Ohtacárë i nwalmë úquétima: Rohan

[Dengen-Goroth]

The force of the Brown Lands were at last upon the South Undeep. As the battle for Cair Andros at last concluded great bridges were made spanning the Anduin and o’er those did pass the great siege engines, beasts, and men of the Dark Lord. For great and horrid was the power of the Dark Lord, and cunning was ever his thought. At last as the assault on Osgiliath began the host, with banners unfurled and sword and shield, pike and armor, glinting neath the rising sun began their southward march. Lumbering siege engines moved quickly for they were pulled by great beasts from the southern lands who were now in great number. As they went a great cloud veiled them for as they did progress so did they unsettle dust. Preceding them went raiding parties, who would descend upon villages and utterly pillage and bring them to ruin. Families were tied unto the exterior of their abodes, at times with pitchers of water several meters from them. Then fire would be put unto the dwellings and the inhabitants would perish, viewing the deaths of their neighbors and friends, meeting their ends accompanied with the shrill cries of those about them. Soon it would be that the meet of the Snowbourn and Onedlo would be at hand.

[Morwen]

She rode for four nights and four days, neither stopping to rest or nourish herself. Upon twilight of the fifth day she arrived admist the great force of her Lord. The raiding parties had finished filing into the the make-shift camp, and the night was alive with horrendous merry-making.
She came out of the shadows from between two giant seige-engines, casting a glance about the camp. Two guards, one heavy with orc draught, halted her progress in suspicion. She casually looked down and demanded, "Your leader, I wish to see him."
Uncertain as to the motives of the intruder, and a little lost-in-the head from the draught, they took her to the residence of the commander. She dismounted quickly, entered the dwelling, drew her sword, and decapitated the heavy-set orc. Upon returning from her bloody mission, she stood at the front of the deceased's dwelling and spoke thus, "Hear me, doers of darkness, your commander has been replaced. He has been so as to prevent any uprising. Should you choose that this form of resistance is right for you, you shall suffer the same fate. Today you are a group of sniveling orcs and goblins, tomorrow you will be the army of the Dark Lord. Do not disappoint me!"
"Some things will change this day. The raiders will pilage as they have before, but no more will they slaughter the villagers. Instead, they are to capture them, women and children included, and bring them to me. The men will be forced to join our ranks with death promised for their wives and children if they refuse. If any are killed or maltreated in any form, I will kill all those involved. Go now, my orcs! I wish to see fire in the night!"
"And for those of you who wish my name...I shall be known as the Dark Lady, in respects for your queen. Goodnight and happy dreaming."

[Ciryaher]

Maeronion whispered heavily to his Imperial companions, "As you can see, the enemy is busy rummaging through their plunder, and will not suspect anything. Our armies moved here in secret earlier this evening, and you have arriven but a short while after we made a lightless camp. The wind is coming out of the north, and our scents are being blown away to the sea; an even greater card in our favor. The men are eager and ready, my lieges."

Lifting himself slightly higher on his elbows, Ciryaher peered once more over the hilltop at the camp below. "Yes. Send the archers forward in stealth and assassinate the sentries along this ridge," he looked momentarily at the body of a scout-orc several yards away, "After that, we will charge into them...for even now the twilight grows lighter; dawn is coming. Unless the sun tarries in the East, its rays will shine upon the tips of our spears as we first strike. Let us ride back and prepare."

The three swiftly and silently moved back down the hill and over another, to the camp of the full muster of the Westemnet. The hunters were dispatched to harvest their quarry of orkish sentinels, and the Riders mounted their horses. Captains, including Maeronion, of the Rohirrim assembled on horseback with the Emperor to make plans.

"Just before the dawn's first light, the first two éoreds will charge, to strike quickly and furiously...a lightning attack. Then, they will seemingly retreat back over the hill; but as they are doing so, the seven next éoreds will charge over and down, being sure to leave small gaps so that the first two may pass through with ease. This will be the main attack, and when the first two groups pass back over the hill, they will join with the final éored and come around from the east. Are each of your éoreds ready?"

In order, the captains answered:

"Éodath of the First is ready, Sire."

