In An Age Before

by Phantom Bard

Part 298 posted, in which Helluin and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý aid the Third Marshal Haleth in Rohan's defeat of the Easterling invaders. Brutal weather, disease, and failing morale play a part. Aldburg is no sooner freed of the eastern threat when tidings come of the Dunlending's invasion from the west. OCs galore as usual.

188. In An Age Before Chapter 188

In An Age Before – Part 188

The author acknowledges that while sources set the birth of Aranarth as T.A. 1938, (b. 1938 – d. 2106), Arvedui and Fíriel's wedding is recorded as occurring in T.A. 1940. Since these dates come from different sources and JRRT's legendarium was constantly evolving, this author has not tried to fabricate any explanation for that disparity within this story. This author does admit that sordid or scandalous possibilities do exist, however I have tried to resist my more vulturine impulses and not sully the reputations of the last royals of Arthedain.

Through the latter half of the month of Gwaeron, the fleet of Gondor sailed north after rounding the Cape of Andrast. They sailed up the coast of Drúwaith Iaur, passed the mouth of the River Angren, and entered the waters off Enedwaith. On that day, the 26th of Gwaeron, they deemed that they had reached the halfway point in their voyage as heavy clouds gathered o'erhead and winds from the west drove waves in from the vastness of Belegaer. Orders were given to make for open water, and for three hours, the ships tacked west. Then, as the winds grew stronger and rain began to pelt down, they reefed sails, lashed their helms, and hove to. For the better part of a day and night, the fleet was forced to rest, sliding slowly to leeward, bows pointing some sixty degrees off the wind, and there they rode out the storm.

With the return of fair weather on the 27th, the fleet reformed and the admiral aboard Annúnhûl called for damage reports. On each ship, flags were sent aloft bearing messages 'cross the waves. Other than a few fittings torn loose from yards and some tangled rigging, the navy had weathered the storm. Repairs were underway. Not so fortunate were the smaller craft sailed by the civilians. Two had tried to run before the storm, but the wind had blown heavy for 'nigh on eighteen hours, and absent sufficient sea room, they had run aground on the coast of Drúwaith Iaur. Another craft had a line snap causing its boom to swing free. The sail caught the wind turning the hull abeam, and the boat was capsized by the waves. Of these mishaps, the naval officers learnt 'naught, for the civilians had been trailing them just 'neath the horizon, seven leagues aft. In any case, these mishaps were not their concern.

Now on 29 Gwaeron, the mouth of the River Gwathló came into view. Sailors, marines, and soldiers lined the starboard rails to see the remains of the sea walls of Lond Daer. Some fragments of masonry on the water and a crumbling tower inland they marked amidst a canopy of second growth forest. 'Twas all that remained of Tar-Aldarion's once proud port of Vinyalondë.

With the Whelming of Númenor, all maintenance there had ceased. The damage to the coast and ashore from the tidal waves and flooding had ne'er been repaired. The Exiles had neither needed the port, nor had the resources to rebuild it whilst ordering their new realms. O'er time, the masonry eroded and materials were taken for building by the indigenous peoples of the Enedwaith. The port and the city that had stood behind it would not be rebuilt in the Third Age.

The fleet turned northwest and the voyage continued another two days. The ships passed up the coast of Minhiriath where the forested cape of Eryn Vorn marked the mouth of the River Baranduin. 'Twas of old the border 'twixt the realms of Cardolan and Arthedain, yet Arthedain had ne'er reached down to the coast. The king's lands had ended with the northern foothills of the Ered Luin, whose southernmost extension lay inland, veiled by distance and the curve of the world, beyond the verge of sight. The fleet had reached the southernmost of the Elvish lands of Eriador, Harlindon.

For the next three days of the month of Gwirith, the navy of Gondor sailed past the quiet, green lands of Harlindon. None were to be seen there. The coast slipped by as in a dream, forested and still, with no towns, roads, or docks. Men felt as if time stood still, or perhaps had ne'er advanced from the early days of the Second Age following the Sinking of Beleriand. Finally, in the morning of 5 Gwirith, a scouting sloop signaled that the entrance of the Gulf of Lhûn lay one hundred miles northwest. Another day of sailing lay ahead.

