The blowing of the horns accents your entrance into the tower like a fanfare. All about you, the injured, the walking wounded and those who are for one reason or another judged only capable of fighting at the utmost end of need clutch weapons or each other. For your part, you have more important duties to attend to.
Halfway up the tower is a room, in this room a number of humans wait. They are young, or untrained in war, one of them has lost an arm. All share the important trait of being swift runners and being willing to risk their lives to carry messages. It is this small group of frightened humans that will be your link to the fighting on the walls.
There are some musicians who can signal too, but Ferelden's trumpet signals are primitive compared to yours. Attack, retreat, rally are pretty much all they can communicate. Even assuming they can be heard from up here in the tower.
Once again, you desperately miss the signal companies, bards and Osanwë of your people.
This room was chosen for two things. A round wooden table, onto which a map and some wooden blocks in various colours are laid. These blocks have been arranged in rough positions to mark the force on the battlefield. Yours, and the darkspawn's.
On the east wall, a black block with white markings delineates Maeglin's command. Though he is not in command by any official decree, you trust him to lead if the situation calls for it.
On the west, a yellow block marks Bann Offrey of Lothern. He had been one of your critics and granting him command had proven necessary in order to ensure that you did not appear to be amassing power. Under Offrey are the Chasind, who you hope will provide a firm spine if your fears about the commander prove true.
So too was it with Captain Jymes, who served the Bann of Ostagar before she fell. Now she holds the wall, as marked by the blue block. With her are none of your soldiers, though Solas stands there with his forces. Between its superior defences and Solas' might, you are confident that it will not need aid.
With those concessions, you had all but secured your personal choice for command of the reserves. Bann Evlynne of Eastwood is shaken by her recent ascension to her role, but she has the fire of vengeance burning within her. She will lead with the vigour and ferocity needed should the walls be endangered.
At least, that is your hope.
Shaking off such thoughts as worthless at this juncture, you lean over the table and begin to plan for the oncoming invasion.
Naturally, most of the work has actually already been done. The walls are manned and have commanders. A couple of anti-siege tactics have been discussed, and Ferelden has siege craft far in advance of the Noldor, at least in practical experience. Thus, what falls to you is less a need for an immediate answer to what is happening on the walls, and more of a question of where the enemy will strike and how best to counter it.
There are, as far as you and the scouts can tell, no ranged siege engines with the darkspawn horde. There had been some argument about the feasibility of constructing and using them in the terrain, but that had gone nowhere. For now, you will assume that the enemy will not be using them, as it is almost certain that such constructions will be noticed in time to formulate a response.
That leaves the classic trifecta for dealing with walls. Through, under and over.
Under has already been tried and you and the reserve stand ready in case they try again. How feasible a renewed attempt at tunnelling would be is unclear, but you are as ready for it as you can be.
Through and over; using a ram, or ogres more likely, and ladders, will likely be the first strike. The question you need to answer is where they will strike.
You know the forces of Morgoth, and while it is important to remind yourself that the darkspawn are different, there are enough similarities that you can make some assumptions. The greatest weapon Morgoth held, throughout the War of the Jewels, was numbers. Trolls, powerful though they are, were slain in their hundred, orcs in thousands yet still he always had more.
With this thought in mind, you tentatively discard the thought of an immediate assault upon the gates. Trolls can, with some time, break a gate, but then what? They will be pouring their forces into a small gap. No, the darkspawn will want to create an overwhelming tide that Ferelden cannot simply stand against. That means multiple points of ingress, which means the walls.
Following that, logically, they will begin with an all-out assault at every point. That, however, will not be the main strike. Much like the probing attack from the tunnels, it will be an attempt to gauge the strength of the defenders, and where the main blow will fall. You need to send runners out to find out how the hold on the walls goes. Wherever the attack sees success, that is where the main blow will fall.
As for how you will handle the initial attack, that is not a question answered simply. Not for the first time you regret the fact that there are no Noldor here to loose arrows in the darkness or hold the line on the walls. Skirmishing will be difficult in the darkness for humans, which is where your best advantage lies.
