Chapter 22: Battlelines
The weeks following the council passed in a frenzy of activity. Isildur returned to his post only briefly to pack his belongings and bring Cerys and their young daughter back with him to the capital. Theo volunteered to take his place guarding the mountain pass, as it allowed him the opportunity to take his mother away from the house she'd built with Arondir. At the same time, a series of scouts were sent north to the narrowest point between the white mountains and the Anduin to watch for the approaching elves.
Although Halbrand was still withdrawn, he worked tirelessly with Galadriel to accustom Isildur to his new role as king. With the need for secrecy removed, the two spent long hours tutoring Isildur in history and strategy. Never had any man been privy to such knowledge of the early years of Middle Earth and the wars fought over it, and Isildur drank in the information greedily, captivated by the stories and debates of his tutors.
A month after the council, one afternoon's lessons were interrupted by the heavy doors of the palace swinging open. Myrddin strode into the room, confident despite his youth after years training with the army. He bowed once to the three sitting at the table while Halbrand and Isildur shared a glance. Halbrand nodded to Isildur, prompting him to stand and speak. "Myrddin, you're back early. I thought the scouts were not rotating for another few days?"
He fidgeted slightly but said in an even tone, "My lords, I have a message from Gil-galad."
Instantly, the attention of everyone in the room fixed on him. Galadriel leaned forward, her hand moving without conscious thought to grasp Halbrand's beneath the table. He squeezed it back, shooting her a strained smile before refocusing on the scout. "How came you to carry this message?"
Myrddin grimaced. "Ah, I was captured. Gil-galad's army sent scouts before them and, I confess, they moved more silently through the forest than we did. I was not even aware of their approach when I was disarmed and brought north to the main body of the army."
"You were treated fairly, I trust?" Galadriel said quickly, scanning the young man before her for visible injuries.
"Yes, m'lady. I was brought before Gil-galad, given a small measure of food, and then sent back with a message. My instructions were to bring it here directly then to Elendil if he was not with you."
Galadriel and Halbrand shared another glance. Isildur, at the head of the table, grimaced. "You have done well, Myrddin. Do not be ashamed. Now, what is the message?"
Myrddin straightened to his full height and composed his expression, making him appear older than his years. "By order of Gil-galad, son of Finwë, High King of the elves of Lindon, all men who dwell between the White Mountains to the north and the Black Lands to the east are commanded to take what they can carry, repent of their service to Sauron—" his voice stuttered as he said the name, eyes wide with fear and confusion. He audibly swallowed before continuing, "—and flee this land. They are free to resettle in other lands to the north or south but must abandon the cities built in the shadow of the darkness."
Halbrand's grip on her hand had grown impossibly tight, but Galadriel knew her own was shaking with fury. Myrddin's aura of calm professionalism had dissolved, leaving a trembling man barely outside of boyhood. He closed his eyes for a moment before refocusing on them. "All who remain, according to Gil-galad, will be put to the sword and their cities burned to ash. No men are to settle in this land for ten generations of the sons of Númenor. Only then will it be cleansed of its evil.
"Finally, Sauron himself is to ride north accompanied by the lady Galadriel alone. Gil-galad's forces will be camped at the edge of the forest in the shadow of the White Mountains for two weeks from my release. If both of you surrender yourselves within that time, you will be taken north as prisoners for the judgement of the Valar. If, however, you do not follow these commands, you will be treated as enemies of the Valar and hunted with the full might of the Eldar."
Myrddin slumped slightly, his message delivered. His brow furrowed and he chewed lightly at his lip. "My lords, m'lady, is it true? Will they really make us leave again?"
Galadriel's heart broke. She clearly remembered the child Myrddin had been when the refugees from the Southlands had resettled. After half his life spent here, along the river, he was being asked to uproot it once again. She glanced at Halbrand. He was fidgeting, eyes unfocused in thought.
"No, you will not be forced from your home."
Galadriel saw Halbrand startle before they both turned to face Isildur. His expression was unusually serious, and he wore his new title of king with an assurance she had not seen from him before.
Isildur's eyes flicked to them for an instant before refocusing on Myrddin. "You have done well to bring us this message, but I must ask more of you. Take a fresh horse and ride with all haste to my father. Give him Gil-galad's message along with one of my own. Tell him that this city has been a haven to the helpless since its founding and that I will not betray that history now. We will defend our home, even against the elves if we must. I will march north with every able-bodied man of the South. I ask that he join me."
"I pray it will not come to that," Halbrand added, standing to place a hand on Isildur's shoulder. "We will speak to Gil-galad—ask him to reconsider. Surely there is no value in forcing a battle if Galadriel and I come willingly."
"Thank you, my lords. I will take this message to Lord Elendil."
"Myrddin," Galadriel called, stopping the young man from taking his leave. "How many days has it been since you received the message?"
"Ah, today is the fourth day. I was captured in the evening and began my journey home the next morning."
Galadriel nodded. "It will take two days on horse for you to reach Elendil. His march will be shorter than ours to the meeting point, but he will only have a few days to prepare. Tell him to meet us the morning of the final day."
Myrddin nodded once as Isildur murmured his agreement. A quick bow, and the young messenger was gone. The quiet that remained was oppressive.