On 6 Gwirith, Annúnhûl led Prince Eärnur's flotilla into the Gulf of Lhûn. Finally, they saw Elvish ships, graceful and swift, but small compared to the great ships of Gondor. O'er the next sixteen hours, vessel after vessel entered the gulf and sailed towards the Havens of Mithlond. Long ere they arrived, well 'nigh every Elf and Dúnadan on both banks had gathered for a view of the incredible count of ships from the South Kingdom. In light of the vast strength King Eärnil had sent, they hardly wondered that a year and a half had passed ere they had arrived.

One hundred seventy miles the Gulf of Lhûn ran from the promontories at its mouth to the Grey Havens. Annúnhûl and her escorts broke sails and hastened their approach, leaving the bulk of the fleet behind. Twelve hours after entering the gulf, they dropped anchors and stood off the quays of Mithlond. There they spent the remainder of the night.

In the second hour after dawn on 7 Gwirith, the admiral's gig rowed by ten oarsmen was launched, and this conveyed the flagship's captain, Prince Eärnur, his lieutenant, and Prince Arne to the lord's dock. There they debarked and the Princes of Gondor and Rhovanion had their first meeting with the Lord Círdan, his counselor Galdor, Queen Fíriel, and Prince Aranarth.

To the Men of Gondor and Rhovanion, the Lord of the Havens inspired awe. Very tall he was and silver were his hair and beard. Though Eärnur was a hair o'er 'Man high', the ancient Sinda stood o'er a shaftment¹ taller. Bright were his eyes, as with Eärendil's light reflected off rippling water, his glance hypnotic to a mortal at first meeting. The Prince of Gondor was hard pressed to tear his gaze away. ¹(shaftment unit of measure based on the width of the hand plus the outstretched thumb, 6" after 1066AD, but 6 ½" prior. Círdan is therefore about 6'10 ½" to 6'11" tall)

Lore tells that he was born in Cuiviénen, ten thousand years ago, the prince thought. Well 'nigh all that my people know of ships was first learnt of him. I begin to understand my father's words. Indeed, from the first I am met by those to whom my own deference is due.

Rather than offering a bow, the heir of Gondor dropped to one knee and lowered his head. After a moment's hesitation, his Men did likewise.

"Lord Círdan, I am Eärnur, heir of my father, King Eärnil II of Gondor. At the request of King Arvedui of Arthedain, I bring aid to oppose Angmar," he said.

"We are thankful for your aid, Prince Eärnur," Círdan said. "All Eriador is hard pressed. Arthedain is fallen, Fornost occupied by the Witch King, and King Arvedui's rescue is 'nigh a month o'erdue. Rise now, my lord, and be welcome in Lindon."

The prince stood and his Men with him. The Shipwright's tidings were a shock. In the south, 'twas not truly known how desperate King Arvedui's plight had become. A year and a half it had taken to arrive, and in that time the war had been lost, the king driven hence, and Fornost taken. He had itched to come as soon as he had heard King Arvedui's plea for aid, and yet he understood his father's position too. The defense of Gondor was e'er Eärnil's first concern and yet, the prince could not help but feel a touch of shame.

He turned next to Queen Fíriel and Prince Aranarth. Their sorrow was plain to see, yet there was more that he marked. The daughter of the late King Ondoher was now seventy-nine years of age, and though sorrow had brought her the wisdom of age, she bore it as a lady who had also known love and bliss. For a Dúnadaneth, she was reckoned middle-aged, yet to his eyes, her beauty was preserved. The queen stood a couple inches 'neath a fathom, slender, with pale skin and dark wavy hair flowing to mid-back. Fíriel regarded him with sympathetic, pale blue-grey eyes, lit by the fugitive glimmer of the royal house. She was thirty-two years his senior and but three years younger than his father, and he thought her regal.

Beside her stood her son, Prince Aranarth, the heir and perhaps already successor to the throne of the North Kingdom. The prince was thirty-seven years of age, akin in height to the Shipwright, wiry of build, and with facial features recalling the oldest portrait statues in the Hall of Kings. He had obviously inherited his height from his father and perhaps much else besides. In his eyes burned a light that Eärnur would have described as Elvish, (ere he had actually met an Elf), and about him glowed an aura more felt than seen. 'Twas the legacy of Númenor, a projection of spiritual power only partially concealed. Aranarth presented a truly kingly presence, and the Prince of Gondor had to wonder what impact meeting Arvedui would have had. Aforetime, he had been wholly convinced of his father's absolute legitimacy to rule as king, and yet now he began to wonder.