"Ballomis of the Second is at thy command."

"I, Londar, and the Third are prepared, Lord."

"Maeronion of Four is ready."

"Elbairn of the Fifth is eager for combat, Liege!"

"Éobidha, Sixth, at thy command."

Two men spoke simultaneously, "Odhmar and Oldmar are at the ready, Sire! The Seventh and Eighth are at your command!"

The ninth simply raised his hand slightly and spoke quietly, "Hollevorn, ready."

At last, "Éomer Malham and the Tenth Éored are battle-ready, Emperor. Let us be gone to avenge our people!" The others raised their weapons and nodded.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

A quarter of an hour passed at the camp of Mornclaur, and the sky was growing lighter. No longer was the day a nuisance, but many of the orcs still resented the intrusive sun. As a raiding party prepared to leave, there was a blast of many trumpets upon the heights above them, and the crying of many voices that seemed like a storm upon the rolling lands.

The thunder of hooves came, and two thousand mounted Rohirrim drove towards the camp, and as the first shocked orc felt the wrath of the Horse-lords, the sun appeared in the east, and played its golden rays upon helm, hauberk, shield and blade.

[Morwen]

A whisper of a ray caressed the dark shadows of the plain, and slowly stretched a malign hand towards the encampment.
Her men, for that is what they had become in their long days together, still lay sleepily in the morn melancholy of dawn. Raucous orc snores pervaded the silence. This earned her chagrin. Her orc battalion lay in the outermost ring of her encampment. Light infantry and archers dozed in the second, and calvary lay in the innermost. The prisoners, or more specifically those indentured to her service, mingled with those men who lived their soldiery on foot. The women and children lay within her sphere of protection.
It had brought to her attention, as several orc raiding parties had come back severely diminished, that the men of Rohan would not easily betray the homeland. So she had made a pact; their service in exchange for the lives of their loved ones. She made so that if she was killed in combat, her men would slay the women and children. Thus she had a personal guard, one that would not betray her easily. Plus, an added bonus in her mind, the men would be arrayed in a fashion quite similar to that of her men, thus forcing them to fight for their own lives. Any ill-luck the army sustained, the prisoners would not be immune to it.

She had arrayed them thus, having previously assumed such attacks would be possible. They were ready, though it would cost some lives, for whatever force assailed them.
So with a small grin apon her lovely features, she witnessed the blinding force of metal as it raced down the slope towards her men. She gave the order, mounted her steed, and vanished into the protective barrier of her prisoners.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They came quick, precise,the blood of their foes raging in their eyes. Several orcs fell to spear and blade. Hundreds drew in raged breaths of blood as surprise bade others ready themselves. The orcs were soon in disarray, falling few horsemen here and there, but mostly succumbing to the death-steel in the last.

Spearmen, three men deep, placed afore the archers, took several heaving bodies of the first wave of horsemen upon their blades. The archers felled many horses, leaving their riders to be trampled by his own force. Those 'unhorsed-men' who managed to escape the doom of thundering hooves fell to the infanty, who were slowly closing upon the flanks of the horsemen as a great maw. But the horse riders of Rohan would not so easily be taken.... The battle would be long indeed.

The sun rose, hidden by the clouds, in a crimson haze.

[Ciryaher]

The first wave pulled back almost as quickly as it had invaded. Another trumpet sounded, and voices shouted stronger than before. Ciryaher looked at Kementari and tightened the grip upon his spear. He smiled at her, and then spurned his horse, for the ranks about him began to move forward. Having lost night a fourth of their men, the first and second éoreds had no trouble passing through the seven thousands that now roared over the hill, like a wave of barbed, white water.

His lance ready and aimed into the enemies ranks, the Emperor felt the power of his Mordorian horse beneath him. The great black horse was built powerfully, and did not waver; she had a powerful presence that gave the other valiant horses more courage. The Riders in the rear ranks drew their bows and fired several volleys, having paused on the hill's apex; Ciryaher himself drew a crossbow and fired once into the crowd, nailing two orcs together with an incredibly deadly force. The first line of Riders crashed into the outer ring; but having long lances rather than warspears (as those in the first wave were armed with), the second wave's initial impact exacted a severe toll upon the defending army. Those riders that were forced to slow down took advantage and began to fire arrows over the front lines further into the camp.

