat must be ordered soon. Then he saw the prince.

Isildur had seen the dust from the wall and when the captain had told him what had happened he immediately realised he could no longer hold the first line of walls.

He turned to his men. "Back to the walls men! To the second line, run!" He called. He had a few minutes before the enemy got through in enough strength to cut off his men. He saw Valens, bloodied and directing his men forward.

"Valens! Pull back!" The man nodded and shouted to his troops. Instantly there was panic as the men of Gondor ran back to the safety of the second gate. The enemy roared and charged forward. Many pulled bows and fired into the running mass. Isildur ran for the gate and was through it before most men had even reached halfway. He ran to the ramparts and saw that many of his men who were slower were being cut off and killed by the attackers. Orcs were every where and they hacked down on the running men with brutal strength. Isildur tried to hurry his troops more but the enemy was approaching and in his heart, the prince knew it was over. His men could not stand now, the second wall was weaker and the third, weaker still. If he was to die though, he would do it with honour and would take some of the enemy with him. Valens ran through the gate looking around and Isildur jumped down to him.

"Valens, are you alright."

"Better than most. What a mess. It is over."

"We can hold still-" The prince began but the count scornfully shook his head.

"It is over and you know it. We will finish what we started but you, you must survive."

"How am I going to do that?" Isildur asked bitterly.

"I was not such a fool as to suspect we would stay safe forever. When we built this place, I discovered a set of tunnels leading below the city and to the outside."

"Why have you not spoken of these before?" Isildur said angrily.

"They are not a nice place. They lead out beyond the siege lines but if more than one person goes then they will be caught. You must go lord prince and warn your brother and your father."

"My place is here with my men. You go Valens." he said.

"No." The count said stubbornly. "You have much still to do. Not because you are a prince but because you are a good man. You made a mistake here and we acknowledge that but you must go and tell them of their danger."

"I will not go. Abandon my men?"

"Your presence will make no difference. If you die or are captured then the enemy had removed the crown prince. How difficult will that be for your father then?" Valens asked and nodded.

"Alright. I will never forget you Valens."

"Go, we will hold them as long as we can." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "A map of the tunnels. Use it well; it is marked by two holly bushes."

Isildur nodded and ran up the hill.

Valens turned to his men. "Pull back up the slope twenty yards. Let us give them one last charge before we die!" He yelled and his men moved back. The enemy was beating on the door and their ladders were again at the wall parapets.

"Open the gates!" Valens cried and the gates were pulled open. Valens sliced his sword down. "For the king!" He shouted and the five hundred men who still followed him cheered and charged.

Time seemed to blur for Valens as he ran down the few yards towards the enemy crowding the door. A hail of arrows flew past and brought down more and more Gondorians but they never faltered. Valens felt tired but the wound on his arm did not hurt so much now. Everything seemed to be moving so slowly. Then he hit the enemy line, his sword hacked wildly down to fell a foe but then a jagged spear stabbed him hard in the chest. The breastplate held and the blade deflected down to impale his leg. He felt no pain and the last thing he saw was a blade coming at him.

Isildur saw the count fall and his men overmastered. He was tempted to charge one last time but he turned instead and ran through the open third gate. All men were dead or fighting for their lives and so he walked across the courtyard. He knew the place which Valens had spoken of and as he walked he suddenly stopped. The white tree, the tree which he had stolen the fruit for in Númenor before its fall stood above him. He thought of such loveliness burned and he cursed the enemy. Then he saw, the tree had a few fruits, products of spring and he seized them and pocketed them. He saluted the tree, his tower and his palace and went to his survival.

He reached the place and brushed aside the holly trees. The rock wall looked the same as it always had done but Isildur noticed a strange crack running along. He heard the shouts of the enemy and knew he had just seconds before he was seen and pursued. Desperately he pushed the rock but could do nothing. in utter despair he seized the rock and pulled it to the right. To his shock and happiness it moved. Rolling back a few inches he held it as he pushed through. The first orcs appeared on the top courtyard and he heaved withal his might, determined not to be caught. With a last heave he squeezed through and fell full length onto the stone floor. The cavern was illuminated, just by a small light coming from a chamber. Isildur saw that someone, presumably Valens had stacked torches and oil by the door in case it was needed. The sound of orcs came through the rock but Isildur stripped off his armour, not caring and lit his torch. He was exhausted but he was determined to escape. Lighting the torch, he looked at the map. it was fairly complex but he figured that he could reach the outside eventually.

Isildur had escaped; eventually he could find his way out and alert the world.

Five days later

High Prince Anárion looked on in grim satisfaction as another score of enemy went down to his catapults. The enemy had evidently not learned from the previous ten attempts that it was impossible to besiege a city from one side. Anárion stood on top one of his buildings near the crossing of the Anduin in the city of Osgiliath and watched the enemy ready for another assault. The one problem he had encountered was the quality of his troops. Being quickly raised and armed, the seven divisions he had were considered the worst in the entire army. With just thirty five thousand men he was just holding his ramparts. If the enemy launched a full assault then he would be pushed back. Anárion also had the major issue of having three of his four highest commanders and nobles away raising troops in their lands. When fully assembled, the army would be mighty but for now it was vulnerable. Taking into account the shortcomings of his forces and the terrain he had arranged the defences of the city in a half circle a few hundred yards from the city walls. This allowed those on the wall could also add their fire to any defence. The defenders were dug in with breastworks and heavy defences of trench and rampart protected by booby traps. Seven times the enemy had come and seven times they had died by the score under his arrows and bolts. His losses were trifling each time whilst the enemy had lost thousands in these assaults. Anárion had also stationed large forces all along his side of the river to guard against enemy attacks coming from the rear. He had planned well for his troops destroyed a force of several hundred who had tried to cross up stream. The enemy had not tried again but their numbers were massing and Anárion feared they would soon summon too many troops for him to stop.