"Are you sure you do not wish to move south? A series of small settlements along the coast in Harad could perhaps keep the Southlanders and Númenóreans together without drawing the Eldar's wrath."
Isildur huffed a small laugh, staring up at the high beams of the hall. "Halbrand—Sauron—I, like Tindómëon, have seen the sacrifices you've made for this city and those who live here. If the elves believe we must be destroyed for living in the city you helped us build, then they will not be satisfied by us moving to a new city in Harad. Arondir's prediction has proven true. We must defend our way of life or be scattered to the winds. You cannot dissuade me from this. However, if you are willing, I would ask that you help me raise the army of the South one last time."
xXxXx
Four days before Gil-galad's deadline, the army of the Southlanders marched north. All who could wield a sword, man or woman, went with them. Isildur led the host with Halbrand at his right hand and Galadriel at his left.
The road to battle is never pleasant, but the mood among the men was different than it had been before the battle in Ithilien. Fear had been replaced by the grim determination of the damned. No man among the host believed they marched to victory, yet still they marched.
The evening before the deadline, as the army made camp, Galadriel spotted another host to their west. Immediately, she went to Halbrand and Isildur. "The crown and stars fly to our west. Isildur, your father has brought his army."
Isildur sighed loudly, relief lacing his voice. "Thank the Valar. We can meet and march north together at dawn to face Gil-galad."
"I doubt the Valar have anything to do with this," Halbrand said with a strained smile. "But I am grateful, nonetheless. I know you believed your father would come, but I admit, I did not think Elendil would risk defying Gil-galad."
Galadriel hummed in agreement. "I hoped he would come, on account of the terms Gil-galad proposed for our surrender, but I was not certain. I do feel our chances of surviving the morrow have improved now that he is here."
It was with somewhat renewed spirits that the Southlanders, led by Isildur, set out the next morning to join with Elendil and confront the elves. Elendil himself was quiet as he rode alongside his sons toward the sigils of Lindon fluttering in the east wind. Finally, when the white, gold, and red of Gil-galad's banner could be clearly distinguished even by mortal eyes, Isildur called the men to a halt.
"Men of the South and survivors of Númenor, we stand here today in gratitude to Halbrand and Galadriel for aiding us in building a new home here in Middle Earth and in defense of that home. Stand watch over the route home as I ride forward to meet Gil-galad. Let no enemy pass this point unchecked as long as you live."
Agreement rippled through the troops as though from a cast stone before silence settled back upon the men. Isildur turned back then, looking between his family, Galadriel, and Halbrand. "It is time."
They turned their horses and rode forward at a slow trot across the wide grassy expanse. As she drew closer to the elvish line, Galadriel noticed how the soft green of the grass grew more vibrant and fragrant beneath her horse's hooves. The heady sensation of elf magic danced over her skin like static before a lightning storm.
When they reached the halfway point between the two armies, a few figures broke from the opposite line and rode forward to meet them. In the front, seated on a grey stallion, Gil-galad rode with a stony face, black hair falling from beneath his gold circlet like spilled ink against alabaster skin.
The two parties stopped with two horse lengths between them. Galadriel forced herself to keep her eyes on the High King, even as she felt her husband's glare bore into her temple. Gil-galad looked between the men for a long moment before meeting her gaze.
"Galadriel, I confess I find myself disappointed. When I asked if you could trust the Southlander, you spoke only of his failings as a man. If you had confided in me his true nature, perhaps this all might have been avoided."
"Forgive me, my lord, but my life debt weighed heavy upon me, as did my promise to the Southlanders. I had to balance the good of this people and the safety of Middle Earth. I thought I could do that best by monitoring the situation from a close distance."
Celeborn growled from his position next to Gil-galad, but the high king silenced him with a gesture. "I cannot say I agree with your judgement, but the Valar will weigh your intentions, I am sure. I do notice that you have neglected to follow the terms set out for you. Or perhaps the messenger I sent did not carry my words faithfully?"
"Myrddin carried your message well, but we could not accept your terms. The men with us followed us in good faith and have followed the path of the Valar as well as they are able. If your army will turn north, Sauron and I will relinquish our weapons and come willingly while the men of the South and Númenor turn back to their own homes. However, they will not abandon a hard-won homeland without a fight."
She held Gil-galad's gaze, neither willing to yield. A sudden gust of wind from the north blew through her hair, unusually chill for the season. The Elvenking sighed, his eyes drifting skyward, where thick clouds had begun to gather, dimming the warmth of the sun. "We should not waste time. There is a foul smell on the wind. It would be best to move on from this place."
"Then let us not fight." Galadriel pleaded quietly. "There are evils yet at work in Middle Earth. You would be better served turning your attention to those unwilling to submit themselves to judgement."
"Until we have dealt with the evil you allied with, the wind must wait." Gil-galad turned cold eyes to Isildur. "This is your last chance. Take your men, young king, and flee. My army will sweep through this land like a cleansing flame, burning everything that remains."
Jaw set and shoulders squared, Isildur rose to his full height facing the son of Finwë and drew his sword. "I accepted this throne from Halbrand with an oath that I would put my people first, as he did. I will cleave to that oath if it costs my life."
With a heavy sigh Gil-galad spun his mount and began to ride back to his forces. "Alas, that the blood of Elros is to be spilt for naught."