Londar, of the Third, shouted out to his men to spare no foe bearing a weapon, for Ciryaher suspected the wiles of the Mornclaurian General and soon noted that several of the enemies were of too fair a visage to be truly of the Enemy. The command was spread throughout, and though dismayed when they had to slay their kindred, the Rohirrim did not falter. Those indentured soldiers who were overtaken by the Rohirrim were sent over the hill to rest; they wept for the fates of their loved ones, but the tone in the voices and look in the eyes of the Captains told them that it was better to lose one's family than to be unable to take revenge upon their enemy.

As the main battle now raged, the First, Second, and Tenth éoreds came reeling about from the east as the Eigth and Ninth éoreds shifted to the right. Together, each group of five cavalries formed a great V, which was pinching in the middle and holding steady at the outermost points.

[Morwen]

Being disappointed with the wits of her men, Morwen barked an order and left the protection of her prisoners. Her front lines pulled back into a spiked mass of sharp intentions. Bloody spears gleamed crimson in the falling rays of midday.
Her men retreated, with their eyes still towards the enemy, to the shores of the Entwash; a mere charge from the camp. There they turned round again and faced the horse-men with bared teeth; spears and arrows held steady until the command. A small battalion of archers and infantry broke from the main body and fled south along the banks of the Entwash. Morwen watched them leave, a great ire growing in her light eyes. She turned round to watch the Lord as he flew towards her. As her eyes touched him the Lord Ciryaher felt a great opening in his mind, a channel that had been broken several years ere this meeting. His confusion lasted only a moment as the mental link was fully established.

You have forgotten, methinks, by that which you have named me. Must I pronounce it again....Brother? For is that not what you are? Do we not both bear the same blood, and all but the same doom? The time comes soon that we will face each other with not our men, but ourselves. Be it that you live and wisk away those you love before the night comes nigh.

Her eyes hesitated for a moment, but a shadow fell over her physiognomy and she drew her elven sword. She barked another command and the the archers fired upon those horses drawing nigh. Another command broke from her lips and sheilds surrounded those places of target. She charged from the front line upon Creshibon and awaited the Lord as his men fell upon her.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher almost fell off of his warhorse. His eyes scanned over the horde before him, but there was nothing but the feeling of a presence. Turning towards the hill, he whispered, "My Lady, as you wished, return now to Arnor...There will be naught but darkness in this land, and I have a fear that you will soon be needed in our kingdom. Fare thee well..."

He faced forward again, and picked up speed. The mail shirts and helms of his men were of good defense against missiles from the enemy, but nonetheless, many an arrow found a breach and pierced into the Riders. Many fell, but the losses were not so nearly as great as the enemy suffered; yet the Emperor had a shadow on his heart. Something was amiss...he had to find his sister, Morwen.

Moving about, he found several small frays, but as he moved towards the river, he noticed a knot of enemy forces giving fierce resistance. It was mostly uncontested, and so the Emperor called a force of Riders to himself and charged at the ring.

He soon slowed to a halt, however, and lifted the Horn of Doom to his lips. Blowing once a great blast, the sound--horrible and terrifying to all ears that heard it--stopped all combat, and the forces spaced themselves apart, in wary silence. Ciryaher called out towards the knot, "Come forth, Master of this Army of Mornclaur."

In his mind, he called out as well, Come forth, sister. Speech betwixt thee and I is much needed.

[Morwen]

Clouds mounted on the horizon and sped lugubriously towards the silent forces. Their shadows lengthened and spanned across the legions of the Mornclaur Federation.

Bloodshot and hateful eyes peered out over the sunshine towards the enemy. Cold, hard edges glinted malevolently within the shadow--

And then, as if almost answering the clouds, the sun climbed to mid-day and Her rays poured as golden rain upon the horse-men.

