Imrahil Chapter 2
The Bay of Belfalas was beautiful to the prince. He liked to look at it for long periods of time. Even now as he summoned his knights and called for soldiers to go to war he looked out over the bay in peace. From Tirith Aear he could see far out into the distance, his countenance showed no fear yet he knew time was not in his favor.
It has been several days since Imrahil sent word for his men to gather he was hoping for more than he had at hand. "We have a little over 700 men," an aid told him knowing this was hardly encouraging news. But, he knew that many men had fears of leaving their homes in war. Several times in the history of Dol Amroth Corsairs had attacked his city from the sea. He knew many men were not cowards, but wanted to defend their homes should the enemy show up.
Imrahil listened to the music below him. Despite being high above the ground in his tower, the gentle cords of the harps could be heard. He thought to himself that the harps made better music than the drums and horns would make when he would be engaged in battle. Like most of Gondor, the people were more artistic and studied than in many other places. The strains of the harps were above all human grace; the vocals were spoken in elvish, rather than the native tongue. All who listened were nearly cast into a spell. Imrahil closed his eyes one more time before turning and slowly descending to the ground.
Walking out of the Tirith Aear, the lordly prince cast a long shadow. He was wearing his best armor, some of the finest in the entire world. He called for his guards, the came forth and he rode with them toward the camp that was formed slightly down the road.
"Have the men form up," Imrahil ordered. A lieutenant had a horn sound, the men formed in several lines. He had his famed knights on the right, the infantry on the left. He could tell that fear had gripped most of them. He knew the thoughts of battle and death was in present in their chests. Imrahil rode to the center, an aid carrying a furled standard rode by his side. He turned to his men and he words recorded were enthralling:
Finduilas once road to Minis Tirith from our town in happiness. She rode there to wed Denethor, the ruling steward of our country. While her time has gone, it is to be time once again for those from Belfalas to ride to the capital or their nation. This time we will travel not in happiness, but for war. The blood of our fiefdom is shared with the senior captains of Gondor. No Dark Lord shall ever raise their banner over our lands, your families shall not be placed into the bonds of slavery. Today men we ride forth, not for fear of death! Not for fear of defeat! No my friends, today we ride to Minas Tirith for Victory!
The Men cheered loudly; the brave words of their leader steeled their nerves. At this moment a breeze picked up off the ocean. The blue banner unfurled The silver swan-prowed ship could be seen by all. The banner of Dol Amroth, kindled the hope of those that gathered around the soldiers.
"Onward to Minas Tirith," Imrahil exclaims, his eyes and heart ablaze. "Onward to Victory!"