He showed none of this of course as he paced down the lines of his men. They cheered him as he strode along the most outer earth works. He had discovered that these earthworks were better than giant walls in so many ways. First a wall was a giant target whereas a trench was virtually invisible. Secondly and most important was that troops could rapidly reinforce a trench or fire over it whereas a wall was an obstacle.

Anárion's men cheered him as he strode along the lines that looked over the fields of the dead. Hundreds of orcs were in sight, dead. Now it seemed as though they would try yet again. There had been no word from his brother or from the tower of the moon for nearly a half month and the presence of more enemy troops seemed to suggest that the city had fallen. Anárion briefly lost his composure at the thought of his brother dead or even worse, captured.

He shook that thought off and walked back up the hill to his command post. Just outside the city gate was where his tent was set up. It was a white canvas tent of double the regular size which he had his command post in. Walking up the hill and nodding to the salutes of the sentries, one could see just how different he was from his father. His short hair and clean shaven face contrasted with his elder brother and father. His blue eyes and less broad frame also showed him as different from his family. in mind however he was every bit, Elendil's son. He walked up to the top and towards his tent. As he did so he stripped off his sword and armour to be put away. Walking past his tent he came to a bench overlooking the three sets of trenches. On the bench was a man with a grey cloak, which fitted his grey moustache. He wore a sword at his side but the prince had never actually seen him draw it. The man nodded as he approached and stood.

"It is a mess lord prince, a damn mess and that is the truth." His accent was strange, unique even as Anárion had never heard another like it. Anárion smiled at the tall man who was even slightly taller than he. He looked old but Anárion knew that he was about a hundred and forty years old. Anárion smiled at the man whose accent was so strong and different.

"Have you no other welcome for your prince?" He asked lightly.

"I promise you lad that when this war is over then I will give you all the salutes you want but not when we have important issues to discuss."

"Go ahead Armarius, I am listening." Anárion sighed and sat next to the man. Armarius was his chief of engineers, a man with unlimited energy for engineering and a talent for being tactless to those he considered to be fools. His sardonic humour and strange criticisms of those in charge had made him both famous and had gained him enemies. One particularly famous case was when he had refused to help Isildur build the city of Minas Ithil after he had explained the stupidity of the move. Isildur had ordered him arrested but had later rescinded the order.

"Well, now the fortifications are finished have you considered we do not have enough men to man them all?"

"I thought that was your job?" Anárion could not resist the pick. The answer was predictable.

"it is not my bloody job to play soldiers. You give me plans, I dig the trenches. How was I to know that you don't have enough men to raid a chicken farm?" He asked.

"We have thirty five thousand men Armarius." Anárion explained patiently.

"And? We might as well have five thousand for all the good it will do. Where is the rest of this army?"

"It is being raised. It takes time to move an army. Like building a bridge I suppose." Armarius grunted.

"Stick with what you are best at lord prince. You are good at it; don't try to be an engineer as well."

"I am sorry. What do you suggest we do?" Anárion asked rhetorically.

"I am not the one in charge. I have trouble enough controlling this band of scoundrels." He said pointing at the army.

"So we have two choices; to hope to improvise or to abandon them and retire to the walls."

Armarius laughed. "I became an engineer because I though it was harder to lead an army. Obviously I was wrong. A very insightful comment lord prince. We can either stay where we are or move. How deep." Armarius said and the prince tried to cover his embarrassment with some prideful anger.

"You overreach yourself." His heart was not in it though.

"Maybe. In the circumstances I can only tell you the engineering practicalities. We are in a good position. The enemy is not strong and it will only be perhaps a few months before the main army does arrive. We have a chance to hold them off until then."

Anárion nodded. He felt annoyed he had risen to the teasing but the engineer did not mind and rarely held grudges longer than the next insult he launched.

"I agree. I will send messages to my commanders to tell them to send troops with all possible speed. Artirimar is raising troops more locally; he might have ten thousand by now."

"How many do you hope to raise?" Armarius asked.

"One hundred and forty thousand I predicted. Give or take ten thousand."

Armarius nodded. "A mighty host." He said seriously. Then he brightened up. "And I suppose you want me to supply them?" He asked indignantly.

"That is the idea, you are my quartermaster general. " He said and waited for the riposte.

He was interrupted by a procession from the gate. An aide ran forward and Anárion looked up to see a tall noble from Arnor, dressed for war walking through the gate. The man was tall and had long black hair and had a companion who was shorter and was obviously a native born Arnorian. The man had the uniform of the fourth division, the setting sun division which meant it could be only one man. The man's name would not come and Anárion started to panic when the aide saluted.

"Lord prince this is-" His words were destined to be unsaid for Armarius stepped forward and bellowed loudly in a mix of happiness and puzzlement.

"Coridius? What in the name of the sunken realm are you doing here? And Malimar too." He looked to Malimar who smiled at the engineer. "I hope you are taking good care of the gallant duke." He said and the cavalryman nodded.

"I try Armarius." He said

"I'm sure you do lad." Armarius said happily.

Anárion wondered not for the first time, whether everyone simply looked at the engineer wrongly. The man was either utterly insane or a genius. As he worked with the man more and more he began to suppose the latter.

"Duke Coridius Nantaris of Arthedain." Anárion finally placed the name and face. He had not met the man in twenty years but it seemed that Armarius had.

"The very same lord prince. I am honoured by your remembrance. It has been twenty years since we last met." He said with a smile.