So silent it had become that Creshibon's sturdy gait could be heard in that wall of darkness. He came to the Lord in middle way, leaving Morwen half shadowed.
"I am she of whom you speak, the Master Mornclaur General", spoke she.
I am she of whom you speak, your sister.

"Speak now or my blade shall forever hold your suffering."
Speaketh thou thoughts, or forever be gone.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher pointed at the sun, "The day is not right for we two to confront and take to combat." His hand lowered and he faced her squarely.

"It grieves me that you have turned to the dark path, but I am not in any great surprise. It is your decision, and nothing I can say would change that. However, the time is not yet come for brother and sister to combat one another, and I will not do so at this time," he paused, allowing a ghost of a smile to touch his face, "So. I have spoken much. The time is now come for deeds. I will give you the opportunity to leave the battlefield in honor, with every human that you here have (except the captured Rohirrim). You will go, with the men, and leave behind both prisoner and orc, and you will be spared, for something of great portence comes this way. Anor sees it, and the meadows feel it. Go now, and you will live another day to brood in dark thought and muster more forces. But be wary, for if ever again you dare to insult our family be treating with orcs, I shall hew you down and send your living body into the Fire. Now, Go."

The Emperor's final monosyllable was filled with command, and he turned his steed about and began moving away. "This parley is complete. You have a quarter of an hour to leave," he said, not turning his head.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

The lord Elessar rode his horse through the barren, farrow plains of Rohan. The Westfold seemed to have yet to be touched by the dark fingers of Mornclaur, and from that thought the slightest sliver of joy jounced the sleeping nerves of the hunched man, who had been riding near on a week with little food and less sleep. He raised his ragged head, and peered around him. Yes, it was definitely Westfold. He turned in the saddle, and took from a small bag there an ancient banner, which had been given to him in his first days as the Marshal of this land. He raised his silver spear, a gift from the lady of Imladris, and atop it was adorned this symbol. A white horse rode the skies of Rohan again.

Elessar rode on, for much longer did he still have to go. He traced the borders of the ancient wood, for he knew that therein friends still lie. He came at last around the woods, and around a small, jutting leg of mountainous hills, and below him was a valley that stood well in both myth and legend. A broken, decrepit wall encircled a grove of trees, whose great greenness only served to illuminate a white tower standing in the center. He rode down, and into the forest.

The trees cast eerie shadows across the floor of the forest. But he knew the paths that were made there long ago. He came through the maze, and at the end stood his prize, the mighty doors of the single unshakable tower of the world. From within his robes he produced an old, rusted, bronze key. He slid it in, and, as though the lock had been made the day before, the door clicked, and creaked on it's hinges. He could have went up, to places where wizards had dwelled and died, to places where the kings of old had surveyed their lands in pride and arrogance, but he went down. Down into the depths of the tower, below the surface of the surrounding earth, a place that few knew existed. A rotten door was all that stood between him and the cellar, now. Once it had opened for him, but now it seemed that water, dripping from the ground above, had destroyed the lock. He drew from his side a long-sword of Gondor, and braced himself for what was to happen next. He drew it back, as one would a lumber axe, and hit the rusted-over handle of the door. There was a shower of rust and spark, but the door creaked open. There was a great noise from within, and a tongue of white fire lept from the room, and smote Elessar across the hallway, to the steps from which he had come. Elessar quickly reached to his neck and pulled from it an ancient jewel. A brilliant white vapor sped from the cellar to the necklace, and then disappeared. Ainar was once again with him.

He walked into the cellar-like room. There were boxes strewn about on the floor, where long ago a floodwaters had left them. Under one of the metal boxes he found his talismans. A sword in a plain sheath, A cloak that was the color of the grey stone floor, and the Elessar. The cloak he put away, the Elessar he put in a pocket near to his heart, and the sword he exchanged for the broken Gondorian. He left the room, the tower, the woods, and the circle, and on to Edoras he flew as though the one from the void was unleashed upon his heals.

He came unto the lands around Edoras, and encountered so little life that he knew there could be none at Edoras, but he kept up his pace regardless. He came to there and found, to his surprise, an Annatorian post. He gained from them the knowledge of the location of the Annatorian Army of Rohan, and began the ride out to meet them.

