Chapter 24

Preparation

The night was unbearably close, dark black clouds rolled above preventing the day's heat from escaping. The army was camped quietly waiting for the violent storm that the morrow would bring, a strange shroud of barely suppressed fear hanging over the camp. Although the Rohirrim drank and caroused even they were not as boisterous as normal. It was as if the dread of the battle along with the hot, sticky weather was sucking the life from the men.

The King had called a final council of war for his captains and Faramir sat patiently in the Aragorn's tent, by his side Elboron stirred uncomfortably in the humid heat. The sides of the tent had been tied up in the hope of attracting a throughput of air to cool them but there was no wind to lessen the discomfort this night.

King Elessar was sitting on the wooden chair that passed as his throne. He, of all the men, looked surprisingly relaxed as he smoked his pipe and waited as the captains arrived and took their seats. In front of him was the hastily drawn map of the river flats to the east and over the other side of the hill where the battle would take place.

Aragorn sighed finally. "Gentlemen, I thank you for your attendance this eve. We are here to discuss the information we have regarding our enemy." Here he looked across at Pallando who filled out his chest and smiled with self-importance. "And our plans for the morrow, of course. Firstly for those of you who have not yet seen the field the battle will take place on slightly inclined river flats, which are well drained except for this marsh area in the north western corner; I shall come to that later. The incline runs from east to west. The Easterlings having arrived first have chosen the higher ground to the east. They therefore have the advantage and will charge down hill." Aragorn indicated the areas on the map as he spoke. Muttering came from some of the captains as he continued.

"Our spies inform us that the Easterlings will be led by the wizard Alatar. He has two generals, both experienced and able from the War of the Ring, one named Mosek who is of Easterling descent. You may see him surveying the field from his war chariot which, I am told, is festooned with the heads of his enemies that he has slaughtered. He is famed for his ruthless and fierce cavalry and chariots who swoop down on their prey with lightening speed and give no quarter. The second is a man of Harad, Shanan is his name. He was a commander in Mordor's army and is known for his brilliant and innovative battle strategy. The spies indicate he will actually lead the army although he will bow to Alatar's command. Shanan has brought catapults which are set here and here, as you know we have no heavy weaponry. We therefore need to ensure we stay out of their range as well as we can. There is talk of a fourth leader, a massive Uruk-hai brute. I have no more information on him but Pallando confirms that Alatar has Uruks, made following his association with Saruman. "

The King paused to take a long draw on his pipe. As he did so his eyes darted around those of his captains, assessing and appraising the hearts of all there.

"We had estimates before we arrived that the Easterlings had ten thousand men. New reports inform me that number has almost doubled."

"How can that be?" someone asked.

The King shrugged. "They have men of Harad, disaffected with the treaty we have signed with them but where the others have come from we know not. I would hesitate a guess that most must be Uruk-hai who now wear the blue star of Alatar instead of the white hand. It matters little, what is important is that we are sorely outnumbered."

He paused again before continuing, "Which makes our own planning that much more important. The Rohirrim shall hold our southern flank and therefore benefit from the slightly higher ground we have there. You will face the men of Mosek's cavalry. Be careful for he also has over two hundred chariots at his command. His men are well supplied and well trained; they will be a demanding prospect, Eomer."

The King of Rohan beamed. "I love a challenge and I always find chariots are such fun!"

Aragorn nodded. "As Commander – General I shall lead the main infantry to our centre. We will absorb the main Easterling force. By all accounts though they are many they are poorly weaponed and even worse in leadership. However they will present a problem simply by force of numbers. They have developed the trick of grasping hold of our lances in a death hold. As our men try to extricate their weapon others will jump in and kill them. We must make this tactic known to all our pikemen. Inform them to leave their pike after the first thrust and use their swords."

"The Gondorian cavalry led by Prince Elphir and his Swan Knights plus our friends, Legolas' elves and Gimli's kin will be stationed to our north." The elven prince bowed as all eyes turned to him. "Legolas, you, Gimli and Elphir shall engage with Harad and their allies, the cavalry driving through the enemy lines, so the dwarves can sweep through."

Legolas smiled widely. "If they are not disaffected at the beginning, I shall see to it they are at the end!" he vowed with a rakishly smile. "Do they have mumakil?"

"We have seen no evidence of them," Aragorn replied. "But there are men there out of Far Harad, half-trolls they appear with white eyes and red tongues whose strength would count double."

Gimli shook his head. "It matters not," he said. "They die by my axe no matter their strength but mind that Legolas when you keep a tally – the King says the half trolls count double!"

Legolas pursed his lips. "I don't see why," he argued. "If a mumakil was only one, so should be everything else."