Anárion liked the duke and knew he had developed much in twenty years. News of the battle near Imladris had arrived as well as his role in the fighting.

"So what are you doing here my friend? You are duke of Arthedain, not traveller of the world. And yet you are here in uniform?"

"Come with me lord prince. You will be surprised." Armarius laughed at the prince's confusion but followed the duke up the walls and onto the tower. The prince faced east but Coridius pointed west.

Anárion turned and stopped. He gasped and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the duke and the three men on the tower with him burst into laughter. It was rare to startle the prince whose emotions were kept perpetually below the surface.

What he saw before him was an army. Over the western ramparts he could see them. He could see five divisions of formed troops before him. Twenty five thousand men ready and at his command. He looked in puzzlement at the duke.

"How is this possible?"

"When the news of the siege of Minas Ithil arrived the king knew you would need men to fill the gaps left until the army can be summoned. I left two weeks after that message arrived and here I am. At your command."

"You are most welcome my friend. Unfortunately we were thin on the ground. Now we can fully man the defences and more. Who did you bring?"

"The fourth of course. No army of mine would be complete without the fourth division." He smiled as he mentioned the second best unit in the Arnorian army. "Also the sixth, eighth, eleventh and fourteenth. Good men all and all from Arthedain."

"I thank you Duke Coridius. I feared we may have been forced to pull back to the walls. And the third light cavalry?"

"You know I would never go without them."

"Someone has to keep him in line." Malimar put in and the prince laughed.

"Get your men to the front lines and then come and join me tonight. It is light fare but still I have some good brandy."

"I would love to." Coridius said and looked to Armarius who was looking at him meaningfully.

"Why is it that I am perpetually labelled as the supplier of people's drinks?" He asked and pulled out a bottle and gave it to the engineer. Armarius smiled.

"I will take that as payment for the insult you gave me last time we met."

"And what was that?" Anárion asked and the duke smiled.

"I said he was a crooked old bookkeeper" Armarius smiled

"It's not that I mind being called crooked. All quartermasters are crooked but it was the fact he seemed to think it was humorous. You might be a duke but a child could make a better insult than you."

"I see the valiant engineer has not changed." Coridius said as they headed down to street level.

"No he has not. He called Levan a brainless fool two weeks ago."

"And I will retract that statement if one of you can tell me that I am wrong in that statement." He said.

"I really have missed that. It is so boring in the north. All I have is the disapproving Sirandel and the vindictive Thandal."

"Be honest Duke Coridius, would you want him with you everyday?" Anárion said, scoring an unexpected victory over the engineer.

"So how goes the muster?" Coridius asked, serious again.

"We are gathering troops from all over. Artirimar is gathering them from the area of my capital. Provinde is raising troops in Calenardhon and the south west. And Daguerre." Anárion knew what would happen now.

"Archduke Antonine Daguerre is a traitorous rogue that does not deserve to be in command of a picket let alone an army. If I had my way then he would be ejected into the river." Armarius said. Everyone smiled at that. Anárion reflected that everyone knew four things about the engineer; first he was a brilliant engineer, second he had the most sardonic wit in any man, thirdly he possessed a strange accent and lastly, he fought with Daguerre. Nobody knew why two men who were best friends and almost brothers insulted each other at every chance. It was utterly inexplicable because the two were better friends than even Malimar and Coridius.

"Despite what our gallant engineer says, Daguerre is raising troops in the Gondorian heartland and he will have his army ready soon."

"As soon as the war is finished I'll wager." Armarius muttered with a smile.

"That is good. Any news from-" Coridius said but was interrupted by another messenger. The duke turned to Malimar. "How unusual." He said dryly.

Anárion turned to the messenger who had called to him.

"Lord prince the prince has asked you for your presence." The messenger said breathlessly.

"What prince? Who are you talking about?" Anárion asked.

"The Crown Prince Isildur has arrived and asks for you."

"Isildur?" Anárion said in shock. "Where is he?"

"In the palace. The healers are seeing to him as we speak." The messenger said.

"Good, tell him I will be with him imminently." Anárion commanded and the aide ran off. Anárion turned to the three other men. "To answer your question Coridius, it is clear that Minas Ithil has fallen but my brother has somehow survived." He put an ironic twist on the last six words. Armarius nudged Coridius gently but firmly in the back as a reminder to choose his words before the prince who was trying to control his anger.

Coridius nodded. "I feared it may have fallen sooner. That is well at least that he has survived."

"The man did not say anything about him returning with men." Armarius pointed out.

"The consequences of his actions will be made clear to him." Anárion said grimly. "At least they will not capture the river city." He nodded to them. "I must go my friends but Armarius will show you your rooms. An hour after dusk, come to my chamber in the palace and we will talk more."

"I agree lord prince; I could stand to get out of this armour."

"Good. Off you go then." Anárion said with false cheerfulness. Armarius hustled them away. When they were out of earshot he smiled at them.

"Anárion is good at hiding his feelings but he is not that good. I have rarely seen him angrier. I would not like to be his brother when he finds him." He chuckled. "Of course, I would not want to be his brother anyway."

"It is good to see you again you old rogue." Coridius said warmly and the old engineer smiled and did not retort for once.

Anárion strode over the bridge and into the western half of the city. The city was not beautiful like Minas Anor, nor did it have the air and surrounds of Annúminnas. Instead it was made of a dull, grey stone and built on narrow streets which were nevertheless busy even at this late hour of the afternoon. Citizens bowed and saluted as he past but the prince ignored them, strangely, he usually shared a smile with his people and a joke. This is one of the reasons he was so popular, he was approachable. Any man could come to him and talk and the prince would listen. This day he did not and the citizens he passed could not miss the suppressed fury on his face. It was rare for the prince to lose his temper and when it happened it was not pleasant.