Four times removed from the direct line of Meneldil are we, and here in the north, the lineal descent from Elendil is preserved. I wonder, does such blood confer more than royal office? Is the inheritance of Melian and Idril, Lúthien and Elwing bequeathed only in the direct line? I had no idea that my father's words attested to more than a lineage on paper.

Eärnur offered the queen and the prince deep bows as to royalty of higher station, and received bows in return.

"Your Grace, Your Highness, deeply does my father rue the time it hath taken to honor the treaty of alliance 'twixt kings Ondoher and Araphant. Only recently has a respite in the attacks of the Rhûnwaith allowed us to deploy our troops abroad. Would that it had come sooner."

"Would that it had indeed, Prince Eärnur," Queen Fíriel replied, "and yet I fault him not, for I know the jeopardy that besets the South Kingdom."

Of course she doth, Eärnur thought, her father was king.

The lady was regarding him now with the hint of a grin.

"I marvel that thou hast grown up, strong and manly after thy father," she said with a full smile, but one of warmth, completely absent any taint of mockery. "Pray excuse my reaction, lord, o'er a score and fifteen have passed since I last saw thee, as a boy of a dozen years or so."

Prince Aranarth turned to his mother in surprise, whilst Prince Eärnur felt his face color.

"In those days, thy father was my father's General of the Southern Army," she explained, "and I saw him at court many a time. On occasion, thou and thy mother accompanied him, and so I recall thee from that time."

Without a claim or remonstration, the queen had set their places clearly. Eärnur could but nod in acceptance. His father had served hers. When he looked back, Prince Aranarth was gazing out o'er the water, his eyes flicking from one ship to another as they finally drew 'nigh. Then his attention returned to Eärnur and those bright eyes met his own. He felt no condemnation, yet also he felt compelled to answer whatsoe'er was asked of him with rigorous candour.

"Lord Eärnur, thou hast the thanks and welcome of the North Kingdom. Pray tell, what count of Men hast thou brought?"

"My lord, I lead a force of fifty-two thousand warriors detailed for actions ashore. Of these, twenty thousand are cavalry and thirty thousand infantry. Amongst the infantry are five thousand Rangers of Lebennin. We are attended by sixty-five thousand support personnel. Additionally, the Knights of Gondor are reinforced by two thousand knights from Rhovanion 'neath the command of Prince Arne Frumgarsen." Here he cast a glance to the Northman at his side.

"Thy tidings are most welcome, Prince Eärnur," Aranarth said. Then he turned to Arne and dipped his head. "I thank thee for thy aid, Prince Arne. Pray offer the gratitude of Arthedain to thy father, King Frumgar," he said.

Arne dipped his head in return and said, "all my folk despise the Witch King from the time of his abiding in Borg Fjōlkyngi¹. His slaves have harried us for nine hundred years and we yearn to strike against him wheresoe'er he may lurk." ¹(Borg Fjōlkyngi, Tower of Sorcery = borg(tower, castle) + fjōlkyngi(sorcery, black art) aka Dol Guldur Old Norse)

Aranarth grinned and offered his arm. Arne took it and they clasped forearms in a warrior's greeting. "My folk too have been afflicted, but only for six hundred years," he said.

Now because the might of Gondor was to be debarked on the docks of the South Haven only, it took a week for the nine hundred ships of South Kingdom's royal navy to unload their cargo. There had not been such hustle and bustle in an Age. Not since Tar-Minastir's navy had come from Númenor had so many soldiers crowded the streets of the Grey Havens. The warriors rode ashore in gigs, cutters, and long boats, eager to again set their feet on dry land. They pitched their camp in the lands north of the city, just inside the wall. 'Twixt 8 and 14 Gwirith, horses were brought ashore and picketed, wagons rolled down gangplanks bearing supplies, and the support personnel raised a vast but separate camp. There, they prepared to march.

During that time, the surviving warriors of Arthedain assembled on the northern shore at their encampment. Soldiers donned uniforms and checked their armor. Blades were sharpened, bows restrung, and arrows distributed. The cavalry's horses and their tack were readied and wagons were loaded. Having now no artillery batteries, the crews were reassigned as shield bearers for the archers.