"My friends, you may decide this later!" Aragorn turned back to the map. "This leaves our northern flank next to the river," he continued, "The river is fordable but both banks are marshy underfoot and truly energy sapping, not an ideal location for fighting. Ordinarily I would assume that this area would not see much action but I am counselled by Pallando that Alatar, who is not a military man, will lead the Easterlings in an unorthodox manner."

Pallando nodded dramatically, unable to stay silent when all eyes turned to him. "Expect the unexpected," he said. His face was sad as he continued, "I fear Alatar no longer considers the suffering caused by his actions, he is too fixed on the ultimate prize. He will not be concerned with how many he sacrifices along the way as long as he is successful in the end."

"And if he attacks across the river and is not repelled," Aragorn said, as he indicated on the map. "His men will outflank us and have free access to our rear. It is imperative we hold the flank no matter what comes across the water at us." The King turned his blazing eyes to his Steward. "Faramir, your White Company is able to hold this position?"

Aragorn had already discussed his proposal at length with Faramir and there was no hesitation as the Steward responded. "Of course, my King. I would ask one thing." Faramir felt uncomfortable asking his King this request now as he had not done so in their previous discussion and it seemed unfair to raise it in front of the other captains. But since their earlier talk he had taken the time to actually walk the ground on the banks of the river that he was being asked to defend and had seen for himself how boggy it was. As he sat and waited in the tent the idea had come to him but seconds ago and he knew that he must ask it.

Aragorn looked surprised but nodded.

Faramir continued, "If they come across the river, fighting there will be desperate and bloody, at times knee deep in water and always in marsh land. The White Company will hold but I would ask for the Ithilien Rangers too, for their bows will be useful initially and their lightness of foot on such difficult ground will aid us throughout the battle."

Aragorn turned his eye back to the map before him; on it the Ithilien Rangers were firmly posted in the centre of the army with the infantry. There was silence around the room as all contemplated the request. Would the King risk weakening the centre where the battle would surely come, to send men to support his flank in case the untested wizard's suspicion was right?

"Very well," Aragorn said finally. "You can have one squadron of Rangers."

Faramir nodded. "I will hold, my King," he said with quiet but firm resolve.

The eyes of the King and the Steward met, and a deep understanding and respect passed between them. "I know you will," Aragorn responded calmly. He looked away and back to the rest of the lords. "Lastly I would remind you all we did not ask for this fight. We are here to defend our borders and we will do so with whatever it takes. However we should also be mindful that we are men of honour, we do not slaughter needlessly and we will accept any reasonable entreaty from any tribal chief. Is they ought else anyone would ask?"

There was a shaking of heads and a general murmur. "Gentlemen, I thank you then," said the King is dismissal. "And I bid you all brave hearts and strong sword arms! Faramir, a word."

The others captains left, leaving Eomer, Pallando, Gimli and Legolas as well as Faramir and the King. Elboron nodded to his father but Faramir indicated he should leave.

"Why did you not ask for the Rangers before, when we discussed it, Faramir?" the King's tone was not grave.

"Your apologies, my King. I walked the land earlier and my dull mind only thought on it just now," Faramir responded.

Eomer let out a long sigh. "I am not a political animal," he said. "But an outsider could be forgiven for thinking you engineered that little scene, Lord Steward."

Faramir felt his colour rise. "I did not!" he said, a little too loudly. "Besides the King could have still said no."

Eomer shook his head slowly, his eyes glinting with mirth, behind him Pallando let out a chuckle. Aragorn smiled too.

Faramir let out a long sigh as understanding came and then shook his head. "Eomer, can you not be serious even now?"

Eomer guffawed and the others joined in. "You are such an easy mark, Faramir. I cannot help myself! Now let us drink to the morrow!"

He stood and went to where the ale pitcher and tankards were. Faramir moved to stand before the King.

"You know I would have asked sooner," he said apologetically.

Aragorn smiled warmly. "Aye, I know and I would have given you more men if I could have spared them for I am sure that Alatar will seek to expose our flank, but alas I have no more to give without making our centre vulnerable."

"I will not need more," Faramir said. "We will hold."

They embraced with a firm brotherly hug. Eomer passed out the ale and each man present made a toast. The toast of Legolas was to the glory of the woodland realm he sought to create in his part of Ithilien, Gimli's was to restore the mines of Moria to their former glory and Pallando spoke, his eyes shining, of friendships lost and those to be re-found. Aragorn spoke of the glory of Gondor and the King of Rohan toasted to a glorious and courageous death in battle made even more wonderful by the songs his men would sing.

All eyes then turned to Faramir. "Well Steward?" Eomer prompted.

Faramir sighed. "I drink to a long, serene life in which I achieve all I wish and a peaceable death, at home in my own bed surrounded by people who love me!"