The palace of Osgiliath was a large building which while not especially large or grand was effective. It stood in a clear square of paved city and was five stories tall. It was built of dark stone and everything about it suggested it was a fortress rather than a palace of luxury. Anárion walked through the open doors and into a tall room with spectacular glass windows that faced east over the river as it wound through the city. In the room were the two thrones that were in every major city due to the nature of the rulership. A quarter of the palace was this spectacular dark room which had benches and tables at one end and the thrones at the other. A guard came forward and saluted the prince. He saw the look on his rulers face and his welcoming smile was replaced by a serious frown.

"Lord prince the crown prince is-" He was cut off by Anárion.

"Get to the point." Anárion demanded sharply.

"He is in the room at the end of the hall." The man said and bowed out of the way. The guard, a regular in the service of Anárion for the last five years had only seen Anárion angry once before. He shuddered.

Anárion was aware of nothing else but the door he pushed open and came into one of the guest waiting rooms. On a cushioned bench lay his brother, exhausted, bloodied and dirty. His notched sword lay by his side and his face looked as though it belonged to a tramp. He opened his eyes and looked from the two surgeons to his brother.

"Brother." Isildur said weakly.

"Leave us. No one is to disturb us." Anárion said to the two surgeons icily. The backed off and exited. Isildur looked at his brother with a puzzled look.

"Anárion?" He said.

"Yes. I see you are still alive. Did any more escape?" He asked.

"No. They fought to the last man and died at their posts."

"And yet you survived?" Anárion asked pointedly.

"Count Valens urged me to escape while I could."

"I have no doubt he did." Anárion said intimating that his brother convinced himself to flee.

"What are you saying?" Isildur asked and sat up.

"It is convenient that you lived and so many died."

"Would you have liked it if I had?" Isildur asked bitterly. Anárion was not going to give up.

"Of course not but you led six thousand men to there and you were the only survivor. They fought to the end so you could escape? If I had led those troops then I would have expected to lead some of them to safety or die with them."

"I am sorry for that. I-" Anárion cut him off.

"Do not apologise to me, apologise to those families who now do not have sons or husbands."

"Why do you hate me so?" Isildur asked.

"I don't but you must face up to the consequences of your actions. This war is maybe not caused by you but without that city it might not have happened now."

"Why did you not tell me before?" Isildur said and Anárion snarled aloud.

"What do you think I have been saying for the last twenty five years?" Anárion virtually shouted. "Did you think I was amusing myself by laying the risks before you?"

"I was wrong, yes. I understand that. What would you have me do?"

"I would have you consider the consequences of your actions for a while. You will go to father and tell him what has happened. You will form an alliance with him formally and then investigate the possibility of an alliance with the High King." Anárion ordered his brother who bridled.

"I am the crown prince." He said and Anárion, whose voice had lessened, turned on him again.

"That may be so, brother. I have been the one who has led this nation for the last three and a half months. If I desired I could have you dismissed and sent north to explain yourself to father. As it is, you go with honour and you need not say anything of this discussion." Anárion reflected that he technically had the power to do nothing of the sort but so overawed was his brother by Anárion's fierce anger that he could not call his bluff.

"Very well." He said and slumped back. The crown prince looked up to see his brother with tears in his eyes. Anárion knelt down beside him.

"I am sorry brother. I was worried and I have to consider my people first."

"Unlike me?" Isildur said bitterly, not at Anárion but at himself. The younger brother wondered if he had maybe tongue lashed him too much. Isildur had ever been sensitive to criticism and his honour was easily bruised.

"No, I am sorry I yelled at you brother. I just wanted you to understand."

"I think I understand already. I will never fail you again brother I swear upon our mother's grave that I will not fail you again."

Anárion was shocked by the seriousness of the tone.

"I know you will not. In fact you may have bought me enough time to defend this city. Duke Coridius arrived just two hours before with twenty five thousand men. Now we can hold the line until you bring us an alliance."

"It was a defeat. You said so yourself."

"Good may come of bad situations." Anárion said. "You leave in three days if you are well. I will return."

Isildur lay in the room while the surgeons tended him and his eyes gazed at the ceiling sightlessly. The crown prince felt sick, sick of himself. He had failed and his brother, who had never shouted at him before had laid home that guilt. Isildur determined he would not fail again. Never would his brother have cause to doubt him again.

Anárion walked through the doors of his chambers. He had been late because of the need to change after his talk with his brother. He had missed the meal and came in on the final drinks. Four men were gathered there. In addition to Coridius, Malimar and Armarius there was another man. He was the Baron Sirinon Levan of Aranath.  His territory was the heartland of Gondor where Daguerre was currently. He was an imposing man with a moustache and a commanding presence. He had short black hair and blue-green eyes. Rather than overweight, he was more solidly built and was in reality a terrifying foe to his enemies. Looking more like a barroom brawler than a baron, he was either liked or hated by his men. Although he was a good leader he was arrogant and made few friends. He was no friend of Coridius whom he had met fifteen years before. The unavoidable fact of the matter in Anárion's eyes was that he was stuck with the baron as his third in command behind Daguerre. As Archduke, Antonine naturally out ranked him but Anárion had had no choice but to make him his second in command for the defence of Osgiliath. It was considered best to keep the two apart for Daguerre had long disliked the brash baron for his role in convincing Isildur of the merits of building Minas Ithil where it was. Armarius hated the baron for that reason and because the baron tried to make him seem better than the engineer. Anárion reflected that it was perhaps not the best command to lead into a major battle.