Following the Fall of Fornost, Arthedain's army numbered 'nigh fifteen thousands, with another eight thousand support staff. Eight hundred archers had endured the battle with the Yrch and Tor whilst defending the walls. Four hundred artillerymen had also escaped the fortress after their duel with the Tor slingers. Of all those who had quit their city, the cavalry had seen no action and still stood at full strength, four and one-half thousand knights. The remainder was infantry, nine thousand strong, accompanied by two hundred scouts. Beginning on the 11th, hundreds of Elvish ships began to ferry them 'cross the Lhûn.

Also during that time, Círdan called all Sindar able to bear arms to Mithlond. Eager to redress their defeat by the blocking force and avenge many fallen friends, they arrived by ship, afoot, or ahorse. The Host of Lindon numbered two thousand seven hundred. With the cavalry commander Cón Huor and the infantry commander Cón Thoronhen both slain by the blocking force, the Shipwright again appointed Candon to be bregedúr.

Finally, all things were ordered and the allied hosts marshaled within the gates. Gathered there were twenty-four thousand five hundred Dúnedain knights of the north and south kingdoms, thirty-nine thousand foot soldiers, eight hundred archers, four hundred artillerymen reassigned as shield bearers, two thousand Northmen with eighteen hundred auxiliaries, and twenty-seven hundred Sindar. Another seventy-three thousand support personnel followed behind the fighters, but in battle, some eight thousand would join as squires, standard-bearers, supply runners, sappers, engineers, and field healers, all of whom were considered auxiliary infantry. All told, the count of the allies was one hundred forty-four thousand two hundred.

Outside the walls waited the remainder of the blocking force. Originally, they had numbered twelve thousand Easterling cavalry, but since Narbeleth of 1973, their count had been whittled down by the constant sniping of the Green Elves and Helluin's foray 'twixt Gwirith and Nórui of 1974. For two winters they had survived their deployment, though the chill outside of Lindon was much diminished by the warming effect of the sea. Still, some had starved and many had been slain, so that on 15 Gwirith, 1975, they numbered but four thousand nine hundred.

Now on that morning, when trumpets rang out and the gates opened, they were not ready for war. Most were still resting in their encampments, spread out astride the road for a distance of a league. Only a couple hundred sentries were mounted and girded for battle, and these were swiftly swept away as the cavalry of Lindon and Arthedain led the charge of the allied host. Cavalry, infantry, archers, and their supporters marched from Mithlond, and so numerous was that host that their exit from the walls continued for a full hour and a half. Those afoot quickly spread to the flanks, passing through the lands on either side of the road and assailing any enemies found encamped there. By the third hour, the slaughter was full-wrought, and of those few Easterlings that survived, most were picked off by the Laiquendi as they fled north and east. Two only escaped, both sorely wounded.

Afterwards some amongst the Gondorim recalled a foe dropped by an arrow even as they went to hew him, yet no archer was seen and the arrows were not of Dúnedain make, being shorter, lighter, and tipped with simple steel points. Such recollections were far from rare amongst the footmen of the south, and in camp that night such tales were answered by the Men of Arthedain.

"We have oft seen the like and deem it the work of the Green Elves, though we have met none of that kindred."

Now the allies marched northeast, and in three days they came north of the Emyn Beraid. Fornost lay twelve score miles ahead. By then, some rumors and lesser reports of the clearing of the blocking force had made their way to the commanders, and at the officers' board they were aired. 'Twas 17 Gwirith.

"My lords, after the fighting some tales came to me and I have pondered them since," Prince Eärnur said. "Footmen recalled foes shot by none they could mark, even as they went to strike those same foes down, and in each case, the shot was deadly, the arrow perfectly aimed." He laid an arrow on the table and said, "arrows such as this."

Aranarth took one look at it and said, "I have no doubts that thy Men contested foes with the Laiquendi. My lord, this and any other such should be left behind when we march upon the morrow, for they shall be reused."

Bregedúr Candon said, "Eriador is home to the Laiquendi since the Sinking of Beleriand. My folk dwell mostly 'nigh the sea, for we forget not that Forlindon encompasses the remnant of Ossiriand that was their home of old. Neither do we idly tread the Ered Luin, for still some few Gonnhirrim abide there though Nogrod and Belegost are long ruined."