Hours later, Elessar sat and looked on. Though his powers were flowing like life’s-blood through his mind, pushing it far beyond it's mortal edge, he could not see anything at all of the strange conflict laid out before him. He decided that only through meeting with both of the siblings could he truly understand what was happening. He cut the flow of stimulating energy flowing to his mind, and set it about himself.
He became the night, and thus descended into the camp of Mornclaur.

The nighttime was both friend and foe. By the time he reached the tent of the leader of the force his small reserve of energy was drained. He went into the darkest corner, and there adorned an ancient cloak. He sat in a state of alert and meditation, calmly awaiting the arrival of the lady of Darkness.

[Morwen]

"You have the bulk to make such demands, Lord Ciryaher," intoned Morwen,"but I hold something more precious to you. That is, if power does not cloud your eyes". Creshibon moved uneasily. "I hold the life of a loved one in this scimitar", she drew her sword, "and it is not that of your Lady". Her eyes glazed for a half a moment and she inhaled deeply....then her sea eyes focused on the Lord and her alabaster strands played with the wind.

"You will give us three day, My Brother. It is my want to take council on this matter." She turned reign and galloped into her dark ranks.

Our family would no more disapprove of me than you, who is power hungry...... and it is my thought that the right of this will soon be decided. We shall see what sides become us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lady dismounted as her quarters came into view. A furrow creased her brow as she neared the entrance.
"M'lady, what is your wish?" queried a woman of Rohan.
"Portion the food heavily tonight. See to it that the children eat well; we will remain here for a while". And have my men bury the slain. Leave the orcs to the ravens". As an after-thought she added, "let no one enter my quarters this night".

Once inside she relieved herself of the weight of war. With her back to the rear of the tent she watched the sun set in a bath of blood.

"One cannot hide in darkness, especially not from a Lady of the Dark", she let the curtain over the entrance fall. "What is your desire, Lord Elessar, that one of the White Council and Heren Istarion would seek the company of a Dark One?" She turned round to face him, her eyes searching him intently.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

"And yet, I passed through all sentries and posts, who are bred of darkness, which you are not."

He turned from her, and paced to the other side of the tent. ". Now, you know as well as I that you do not belong here, training and comanding this scourge. Your darkness is of mood, not of heart. Morwen, I have seen much in this world, and in the last day I have come to see you in conflict with Ciryaher. Is this all about him, does all of this spawn and grow from something between you two? If it is, I suggest you resolve it. For if not the world shall pay. I foresee that and that alone. Only if we, all of us, are together, working and sriving against the impossible, can we overcome the tides of darkness that threaten to flood the lands of the west. The lands of your home."

He turned again, to face her now. He saw that his weak speach did little but glance off of her mood. He sighed, and turned to leave the tent. At the opening he stopped, and lightly lay upon her words to ponder. "The people who have loved you all of your life are dead, suffering, or in mortal fear. All of that caused by the gauntlet you have adorned. Those of us who respected you, and honored your name and memory, feel only dissapointment. I don't know where you left to, or what happened to you there, but for the sake of Eru, that is a place I never wish to be."

She had been looking down, at the dirt floor of the tent. She looked up as he stopped speaking, but he was gone. And, from where he had shed a tear near the door, a single blade of grass grew from the trampled earth.

[Morwen]

Morwen glanced at the slight scimitar resting peacefully against the wall of the tent. Her eyes wandered to the single blade of grass and she smiled ironically. She let her thought pass beyond the tent, and because she new two men would hear, she spoke thus, A single care do I have, it is true, and a single person I know that suffers because of me. But I am who I am. What paths I wander are my own. I am connected to no one, and that makes me all the stronger. Those who fall because they love me are my sacrifices. If you love me, let me be. I am Morwen, cared for only by few; hated by many; respected by none. I am Morwen; Daughter of the Dark.
She took her slight scimitar in hand and cut the blade of grass from its roots. "Too few now love me to stop my hand, I will go forth and fulfill myself. Nimorod! Prepare the legions for departure. We will return home. Leave the orcs and men of Rohan. Let us be gone!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Twilight peered across the brown planes and shadowed the retreat of dark forces. A lone figure atop a horse, hair dancing with the wind, remained. She dismounted and drew her cloak around a small swath of land.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning yawned and stretched its lovely rays across the plane. Lord Ciryaher strained his eyes to see a glimse of his enemy on the horizon. Finding no success, his gaze rested on a rose bush with a single, white bloom. It had not been there before, he was sure. And he was sure, too, that it had also been meant for one other than himself. But it meant much to him. Very much.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher's lip turned to a snarling expression. "Very well," he said to himself, "Run for now, but next time you will not escape so easily."