Still, with the sheer numbers of foes, it will likely be of some use loosing somewhat blindly. However, giving the chance of return fire, it is better to focus on spending any ammunition on those climbing the ladders. Perhaps strategic use of rocks could destroy the ladders themselves.
With a gesture you call a messenger over and begin to give your orders.
The host of the darkspawn seemed almost like a living organism, crawling over the land like that insect with the ludicrous number of legs[1]. The entire army seems to lurch and shudder randomly as the darkspawn clearly do not care to keep to a regular pace. To Maeglin's immense disappointment, none of them seem to be drowning in the swamps.
"Man… I thought it would be bad watching them come up." Some human mutters nearby, shivering. "But somehow, not being able to see anything at all is worse."
"I could describe it to you." Maeglin offers, more in attempt to end the conversation before it grows tedious than anything else. "It is an army marching. If you have seen one, then they are all much the same."
"There's no way you can see anything in this darkness." Another human rudely interrupts.
"The eldar see better in day or night and those who lived before the sun see clearer at night besides. For my part, I grew up in Nan Elmoth." Maeglin states boredly. "There the trees grew so thick that the sun could not reach us. I did not see it until I was an elf grown."
The bright fires atop the walls remind him of that first day in the sun, so blind and confused. Mother had steadied him, spoken kind words, and the world had eventually bloomed into colours that he had never imagined. Red, in particular, he remembers most vividly.
Red for the cloaks of the riders in Himlad. Red for Mother's blood.
"What… what's happening?" Some mortal girl in ill-fitting armour asks.
Maeglin turns his eyes back out to the oncoming foes. "They are bringing ladders to the walls."
An arrow hisses through the air, scattering embers from the fire.
"Also, they are loosing arrows." Maeglin reports dryly.
The Persilima burns brightly in his grasp. Maeglin rubs his fingers over it idly, clutching at it as though it could give strength in this one moment. All around him, everything seems still, even as humans rush here and there yelling and screaming. The son of Eöl and Aredhel takes a single deep breath.
Then a ladder crashes into a wall with a tall darkspawn brandishing a sword.
Anguiriel meets it point first.
With a gurgling cry the monster falls back from the wall, and based on the crashing and clanking, takes more than one of its comrades with it as it falls.
At the same time Maeglin raises the Persilima up high, crying, "A Elbereth Gilthonilel!"
Then, all is light.
While it is not the first time that Maeglin has seen the Light of Valinor, this is the first time he has wielded it. It is nothing like experiencing it, all the harshness, the terror is absent and instead the world is cast into starker shades. The snarling visages of the darkspawn twist further until they no longer resemble humans.
Speaking of which, so too do they change in the light, though without the uniformity. Some avert their eyes and look small and pitiful, like a child who knows they have done wrong. Others seem to grow and fill out, becoming more like elves in that unforgiving light.
Yet throughout it all, Maeglin feels amazing. With this, the veil between the seen and unseen seems to part, and he knows what is rather than what he believes. Is this how the Noldor felt when they first came to Beleriand? Is it how they still feel?
Maeglin laughs, fey and wild, then he leaps forth to attack the darkspawn.
His charge hits them as they crest the walls with the force of legend. Darkspawn scream and die, and Maeglin rushes past and over them. Many cower back from the Light, only to fall to their deaths. Maeglin slew and slew. Taken by the joy of battle he sang, and his song, which was fair and terrible, rang from the walls.
The battle for the western wall proceeds beyond even the wildest hopes of the defenders. With the presence of the Persilima and the sheer ferocity with which the last prince of Gondolin fights, not only does it hold, but it does so without taking any casualties.
Many of the ladders of the darkspawn are seized and pulled up into the fortress, forever beyond retrieval. Those that are not seize are cast from the walls, to shatter upon rock or sink into the darkness.