The members of the table saluted as he entered and stopped whatever argument they had been having.

"I apologise for my lateness my friends." He said as a signal for them to stop their disagreement.

"Lord prince, how is Prince Isildur?" Levan asked in a gruff tone.

"He is well. A minor injury which should heal. He is leaving in three days." Anárion sat at the table.

"Going where lord prince?" Coridius asked.

"To see my father the king in Annúminnas. When he arrives he will express the seriousness of the situation to the king and join the two nations together formally in an alliance of war."

"What about the High King of the Eldar?" Coridius asked.

"I have never met him so I cannot judge. I shall accept my father's experience in the matter. He will make the decision of whether to form an alliance or not."

"Why would the elves want to join with us? Or us with them?" Levan said with an arrogant sneer.

"Have you ever met an elf?" Coridius asked pointedly.

"Occasionally." the baron said which was a denial in the mind of Coridius.

"They are not so different from us you know. I heard from Maelius before I left and he said they were more than willing to entertain such an idea."

"And you are standing up for them? The elves do not want to help us."

Anárion saw where this was heading. He intervened. "Please my friends. I also know little in regard to the Eldar as I have rarely met them. Only the emissaries from the woods come to my court often and they are different from those across the mountains. I would think that the duke here is better qualified to judge as he has met and befriended many of their kind. I trust my father will make the right decision and I will stand by it, bowing to his experience."

"I agree. Let those with the experience speak of what they know." Armarius added. Levan muttered under his breath.

"And what of your plans now lord prince?" Malimar asked.

"A captain speaks." Levan said quietly.

Anárion ignored the comment. "I plan to wait for the right moment. When it comes I hope to break through and inflict such a defeat on the enemy as to buy more time for our allies."

"A wise move. When do you think is the best time to strike?" Levan said.

"When the enemy is worn down from the siege and we have sufficient forces coming up. Then we shall hit them and hit them hard. If we can take out a few of their hosts then we can even the odds. We have sixty thousand men, the enemy cannot have much more able to fight us so we pick the right moment."

"Maybe when even more men arrive we can be more certain of victory." Armarius said.

"That is true." Anárion rose and they did so as well. The prince raised his glass and held it up. "Gentlemen, I give you the king." The four other men repeated the last two words and drunk from their glasses.

"If you will excuse me lord prince." Levan said and rose. Anárion nodded and the big man left the room.

"And I as well lord prince. I will see you later Coridius, Malimar." Armarius said and left the room.

Anárion looked to the remaining two. "I cannot thank you enough for what the two of you have done. Please excuse Levan, he can be overbearing but he is good in battle."

"I am not disputing that or his courage. I just find it difficult when he speaks of what he does not know" Coridius said to the prince.

"I know. You of all men in Gondor at this moment can talk about elves as you are friends with several. Please understand that the men of Gondor see them rarely and the high elves even less. Suspicion and fear are major factors, even in the commanders. Too long has it been since there was an elf in my court. I believe only the ambassador came once."

"I know lord prince. I like them and I think they like me. It angers me when such deliberate ignorance is displayed to prove a point."

"Now you know what it is to be a royal Coridius. Your stay here I hope will be good and when the battle comes, I hope that it is you who strikes the blow for freedom."

"May the blessing of the sunken realm be with you." The duke said in Sindarin.

Anárion smiled. "Good night Duke Coridius." He said in the same language.

The next morning Isildur was awakened his steward Ohtar who he had sent away with his family. The man was one of those people who always looked venerable and would do so at thirty or ninety. He had long white hair and a scar across his face from the wreck of Númenor when a piece of flying rock had broken his cheek.

"Lord prince. It is time to awaken; Lord Prince Anárion desires to meet with you as soon as possible." The steward was kind but firm like Isildur was a favoured child.

"I missed you Ohtar, I never thought I would but I shall take your advice."

"How are you my prince?"

"I have been better but I think that I have also been worse. Now where is my brother?"

"He is in the throne room. It is to be just the two of you."

"Are my family well?"

"They are indeed lord prince but it has been hard on your wife Lady Valnarë and your children."

"I will see them afterwards but now I must go."

Isildur the son of Elendil walked towards the eastern end of the great fortress like palace. As he strode along the passages people hurriedly got out of the way as he passed. He saw his steward Ohtar and called the man over.

"Ohtar get backed and be ready to leave in one hour. I want an escort and supplies for a long journey."

"Of course lord prince." The man scampered away to get the travel gear ready while Isildur pressed on.

The prince eventually came to a large ornate door guarded by a guard in the livery of Anárion. The man saw the prince approach and bowed and opened the door before he could say a word. Isildur muttered thanks and opened the door wider himself and walked in. He closed it behind him and turned with a smile upon his face into the room.

The room was an ornate living room that could accommodate a half dozen people in luxury. It was a rectangular room with doors to left and right that opened into other rooms. A pair of curtains covered the window and illuminated the room in a shadowy light. In the room was a large table, a bed and a tiled area with a drain for washing. The room was white walled with wood designs in the shape of trees and flowers.

Isildur noticed none of this, he only noticed the woman who was sitting in a chair facing the light and reading a scroll that Isildur recognised as one he had written to her before the siege lines had closed. She looked up and the smile that appeared on the women's face melted his heart. This was his wife Valnarë of Rhovan who he had married twenty two years ago after his first wife died only a year after they married. Valnarë had borne him four sons. The youngest was a mere three years old while the other three were seven, thirteen and eighteen. She ran over to him and embraced him. She was in her late thirties but she still had a radiant beauty in her that made her the rivals jealous.

