Chapter 1 – The Plan of Battle
Night had come over the glades of Southern Ithilien. Ithil smiled upon the camp of the Men of Gondor and Rohan, as they set up their tents. Thither had the entire host come, eighteen thousands in all. The last breath of glory of the dying Kingdom of the Kings of Men.
"Elbereth," sighed Aglahad, Prince of Dol Amroth, as he looked up towards the stars of Varda. He walked among the tents of his knights, making sure they were comfortable, for the next few days would indeed be trying for the Dunedain. They were taking on a host of Haradrim twice the size of their own host. Aglahad stepped out of the encampment for a while, after he had checked on all of his men. He wanted a breath of fresh air, as well as admire the stars of the Queen of Heaven.
He strode out and wandered over to a tall elm near the Gondorian encampment. He was brooding on the upcoming battle, thinking of different outcomes. A great responsibility lay on the Prince of Dol Amroth. If indeed the Steward of Gondor fell in battle, the burden of command over the army would fall upon him. It was upon him that those young soldiers would look, their pleading eyes begging him to bring them home. And if he did not, then many good men would make that final journey to the void…..
He was forced out of his musings by a soft noise nigh to him. Instinctively, he spun around and drew the dagger on his belt, and looked for the source from whence the noise had come. Then he recognized a golden haired tall figure, and his death like grip upon the dagger hilt relaxed and he sheathed his weapon. The golden haired man laughed softly and spoke to Aglahad.
"Lord Aglahad," he said respectfully, "I come to you with the bidding of Lord Turin, who asks that you would come to council, so that we may contrive our forces to offer our battle to the Southrons."
"I will come, Prince Folcred," he graciously replied, and followed the young Horse Lord to the tent of Turin son of Thorondir. They passed the tents of Gondorian men-at-arms on the way, all of whom hailed Aglahad and Folcred. From thence they came upon the lodgings of the Rohirrim, and a comfortable smell of horses reached Aglahad's nostrils. The Knights of the Riddermark hailed their Prince, as both Folcred and his brother Fastred were well-loved by the Men of Rohan. They hailed Aglahad as well, for 'twas obvious that he was a man of high nobility and held himself like one of high lineage. Tall, stern of glance, dark haired, pale skinned and proud, he looked a typical Gondorian. An elf would have discerned from a league away that this was a man of high Numenorean descent. Also that he had a measure of Elven blood in his veins. Indeed, the high men of Dol Amroth were descended from Imrazor the Numenorean, and his wife the lady Mithrellas of the Silvan Folk.
They reached the tent of the Steward. It was guarded by a company of the Guards of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain, the guard unit for the Tower of Ecthelion, who could not leave the citadel of Minas Anor without leave of their Lord, the Steward. More properly the High King, if indeed the King of the Numenoreans could return out of the shadows of the past.
They entered the tent. Thither were present many lords among the Rohirrim and the Dunedain. There was Lord Egalmoth, Lord of the Keys, who was of a family in which the blood of Numenor flowed true, Lord Turin II of the House of Hurin, Steward of Gondor, Lord Belegorn, of a Numenorean family whose fiefdom included Anorien. The only lord from South Gondor was Prince Aglahad, as most of Gondor's army had remained behind to protect the homeland, in case the army of Turin was defeated. There were a few captains as well.
From Rohan were Prince Folcred and Prince Fastred, Lord Brego, Third Marshall of the Riddermark, and their captains. In a corner stood three men. They were clad in green and brown of various hues, their hoods covered their faces, they wore surcoats with the toke of the white tree. They were armed with the sword, bow and spear. They looked strange, yet 'twas plain that these men were Dunedain, for they were tall, and their keen grey eyes shone from beneath their hoods.
Once the party was settled, the Steward began to speak.
"Lo! Lords of Gondor and Rohan, the time may indeed be drawing nigh when the destruction of the West hastens to fulfillment. For even as we speak, a great host of the Haradrim, twice the size of our own, approaches the hither bank of the Poros. It would be best for us to stop them upon the crossing itself, as we could create blockade which would choke their line of battle, and confer their advantage in numbers to naught. As such, I am loath to retreat now."
Murmurs of approval rang throughout the tent. Then Turin raised his hand for silence, and beckoned to one of the three green clad men, the tallest. He strode forward and lowered his hood. The Rohirrim noted that it was a typical Gondorian, grey eyed and proud. He spoke in a clear voice.
"My lords, I am Duilin, captain of Gondor. Ithilien is my charge, and this battle will be fought on grounds that my company knows every inch of. We are rangers, lightly armored and clad. Many a time do the cursed Haradrim fall to our darts for defiling the lands of Elendil, and we are proud of this. For days we have observed the movement of the Southron host, and Lord Turin hath asked us to give you report on all you may encounter."
"These Southrons have a scout party of two thousands detached from their main host, to scout ahead and report on Gondor's soldiers. Till now, we have not given them a chance. But it seems that the scout party has crossed the Poros ahead of the main host, and is already camped on the hither side of the Poros. By your leave, Lord Turin, we have not assailed them, for you had forbidden us to reveal ourselves."
Turin nodded appreciatively. Then Prince Aglahad spoke.
"Captain Duilin, what is the strength of your company?"
"Six hundred, my Lord."
"Then we should wait for the scout party to wander further into Ithilien to ambush them, should we not?"
"Aye lord, which is what we plan. We are sure that they will not wait for the main host. These Southrons are a savage people; they care only for loot and plunder. They esteem too lightly the valor of Gondor; but we come to teach them a lesson in warfare."
The assembled group nodded their agreement. Then Turin, seeing that everyone was in agreement, concluded.
"Then, my friends, take some rest, for the coming days will have stern need for your endurance. The plans for the main battle will be discussed later; for now, let us concentrate on ambushing the scout party."
The group began to disperse noisily, when the ranger commander, Captain Duilin, stood up and addressed Turin.
"By your leave, lord, I still have some tidings, merry and grave."
The group stopped in their tracks, to listen. Turin beckoned that Duilin should continue.
"The news that should make us rejoice is thus: No mumakil have been observed among the Haradrim host."
Men exchanged relieved looks; the mumakil of Harad was indeed a feared beast in the West. But Duilin continued:
"We have also received ill tidings. We have learnt that the Haradrim main host is led by a……"
He stopped dead, as if his blood had frozen. Every eye in the council was fixed upon him. He struggled with himself, then with a deep breath he continued.
"A Nazgul."