"In every war with Angmar we have marked similar shootings," Aranarth said, 'and ne'er do we see the archers. Indeed lore counts but two times when a Dúnadan met a Laiquende. Ere he marched on Mordor, Elendil was visited by their king, whilst some here have met Beinvír who is lost."

"So they are allies," Arne said.

"Secretive allies," Eärnur added. At his father's behest, he had read the accounts of Ciryatur.

"Say rather that we are guests," Aranarth corrected.

Now in Gondmar, Tindomul had apportioned the new supplies such that rather than lasting ten days as he had initially estimated, he was able to keep his troops feasting for a fortnight. During that time, the wretched soldiers of Gondmar recovered much of their strength. Yet in the evening of 15 Gwirith, no board was set and no victuals were forthcoming. The muttering began immediately and it soon graduated to grumbling and curses so that by morning both the old troops and the new were resentful of the other.

By the night of the 16th, the kindreds were plotting the resumption of their cannibalism. The 17th brought the first fires as Men and Yrch alike smoked out and slew those of the other races, so to provision their banquets. The 18th and 19th saw the continuance of their predation. The Nazgûl deemed that they had again become hungry and desperate enough to rejoice in the prospect of returning to war. Besides, the past three weeks had seen a warming in the weather.

In the Barad-hald, Tindomul 'entertained' his regent who had hoarded a comfortable cache of foodstuffs for his own consumption. Though the Man was loyal and thankful for his position, he still quailed in fear of his master, and neither he nor the Nazgûl could help it. The Ringwraith exuded terror as an aspect of his nature and it afflicted all of mortal kind who possessed even a shred of the instinct for self-preservation. To his wraith 'sight', the Regent of Carn Dûm appeared as a flat figure of brilliant yellow, quite pleasing indeed.

"We march for Lindon upon the morrow," Tindomul declared without preamble.

The regent choked down the mouthful he had been chewing and said, "t'will be as thou will, my master. I shall inform my troops at once."

In truth, the Hillman would welcome any excuse to absent himself from the Nazgûl's presence.

"Yes, thou shalt. Hunger has again driven Yrch and Men to hunt each other. Given time, they would kill each other off completely. I tire of the waste. Only the discipline of a forced march shall restrain them…that and the promise of plunder."

The Hillman nodded in agreement, or perhaps trembled violently, Tindomul could not be sure which. Either way, he would do as he was bid. 'Twas the evening of 19 Gwirith.

Indeed the regent prepared his troops to march and on the morn of the 20th, the Host of Carn Dûm mustered at their camp in the royal gardens. Filling the broad avenue just outside the wall of the citadel stood the twenty thousand Men and Yrch of the Host of Gondmar. Hillmen and the few surviving Easterlings filled the street whilst the Yrch populated the shadows cast by the buildings to the east. The Ringwraith appeared atop the gatehouse on the wall separating the two hosts and from there he addressed his army.

"When the sun sets and the Tor arise, we march on Lindon," he said. "Their army numbers but a few thousands, and with the blocking force, we shall break down their gate and slaughter all within. The riches of the Elves shall be yours, and with victory comes the feast!"

From both sides of the wall, hungry soldiers cheered. Avarice blossomed as they imagined the plunder. Mouths watered as they imagined the taste of Elf flesh. The Yrch were happy that they would be marching at night. The Tor would push the great ram that had broken the gates of Fornost. They reckoned the gates of Mithlond would stand not half as long.

Sundown came and the Tor lumbered from their lair 'neath the city. At the Nazgûl's command, they hauled forth the ram and pushed it down the avenue and out of the city gates. The united hosts of Gondmar and Angmar marched from the fortress with the Witch King and the Regent of Carn Dûm riding at their head. They had come scarcely a mile ere they heard the shouted hails of two desperate riders who were fleeing north.

"Ahhh, messengers from the blocking force at last," Tindomul said to the regent as he called the host to a halt. "They are so tardy that after hearing their rede, I shall have off their faces."

The two Men rode up ignorant of their impending fate. They were wounded, gasping for breath, and sweating. Their horses were lathered and panting as well.