"My prince!" She cried happily and kissed him on the cheek. "I was so worried when the city fell but I knew you would survive. You will always be here for me." She said as tears poured down her cheeks. Isildur quietened her and kissed her fiercely on her hair.

"I will always be here my love. You have nothing to fear." The two were silent for a good while until she pulled away from him and looked into the other room.

"Children, father is home."

There was a cry of delight and then there was two children running towards the tall prince. Valnarë strode into the other room and brought out another child, very young. Beside her stood the oldest who walked over and shook his hand like a warrior. The two middle children were tangled around his legs and he freed himself and sat down.

He had not seen his children for three years. His wife had come with him to Minas Ithil for a few months but he had insisted that she leave when the rumour of war had become reality. He had not allowed his children anywhere near the warzone in case they were harmed. He could not live with himself if he had led to their deaths.

Of them all, Elandur the oldest was most like him. He was eighteen and already a good swordsman. He had been training for four years now and had equalled his masters in many areas of fighting and command. Of all of his children Elandur was the one he most understood and got on with best.

The next oldest, Aratan was more like his brother, literate and well spoken but also prone to excessive emotion. In this at least he took after his mother who had a tendency to overreact. Of the three children he knew Aratan was the most likely to loose control. Isildur hoped that some military training would be enough to discipline the boy.

The third oldest was young Ciryon, a boy he knew little about. From his mother's letters Ciryon was more mischievous than his brothers but seemed to be reasonably intelligent.

The youngest he knew nothing about. He had left to go to war when his wife was near ready to give birth and had not been able to return. The boy was called Valantil and he could already see a small version of himself in her arms. He thought of how much he missed his children's childhood but he knew that was the price for a prince in times of war.

"Father?" Elandur had asked something but Isildur had been staring down at his youngest child and had missed it.

"Sorry my son." Isildur said and looked up.

"I was asking father how long you would be here." The boy asked with amused dignity.

Isildur looked down and then up into the honest eyes of his tall son. "Not long my son. Three hours is all there is before I must leave."

The two middle children cried but Elandur nodded.

"I heard of the sack of Minas Ithil. I know that once this war is finished; if it ever does then you will have time for us."

Isildur felt a mix of great relief and great sorrow at his oldest son's words. He nodded and smiled weakly.

"You are now eighteen. You are my oldest, which makes you my heir. You are heir to the rulership with your uncle Anárion."

The boy nodded. "I know and that weight presses upon me. Please return safely." The boy said bottling his emotions and forcing a smile.

Isildur hugged the boy and then turned to his other children. "And now I must go." He said.

"Please don't leave father!" Ciryon cried in a voice that broke his father's heart.

"I have no choice my sons. I must go or else something terrible might happen."

He rose, he needed to go but he could not run from his own family. He kissed his youngest and embraced his wife. Valnarë gave Valantil to Elandur and walked with him down the corridor.

"It is hard for the children. They have mostly never seen you."

"I would that it was different but if I do not go then it is not only me but all of my people who suffer the flail of war. My heart breaks every time I see my children but one day, when this war is over I shall return and we shall be the happiest family in my entire realm. My brother will make sure nothing happens to them or to you. I could not live with myself if you were to be slain. I shall return, no matter how long it is or how far I must go. I shall return."

"Go now my prince, my love."

Isildur turned and walked briskly away from his family and out of the corridor and into the throne room. Valnarë watched him go and cried to herself until Elandur came to her and led her away to her room.

Anárion turned as his brother entered and embraced him. Anárion smiled at his brother's grim face.

"It is hard to leave them is it not? I have had that trouble when I was needed elsewhere."

"It is harder than ordering your men to battle. It is harder than anything I know."

"It is indeed brother. Now ride with all haste. I see your escort is assembled so press on until you reach Annúminnas. Which way will you go?"

"I would go the passes of the great mountains except that it is near winter and recent tales tell of weather that is unnatural and dangerous. I will therefore go the long route via the gap of Calenardhon and up through Arnor from the south."

"It is longer."

"It is less risky. We will be in properly ruled lands with towns and cities and not climbing over mountains with horses in the snow and ice."

"It shall be so my brother. Go and may the blessing of Númenor be upon you."

"I shall return before spring is waning." Isildur said and strode from the room. He walked out of the palace and down the black stone steps to where his horses and men of the escort were assembled. Ohtar was there with his horse Malider, a huge bay stallion from the lands of Calenardhon. Isildur mounted his horse and set it towards the western gate of the city. He had a long ride before him but it was sure not to be uneventful.

Six weeks Later midSA3429

Despite the warming weather, the start of summer close at hand, the figure on the tower still wore a heavy cloak. King Elendil looked over his city, the most populated in the world. Sixty thousand people lived around the lake in this sheltered valley. Elendil sighed and turned from his morning vigil and pulled his cloak about him. In deference to the rising temperature, he had worn a lighter cloak than his winter garment. The king nodded silently and climbed down from his lookout on the top of his palace. The king knew that eventually his time would come; he was old, even for the men of Númenor. He was ancient compared to the majority of the people he ruled and he could feel his strength going. In the last few years he had been becoming more and more tired, frailer despite his willpower. He hated being dependant on others and even more so that there was no one he could really trust in the city. Coridius was at war and Maelius remained in Santäissa. The king trusted no one else save his sons and they were away in the south. he had not seen them in nigh on ten years. He strolled along the battlements of his keep, seeking time alone. He was destined not to get it though for at that moment a messenger came to the top of the tower's flat top.

"Lord king, I am sorry to disturb you but there is a matter that I considered to be of great importance."

"Continue captain, I am listening." The king said, trying to find his commanding kingly voice.