Far above the fighting, eyes that seem to shine with their own light note every blow and victory. The blow shall not come here, a shame, for this is perhaps the best defended of the positions. Had he the ability, he would command Maeglin to restrain himself, that the foe might believe this the weakest point.
Then again, that would weaken the defences as humans died, so perhaps it is best he could not.
Captain Jessica Jymes was born a farmer's daughter. She was from a long and prestigious line of farmer's daughters, at least according to her mother. She however, had dreamed of fame and glory and so had signed up to serve at arms under Bann Ethel Ostlin. She had risen high in her service.
Now Ethel was dead, slain by darkspawn and Jessica was left to command the remnants of her forces. Though her eyes burn and throat aches, she forces back the grief. She has her duty, her oaths and by Andraste and the Maker she will die before she abandons either.
She is, frankly, amazed by the fact that ladders and grappling hooks actually anchor themselves against the walls. She has manned this fort before and knows better than most how high this part of the walls are. She's always thought this place would never be assaulted.
Yet, here it is. Perhaps the elf really does know what he's talking about when it comes to the Blight.
"Alright lads! Throw them back!" She cries, to cheers.
Men had already moved to cut the ropes and push back the ladders. Elves, the ones that strange bald one brought, have been flinging rocks over the walls. Captain Jymes lifts her shield, steels her nerves, and rushes to engage the first Hurlock Alpha as it comes over the wall.
She once heard someone say that 'constant exposure to dangers will breed a contempt for them'. Whether that's true or not is for people more learned than her to decide, but what she does know is that she never gets used to the noise. Metal rings on metal, and every impact to her head makes her feel blind and deaf for a moment.
Fortunately, she takes relatively few of those, as she is something of an old hand at this, but it does happen. It takes a frighteningly long time for her to dispatch the Alpha, and when the next one comes, she feels every muscle and nerve protest the thought of contesting it. Still, she does her duty and doggedly fights against the strongest of the foes.
Captain Jessica Jymes has never been a talented swordswoman. She's made her way through the ranks with a combination of good sense, a strong head for numbers and her relationship with the Bann. Still, she's never neglected her training and she is equipped as well or better than most of her troops so she soldiers on.
When the second Alpha falls, she has a moment to look about her and see what else is transpiring.
Her soldiers, though few in number, are acquitting themselves well. The elven mercenaries are also more than pulling their weight. Though she can see dead here and there, as well as a far greater number of injured crawling or being dragged away, the wall is holding, no darkspawn are getting a foothold.
There is a snarl, and she turns to face a horde of hurlocks. Grimly she raises her sword and shield. Then, suddenly, the whole group of them fly sideways with a sound like thunder. As their bodies fold over the crenelations or spin into the abyss of darkness, she turns to look at her saviour.
The bald elf is a mage apparently.
He's throwing out bolts of stone and force and generally making gravity do most of the work. His face is etched with lines of concentration, and she can vaguely see his teeth might be gritted. It is hard to be sure in the flickering firelight though.
Then she is swept up in the maelstrom of combat once more. Although her world is reduced to the flashes of darkspawn, the sound of steel, battle cries and screams, she finds herself keeping track of the elf. Throughout the entire melee, he keeps casting spells. Barriers, force projections, even temporary walls to control the flow of battle.
"Aren't you supposed to be conserving your magic, or whatever it's called?" She yells at him in a brief break.
The elf gives her a frustrated look. "I assure you, I am." Oh, his teeth are gritted.
The chaos of battle sweeps them apart soon after, and she gives no further thought to the strange elf she's been saddled with.
Solas' presence is not the sole deciding factor, but there is no doubt that things would likely have been far closer without him. As it is, the central wall had the lightest push and it handled it well. Some died, not many, far more are injured, but of those who retire, it is not sufficient to alter the strength of the defences. Perhaps a few more from the tower need to be dispatched.
No, thinks the owner of the glowing eyes. It will not be here either. Solas alone could likely hold these walls as things currently stand. This was never a likely target, merely one that needed to be checked lest we have left it undefended.
Then the eyes turn to the western wall.