"Master, the siege is broken! The Host of Lindon advances!"

The rider beside him slipped from the saddle to fall face down beside his horse. An arrow was stuck high in the center of his back. 'Twas an arrow whose kind the Ringwraith recognized, for he had seen such oft enough aforetime. Indeed the surprise was that the Man had survived to ride away from the battle at all. So, the Laiquendi have allied with Lindon to break the leaguer.

The rider who had spoken was staring down at his fallen comrade as Tindomul rode up close beside him.

"I thank thee for thy tidings," the wraith said, displeasure with the content clear in his voice.

The Easterling looked back to his master just in time to see the Witch King's sword hew off his head. He even felt the swift slap of the blade against his neck. For a moment, all was a blur and then he saw the hooves of the horses and his dead companion beside him ere all grew dim. He had not had a chance to tell his master that 'twas not only the Green Elves who had aided the Sindar.

"Forward!" The Nazgûl commanded, and the host began to move again.

Behind the wraith and the regent, the ranks resumed their march, but not without some Hillmen capturing the horses and some Yrch taking the bodies of the riders. For at least a few, rations had been provided.

Now because the Host of Gondmar was making for Lindon, they were following not the King's Roads, but rather cutting 'cross country on smaller dirt lanes. Not only were these narrower, but they were also unpaved. Spring rains had rendered many a dip into a morass of mud and washed out the track entirely in other places. Having been driven from their homes in the past year, the prior inhabitants had made no repairs. So 'twas that the host's advance was slow, and this was mostly due to the ram repeatedly becoming mired. When that great siege engine had been brought from Carn Dûm to Fornost, it had been in the dead of winter with the ground frozen solid.

The efforts of the Tor and cadres of Yrch and Men were required to free the mind-numbing weight of the weapon. A few were crushed 'neath its wheels as it broke free and lurched forward, and their flattened bodies were collected to add to the troops' board. Finally, with two hours remaining ere dawn, Tindomul called a halt and bid the Tor bury themselves for the day. A camp was set, cook fires lit, and the day's meal prepared. The Witch King's host had advanced but three leagues from Fornost.

As 21 Gwirith dawned, the Witch King's host lay at rest, but not at peace. Yrch, Hillmen, Easterlings, those from Carn Dûm and those from Gondmar, each encamped separately with sentries posted facing their neighboring camps. From the margins of each group, no few were shot by unseen archers and no few disappeared onto spits or into stew pots. 'Breakfast' continued throughout most of the daylight hours with a fire lit here and another there amidst the camp. The sniping too continued without respite. By that eve, the host was lessened by three hundreds, but most had full bellies ere their march resumed.

Now the allies had continued their march northeast for another four days. They had made another ninety-five miles and were now ten leagues due south of the southwestern tip of Lake Nenuial. At that night's camp on the 21st, some tactical considerations were addressed.

"Six days' march ahead lies Fornost," Aranarth told the officers, "and I deem it best to coax the Witch King to commit his troops to battle on open ground. The fortifications are robust and difficult to o'ercome save with great engines of war that we have not. As many as ninety-two catapults may still be emplaced on the curtain wall. I hope to avoid a siege of the city."

Eärnur received the prince's words with total agreement. He would not choose to besiege such a fortress even with engines of war. Ninety-two artillery pieces still in place despite the city's fall, he thought in amazement. Minas Anor hosts but forty-eight on seven encircling walls.

"How then to coax forth the Nazgûl?" He asked.

"'Tis long known that the Witch King seeks not only the destruction of the North Kingdom, but also the extermination of the Dúnedain. A special enmity he holds for the Heirs of Isildur, and so I shall draw him forth as bait offered at the head of a host of 'nigh forty thousand footmen. Once engaged, the cavalry can sweep down and assail them from flank or rear."

Eärnur regarded Aranarth with a calculating glance. Arvedui's heir was willing to act as the bait in a bid to draw forth and entrap the Witch King. The gambit could succeed if the infantry force was not judged too strong by their foes. Otherwise, the wraith could wait in the fortress whilst they waited beyond catapult range and a stalemate would ensue. T'would then be a test of patience and available supplies.

"Pray tell, how close could thy force approach whilst still having cover 'nigh whither a reinforcing host could be hidden?" The Prince of Gondor asked.