"The prince has arrived just an hour ago. The prince of Gondor." Elendil whipped around and stared at the man.

"Prince of Gondor? You mean my son. Which of my sons?" He asked.

"The Crown Prince Isildur lord king." The man said with a bow.

"What in the name of the sunken realm is Isildur doing here? Why have I heard nothing about this?" He asked the messenger.

"There was no forewarning lord king. He arrived unannounced at the gate this morning. I assume he travelled as fast as any messenger."

"Very well. Tell the prince to meet me in my council room in an hour's time. Have the council assembled for an hour after that."

"Of course lord king." The man saluted and was gone.

Elendil stared at the lake for a moment more. If Isildur was here than Minas Ithil had fallen. That meant a declaration of war and the calling up of troops. Arnor was a larger land than Gondor, it would take a long time to assemble the men and train and equip them. The king sighed and walked back to the council room.

Elendil sat alone at the table in the room. The time for meeting his nobles and deciding the course of action would come later but for now he would have a few minutes with his son. There was a knock at the door and the king raised his voice.

"Enter." He commanded.

The door opened and Isildur entered the room followed by an escort. Elendil nodded to the escort.

"Leave us." The man nodded and retreated to the hallway outside.

The king and the prince looked at each other for a long moment before Elendil smiled. He moved forward and embraced his son fiercely. His son returned it and when he pulled back, the face of the old king was animated more than it had been for many years.

"My son. I am so pleased to see you again after all this time."

Isildur smiled. "Thank you father. I am glad to be here. I was almost not." He said with a frown.

"Come and sit down my son. Why are you here? What is happening in Gondor?" He asked.

"Father, the city of the moon, entrusted to me has fallen. I defended it for as long as possible but we could not resist the might of the enemy forever. We were overcome and the city ruined." His voice was hopeless and Elendil frowned. He suspected that something else had happened to his older son.

"How did you escape?" Elendil asked. His son looked anguished.

"Count Valens showed me a route of escape and sacrificed himself so I might escape. In time I came to the river where I was picked up by a boat and taken to Osgiliath. They probably thought I was a deserter and I had to have them paid when I reached land."

"That was a noble sacrifice. Valens was a good man." He saw something in the eyes of the prince. "You trouble yourself over it do you not?"

"I do father. Why was I worth saving? Why did he choose that I was more worthy than him?"

"Peace my son. What is done is done. If you had chosen to die with them they you know as well as any that you would be dead and none would have escaped. It may have been a month until we discovered the truth. Do not begrudge your survival my son. You would have sent a man in your place but if there was no one else then the news would have died with you." Elendil said.

"I know father. I see my error now. I led those men to their deaths and nothing I do will allay that guilt."

"All men make mistakes. You or I are not immune. Despite that you may have done us a service. Six thousand men is many, too many but if you had fought them before the black pass in open battle then you would have lost more I am certain. You held up the enemy for three months, a crucial three months. The enemy cannot use that fortress now, so completely is it ruined." He looked at his son sternly. "You must lead your men to war soon and in war you must be able to sacrifice men to gain the good from the bad. You must be willing to sacrifice yourself as well."

"Thank you father. I grieve for them but-" He stopped and his father looked at him.

"What is it my son?" he asked. When the prince did not reply, he asked again, more commanding. "Isildur, what is it?""

His son seemed distraught and Elendil softened slightly and came to sit beside his son. Finally the prince spoke and when he did, the king was surprised of at the topic.

"I had just arrived and Anárion came to see me. He was angry with me; he raised his voice against me. I failed him."

Elendil nodded. The times his younger son lost his temper could be counted on one hand. "You did not fail him Isildur. You are strong yet my son. He was worried about you I am sure."

"He threatened to dismiss me." The prince said. Elendil was confused; his son had not even taken the death of his mother this badly. Somehow the guilt, anger and shame had come together in him to change him.

"You know he would not do that. He is your brother and perhaps he was angry but it is in the past. He would have forgiven you. You know your brother. He does not hold his anger, not like Provinde." Isildur laughed and the king sat back.

"I have the council coming soon. Without Maelius of course or Coridius either."

"I met the duke as he entered Osgiliath."

Elendil sighed in relief. "If any man can help hold that place it is him. I am glad he came in time."

"Where is Maelius? I have not met him since he was the Baron of Kerost."

"He is in Santäissa. He has been there since your first message."

"With the elves?" Isildur asked in surprise.

"Of course. The High King is our ally and he has agreed to accommodate the Archduke until a message of resolution came from you."

"Why is he with them? I came to secure an alliance with Arnor."

"He is there in case we need the alliance with the Eldar." Elendil said calmly.

Isildur had only met one high elf and that had been thirty years before when Tiraldórë had come to Gondor on a matter of state. He had not talked with the elf out of a formal council though. He had talked with several wood elf ambassadors and had got perhaps a mistaken impression of the elven race.

"They have no intention of joining with us. Why would they, they dislike us mortals." Isildur said the last word bitterly. His father looked at him shocked.

"Have you not seen the closeness between Tiraldórë and Coridius? The long friendship between Talliar and Gildor? The alliance between me and the High King?" He asked and his son looked confused.

"They have never shown any such comradeship to me."

"How many elves have you met my son?" Elendil asked his son pointedly. "I mean high elves west of the mountains, not the sylvan elves."

His son looked confused still. His father took his shoulder.

"You have never actually talked with one have you? The view you have is based on rumour, myth and the impressions from sylvan elves that really do dislike us. I will not say that all elves of Lindon are like that but neither are all men like Coridius. But you look at the way Coridius talks with Gildor or Tiraldórë and you tell me those two show contempt for him. The thing is my son is that you cannot judge a race and that is the end. Especially one you have no knowledge of."