Bann Offrey is afraid. He'd never let it show, naturally, but the fact is that this is nothing like what he expected. Though he is no coward, the fact is he expected the Blight to be… well, broken. Something more like putting down a peasant revolt. Not… this.
He doesn't even know why he campaigned so hard to be in command here. Was it habit? Was he afraid that someone else would do it wrong? He doesn't know, all he knows is that here and now, he is regretting that decision.
The sound of the marching feet had been loud enough to hear in advance of the column. Now, he can hear the snarling and growling, worse he can't see them. His mind conjuring images of monsters far worse that what he has already faced.
So when the ladders hit the wall, he is standing near the fire, desperately wishing this was someone else's job
For all that he is hesitant to engage, Offrey is not a bad warrior by any stretch of the imagination. His two handed hammer and heavy armour serve him well in the press and he acquits himself with the requisite skill that any soldier of Ferelden could be expected to.
Therin, of course, lies the problem. The Hurlock Alphas, without someone to immediately challenge them, manage to secure a foothold for their minions to flood over the walls to attack the humans there. The defences needed more than just a soldier.
A storm of javelins pepper the Alphas as their forces advance. The 'bandits' who are obviously Chasind tribesmen, throw them one after the other. There is relatively little effect, as the Alphas are clad from head to toe in heavy armour. However, it does get their attention.
"Curna déaþscufa, curna ācwelen![2]" One of their leaders cries.
Some of the Alphas do indeed turn their attention to these new threats and the Chasind manage to lure them forward. Then, they spring upon them with a ferocity that can only come from defending a home, or perhaps avenging it. They take casualties, but they successfully drag down and slay the alphas.
It is just in time. With the Alphas dead, the warriors of Ferelden are able to rally around their Bann and push the darkspawn back to their ladders. Aided, naturally, by more javelins from their allies.
More Alphas are rushed to try and replace those who had fallen, but the strategy of pushing back ladders, casting down stones and generally delaying the assault pays off. None reach the top of the walls before the last ladder is cast back.
There are no cheers, no exaltations of victory. It is clear to the men on the walls that this was only the beginning. The ladders were repulsed but not destroyed. The darkspawn will come again.
This much is also clear to the eyes that watch from the tower. Nelyafinwë knows that the west wall shall be where the main strength of the enemy shall be deployed. Likely more than merely ladders, perhaps even with a diversionary attack on the gates.
Here, and here alone, was the difference between victory and defeat on a razors edge, and the cost of holding the wall was great. The defenders have been weakened, and the Noldo knows that the malevolent will behind the Blight knows it.
The work of the healers is grim. The fight on the wall was bloody, and nearly three quarters of the fallen are dead. That makes a full quarter of the defenders of the west wall dead. Warriors of the Chasind and Ferelden lie side by side in the triage tents, too injured to be saved except by magic.
Sadly, that is not as available as anyone would wish.
From the white tower eyes that burn with their own light gaze out at the oncoming horde. From the horde, hundreds of eyes with wills not their own stare up at the wall and its defenders.
Both consider their options and lay their plans. This has been but the opening skirmish of a battle that promise to take far longer than any had anticipated.
However, of the two, it is the Elda who has the advantage. He knows his foe, better than the foe knows him. The next blow will concentrate at the west wall, with other, lighter, attacks designed to fix the defenders in place.
More importantly, it has confirmed a suspicion he had from the moment he saw the size of the horde. They can only send so many darkspawn at a time, limited by the ladders and other engines of war. Which they have few of. Better yet, the darkspawn seem to lack the intuitive knack orcs have for machines, engines and other creation.
This battle has started with a firm advantage on the part of the defenders, though it is too soon to consider it a victory.
The night has only just begun.
[1] If you thought the IRL arguments about Millipede names were ridiculous, you are not prepared for how serious they are among the elves. To the point where there is a small but persistent group calling to rename the insect 'that which we do not name'. Maeglin just tries to stay out of it.
[2] Come demons/dark spirits, come die