He raised his voice and spoke to the captains. "We depart within the hour and will ride to Edoras to meet the rest of the Rohirrim."

They quickly gathered their things and went swiftly towards the capital of Rohan, Edoras, where strength had gathered.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar had left the camp of Mornclaur only to find his horse gone. He cursed the night for betraying him thus, and set about to find where he had tied his old friend to a tree. He found it, maybe an hour after the last message from the powerful mind that was Morwen echoed her rebuke. The rope that now swung idley from the tree had been gnawed. He let his mind wander, calling out to the powerful old horse. But it gained him nothing, his friend was gone. He sighed. Elessar dug into the nearby brush, and pulled from it a treebranch that was as long as he was high. He drew his sword, which glistened with power and history in the moonlight, and began to shape the crude branch. In a half hour he had it shaped into a walking stick, and in another half hour, he had carved the symbol of the ancient White Council, which he still clung to, into it's head. He adorned himself in his favorite cloak, which was old and tattered with use and age, and set out on the many, many miles to Edoras.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher and the Rohirrim came quickly unto Edoras, where the greatest part of the cavalry had assembled. In addition, there were also cavalrymen from Arnor and the western provinces of Gondor. All told, there were nigh eighty thousands.

Their captains assembled quickly and created a plan. Within the hour, sixty thousands made their way out of the city with Ciryaher leading. After taking a long rest, the remainder of the armies set out eastward, with Éodath in command.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

As the afternoon began to set upon the hard-riding men of Rohan, they entered the eastfold. As they rode they came upon the old beacons, which had not been alight in many ages of peace amongst the world. However, to their surprise, Halifirien was alight, and it was the only of them to show a spark of life. This drew wonder from the men of Rohan, for they knew that Halifirien was usually the last of the great beacons to be light, though now it stood by itself. They called to Emporer Ciryaher, who came forth and looked at the fire himself. And as he wondered over it, it vanished. And following the trail of smoke down from the clouds, ones eyes settled on a man standing before the stone structure. His power was nearly tangible to the eye.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher looked the man up and down. "You're late. Get a horse, I have no time to spare. We may talk as we ride."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar laughed a small, emotionless laugh, and called a horse to himself. The one that came to him was a magnificent shade of grey. He mounted it, fastened the walking stick to the saddle, and sped off toward the mass of riders.

He raised the banner of the Kingdom of Rohan beside the banner of Annatore, and rode up to the side of Ciryaher. "I am late? Ha. You should have traveled this rode weeks ago... yes, I beleive if I were to say more I would but be repeating the words of ones who have taken this journey before us. Minas Tirith must come to us will all haste."

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher glanced sidelong at Elessar. "We travel this road in the ordained time. Minas Tirith is of no help at the moment, and so we must take matters into our own hands."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

"And you make it sound as though we are not going to the aid of the queen, Ciryaher" Elessar said, in a surprisingly surprised tone. "Indeed, last time I checked, she was a rather large part of your Confederacy."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

(just thought I'd bring all of this stuff to one central page, to keep it all in order and organized)

Mithrandir-
Mithrandir's Departure
It was a foggy day, one filled with mystery. There was no sighn of life to be seen for miles except on a nerby shore, there glowed a dim light. Standing next to a small grey boat stood a man clad in white garments. He was old, but his appearence did not say the same. Before his feet various objects. A beautiful sword, a bow and arrow, and a few messages. The man looked at the woman standing before him clad in blue.