Pallando let out a guffaw and the others smirked but Eomer cocked his head and looked at Faramir as if he was completely insane. Then he shook his mane slowly and smiled.

"You are truly a strange man, my brother!" he laughed. "But always interesting!" He enveloped Faramir in one of his bear hugs, raised his drink and shouted, "If that is what you want, I drink to it!" And he did.

Later Faramir took his two sons with the officers of the White Company, who looked so very young and inexperienced. Faramir reminded himself that they had never fought in a battle this size and neither had most of his men. They spent the rest of the warm, close evening moving about his troops, talking with them and raising their spirits for the fight on the morrow.

Then he returned to his tent and wrote a final letter to Eowyn.

"Awwwh! You have my skin caught in the buckle!" Elboron hissed.

"Sorry Bron," Cirion said. "It surely did not hurt that much."

Elboron snorted, rubbing the waist area above his left hip. "Actually it did," he snapped.

"It is to be hoped you don't get a serious injury then," Cirion muttered. "They will hear you scream in Minas Tirith!"

Elboron screwed his face up and glared at his younger brother, who simply returned the compliment by sticking out his tongue.

They were in the Steward's tent and Cirion was fulfilling his duties as page. He had already helped his father into his chain mail as they were not to wear full plate armour because of the boggy conditions. Faramir now stood at the tent flap watching preparations elsewhere in the camp while Cirion helped his elder brother don his.

"I heard one of the scouts say there were fifty thousand Easterlings!" Cirion said. He was excited and when so aroused he talked even more than was his custom normally.

"Fifty thousand!" Elboron scoffed.

"'Tis true," Cirion argued, kneeling down to fix Elboron's shin guards in place. "And he said there were also Harad and Uruks and that they were led by a wizard more powerful than any other in the whole world!"

Faramir turned back to his sons and sighed. "Enough, Ciri," he said mildly with a smile of indulgence. "Even if such facts were true, it does the men no good to hear them repeated. We must not dwell on the strengths of our enemy since that will make us doubt our own. Think only on what we can do, what we will achieve."

Cirion nodded as he stood up and appraised his fully clad brother before him. "That is as good as I can do, working with limited resources, of course!" he teased. "You'll do Bron! I wish I was coming too."

Faramir moved to stand before his sons, smiling widely. "Yes Bron," he agreed. "You will make a proud figure by my side." He clasped his elder son to him and they embraced with a clink of metal. Then he turned to Cirion. "I charge you to stay with the Prince, Ciri," he said his tone suddenly hard. "You will be well guarded there. Should the battle go ill…."

"It won't go ill!" Cirion said.

"Should the battle go ill," Faramir repeated trying to keep his irritation from his voice. He was hot already and the sun had barely risen, he did not relish the thought of wearing his mail all day, let alone having to fight in it on boggy ground. Also he could feel the familiar nervousness that came with a battle beginning to gather in the pit of his stomach. Still, none of this was Cirion's fault and Faramir did not wish to argue with his son, not as they said goodbye, for who could tell when they would meet again. "The King will send men to escort the Prince from the field. Stay with them."

"But…."

"No but, not this time Cirion. This is important. Do I have your word on it?"

Cirion sighed and his upper lip threatened to crumple but he controlled himself and looked into his father's eyes. "Yes, father," he said softly. "You have my word."

Faramir lifted him up for a hug, tousling the boy's unruly hair with his free hand. "And wear your helmet," he said. "Your mother seems to think there is something worth protecting in there but I know not what!"

"But you don't wear yours, father!" Cirion moaned.

Behind them Elboron let out a gasp at his younger brother's cheek but Faramir's smile widened. "I promise I will, if you do," he said.

"Agreed," said Cirion, reaching out his dirty hand for a sealing handshake.

Faramir held the lithe little body close for another heartbeat and then Cirion began to struggle. Placing him down on the floor, he said, "Bron take Ciri to the pages' tent now."

Both boys moved towards the tent flap but then their father's voice stopped them. "One thing, my page," he said, "Where is my sword?"

Cirion stopped and turned, panic paling his face as he tried to remember what he had done with the weapon. "I. . . eh . . . think. . ." He stopped talking and suddenly rushed out of the tent.

Faramir rolled his eyes and Elboron smirked as he poured himself a glass of water. A few minutes later the page returned his arms full of the sword, which was bigger than he was. He tottered over to his father and thankfully gave up his burden.

"Thank you, Cirion," Faramir said formally. "I fear I will have need of it."

As Cirion left the tent with his elder brother, Faramir heard him say, "I put it on his saddle. I knew where it was all the time!"

"Of course, you did Ciri," came back Elboron's more mature tones.

As Faramir strapped the sword belt around his waist he chuckled softly but his mirth soon dissipated as he contemplated the day ahead.