"I am sorry father. I never realised." He looked down and Elendil clapped his shoulder.

"We are in this together whether we desire it or not. After all the High King has ruled for more than three thousand years and you do not have that unless he is a worthy leader. The council comes soon." Elendil said.

He had just finished as the door opened and his four council members entered. They saw the prince and bowed in shock and surprise on their faces. Isildur came forward to Fedallais who nodded a greeting.

"Good day count. How is fair Rhudaur?" He asked. Elendil noted the mood change and then remembered something from his earlier life in Númenor. He grimaced.

"It is well lord prince. And you?"

Elendil interceded. "That is what we are here to discuss. Sit my friends."

The six men sat and Elendil looked at the four men. He missed the council of the Archduke and the common sense of Coridius. He realised that what he wanted to do had to meet the approval of these four men. Three of whom were opposed to involvement with the Eldar. He sighed at the task but realised he only need convince Talliar to have equal numbers and thus carry the vote.

"My lords, as you can see, Prince Isildur is here. He has come from the ruin of Minas Ithil from which only he escaped to warn us. Though that city has fallen we must make sure it never happens again. Isildur has asked to address the council and he will do so now."

The prince stood. "I am regretful in a way that I am here because it means that my fair city is now the home of orcs and traitor men. Though many died I came here to ensure that it can be stopped from happening again. War has started and now we must put our forces together or be swept aside. While my brother holds Osgiliath with the help of the Duke of Arthedain we must look to ourselves."

"So what is it that you want lord prince?" Thandal asked, blunt as ever.

"What I want count is to form a formal alliance between Arnor and Gondor. We are bound together by blood and a defence treaty but not by law. I want a declaration of war against the enemy and for our forces to be raised."

"We have started rearmament but could do little until a declaration of war is signed." Talliar said.

"Then we should resolve to begin at full speed as soon as possible." Isildur said. The young prince drew himself up. When he spoke it was in a different tone to usual. "The enemy grows stronger daily and now that my city, the city of the moon has fallen there is nothing to stop the enemy from moving troops against us. He may take some years to bring his whole force against us but when that happens we have no hope of holding the crossing of the Anduin. On my way here I received oaths from many towns and cities and groups of men to prepare for war but even if all of Gondor is stripped of men we cannot hold against the enemy that may eventually outnumber us two to one in the field. If that happens then we will be driven from the field no matter how valiant and brave we are. Alone Gondor has no chance of victory but united with all the other realms of Middle Earth we stand a chance of bringing about his downfall.  If we must fight then we must fight so that we shall not die in vain."

Isildur stopped his long speech and looked into his father's eyes. His father smiled at him grimly but with some humour.

"You are more like your brother each day. You were never a great speaker but it seems that you have grown since we last met."

"You mentioned the other realms of Middle Earth." Talliar said. "Does that mean the elves as well?" The duke had virtually despaired of having any support after his two friends had left.

Isildur looked uncertain for a moment. He looked into his father's eyes but saw no support there. He would have to stand by his own decision. "Yes. I am not one to judge them because of my limited experience but I would say if the situation is favourable and if they are will we should try." He looked at Thandal's appalled face. Ever had Isildur taken a stand against them but now he had changed his mind. "It is their land and their world." The prince said. Thandal spoke up.

"I must say lord prince that your change of opinion is quite sudden." Isildur looked at the count and smiled thinly.

"I have seen this war first hand. In truth I have never met a high elf of Lindon or Imladris. I shall let those who know them make the judgement."

Talliar was delighted but also interested as well by the sudden change in opinion.

"I know from my correspondence with Vlaimadous that they are prepared to fight if they were to be asked." He said.

"My friends, there is only one way to find out. Send a message to the High King. If he is willing, in three months we will meet and discuss the matter. After talk and consultation, a decision will be made. By the beginning of winter, we will have an answer to that question."

"Where would you meet?" Isildur asked.

"I would meet in Coridius' city but since he is away we shall have to go to Santäissa."

Sirandel did not look happy at that. Elendil added before he was asked. "We will go there because they will invite us and because it has been many years since I visited that city."

"I am sure they will agree to meet us." Talliar said and earned a disapproving look from Thandal. The elf friend did not much care, as far as he was concerned, the right decision had been made.

** Author's Notes – The Siege of Osgiliath **

My first version of this chapter was half the size and leaked like a sieve. I hope it is better now. I wanted a breach and an escalade to emphasise the nature of the enemy and their willingness to lose troops. Though a minor engagement compared to the blood letting to come, the siege is important because it starts the war. It will be many years before it is retaken.

Armarius makes his first appearance in this chapter. All though many readers will doubtless find him annoying and un-funny he is still my favourite character. Like the character he was based on, he was meant to have a very brief part but once I wrote a few lines for him I could not help but put him back into the story elsewhere. His accent which is so strange is Scottish. Strange though it may seem, I never imagined him without the accent. Several characters such as Provinde, Daguerre and Artirimar are mentioned in this chapter and are explained when they enter the story.

Of all the attempts at humour in this story, (successful or not to taste) I feel that Coridius' statement when he is interrupted by a messenger is the best. "How unusual." He says which of course refers to my habit of interrupting characters in the middle of a sentence. I swear that that is the only post modern reference in this story.

The hereditary curse of Elendil and his sons is something that just seemed to happen. Some form of mental illness I suppose. I have always imagined Isildur as slightly insane. He can be totally normal one moment and raving mad the next. This is shown more and more as time goes on. Cue dramatic scene!

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