The grounds 'round Fornost were flat save for the North Downs, but those could be surveyed from the eastern wall. Even the forest to the west was cut well back from the North Road. No sufficient force could be hidden close enough to reinforce infantry approaching the fortress. The prince shook his head. Like Eärnur, he now wondered if a force of thirty-nine thousand infantry would be daunting to the enemy, forcing them to choose a siege rather than marching out to attack.

"No cover exists close enough to reinforce infantry approaching the fortress. The surrounding grounds are prepared and maintained for a mile and all are visible from the battlements," he said. "The nearest cover is west in the forest, and at this time of year the foliage is still not regrown from winter. To threaten from the west, we would still need to leave reinforcements a half mile behind."

For a while longer, they pondered their plan in silence. During that time, none marked the figure that joined them in the campaign tent, cloaked in mixed greens and unnatural stealth. Finally, having taken the measure of those seated 'round the table, the figure strode forward whilst lowering its hood. To the Men and even the Sinda Candon, the figure appeared to have materialized from 'naught. They recoiled in shock.

"Sídh, brennyn nín. Non Mórfin, tirien in Laiquendi¹," she said calmly, regarding them with clear grey eyes. Her hair was indeed black, long, lustrous, and wavy. A bow and quiver of arrows she carried o'er her shoulder, and a long knife was sheathed at her waist. ¹(Sídh, brennyn nín. Non Mórfin, tirien in Laiquendi, Peace, my lords. I am Black Hair, a scout of the Green Elves Sindarin)

First to recover himself was Prince Aranarth, who rose from his seat and bowed to the Green Elf.

"Thou and thy people are e'er welcome amongst the Men of the North Kingdom, Mórfin. We esteem thee and give thanks for the aid of thy people. Pray excuse our shock. 'Tis most rare for one of the Laiquendi to appear to mortal Men. Surely thou hast grave cause."

The scout dipped her head to the young prince and said, "aye, grave cause indeed. Scouts to the north report that the Witch King marched from Fornost yesternight. To spare the Tor, his host advances only in darkness. They are intent on assailing Lindon, but so far have made only three leagues."

The Men looked to each other as the implications of Mórfin's tidings sank in. They had no need to coax the Witch King out of Fornost. He had already done so by choice.

"Have thy people marked the count of the Host of Angmar?" Aranarth asked.

"Aye, we have. They numbered twenty-seven thousand six hundred and forty-three afoot by the count that came to me. By now they are surely less, for we continue to shoot them by day and night and they continue to murder and eat each other." The Green Elf scowled in disgust. "I pray thee, destroy them."

"We pledge to do just so," Eärnur said, having finally recovered from his amazement.

The Green Elf nodded, accepting his pledge and added, "the Mórgolodh freed Imladris on 20 Gwaeron. In The Angle, she teaches our ways to thy soldiers from Amon Sûl."

Bregedúr Candon greeted these tidings with a broad smile and a dip of his head. The only other named realm of the Elder Kindred in Eriador was liberated. Aranarth rejoiced to know that the garrisons of Weathertop and the Hills forts had survived, whilst Eärnur and Arne regarded her with ignorant curiosity.

"Imladris is the realm of the Lord Elrond, but who is this Mórgolodh?" The Prince of Gondor asked.

"Thy peoples' lore tells of her, Úlairdacil Helluin Maeg-mórmenel," Aranarth answered.

It took some moments for the prince to recall his lore and then his mouth dropped open in amazement. Victor o'er the Nine in the Great War. When he looked back to ask after her of Mórfin, the Green Elf had vanished as abruptly as she had appeared. With the others, he searched the tent, but their eyes revealed 'naught.

Eventually they recovered their composure. 'Twas decided that Eärnur and Arne would bring their cavalry through the Emyn Uial to flank the Host of Angmar. Aranarth's cavalry would lead them on paths known now to few and by which they would remain unseen to all eyes of the enemy. Prince Aranarth would lead the infantry directly northeast to engage the foe whom they now knew numbered fewer than their own footmen. Only the Tor were a cause for doubt, but the allies intended to fall upon the Yrch and Hillmen by daylight, and when night fell, they would assail the Tor with their steel Númenórean war bows and mounted archers. Ere they adjourned, all felt great hope for the outcome of the battle.

To Be Continued