"I will miss you greatly Aerin, you have been more than a friend to me, you have been a sister, my one true kin in this Middle-Earth. Please tell the others goodbye, and Talierin that I shall have a boat here for her in 30 days time. Everything should be ready then."

"Everything to do with the White Council is left to you, if Elessar wishes to stay than let him, and please bring him my sword and bow, they have some of mypower of light in them, and I bestow them unto him."

Goodbye Aerin.

Goodbye Middle-Earth, I love you still.

With those words Mithrandir the White, aid to men, left Middle Earth.

Aerin

Aerin, much saddened by the departure of one of her dearest friends, embraced Mithrandir for the last time. "I wish you the greatest joy and happiness whither you travel. I will deliver your message to Talierin; I cannot say how much I will miss you both!"

Stooping to pick up the sword and bow, she turned to catch a last glimpse of the Wizard's departing figure. Raising a hand in farewell, she hoped the salty wind would wash away the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

Aerin turned, and laid a hand on the high neck of her horse. Lightly springing into the saddle, she set off in search of Elessar.


Elessar

Elessar, one of the last of the wizards of middle earth, sighed from within his hooded cloak. He lowered it to his shoulders, and the ranks of the proud Annatorian army were once again to fill his eyes. He turned to Ciryaher. "Mithrandir has left, just as we foresaw. Indeed, our friends grow ever more sparse. I fear now that our ultimate test shall lie ahead. Let us not disgrace our blood."

Elessar spurred his horse on, and came to the edge of the army. He closed his eyes, and his young voice came into the head of Aerin, though they were a nation apart. "Come, Ciryaher and I await within the army of Annatore. I cannot reveal our presence, for unknown foes surely listen, but we shall not be hard for one of the light to find. We shall await you."


Aerin

Aerin rode hard for days, pushing her horse nearly to its limit. Scenery flashed past; landmarks blended into another, so swift her horse was. On the back of her saddle was tied a long, thin bundle; it contained the sword and bow that Mithrandir had left to Elessar. Wrapped carefully in dark brown cloth, they were safe from the weather as she rode on.

In little over three weeks, she finally reached the camp of Emperor Ciryaher. When hailed by the guards, she identified herself and was announced to the leaders. She followed the guard into the pavilion where the Emperor and Elessar conferred. After seeing that her mount was properly taken care of, she entered the pavilion.

Bowing slightly, she said, "I have come as swiftly as my horse could carry me. As you know, Mithrandir has passed out of this world; the Lady Talierin is soon to follow. I bring these," she held out her bundle to Elessar, "as a gift to you, Elessar, from Mithrandir the White. It was his wish you should have them, he knew you would use them well."

Turning to Ciryaher, she spoke. "I fear I will not tarry long here, but if my sword can be of use, I will be glad to help."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar took the sword and the bow in silence. He looked up at last, and the company was still quiet.

"Come now, Ciryaher. We may not be your equal of strategy and war, but we must know your plans ere we make our own."

(eh, if your going to tell us, I'll expect a PM. Dengen reads all threads)

[Lorien]

A dark hooded figure clothed entirely in black rode hard into the camp of the Emperor Ciryaher and as the guard stopped him asking, "Who are you? What business have you here?" The rider dismounted and walking upto the guard simply said, "I have business for your lord. That is sufficient" The guard stepped away and the rider moved swiftly to the pavilion where others remained in discussion.
Entering softly he caught Lord Ciryaher's eye and throwing his hood back said, "I believe I owe you an apology for my abscence, Lord. I wonder if any assisstance I could offer is of any use to you?"
Looking around swiftly he quickly took in his gatherings and the other people present holding Elessar's and Aerin's gaze for a few seconds. The people present in the room seemed to be slightly shocked taking in the tall figure with his shoulder length whitish-golden hair, his grayish-green eyes and his fair complexion. Lorien wondered lightly, "Will they even remember me?" and then settled for smirking as he awaited a response.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Why, Lord Lorien. I thought you would be in Arnor, where your very fortress was being assailed. The Dark Legion, I beleive, harbors grudge for your turning. But you are most welcome here.

[Dengen-Goroth]

Gwador, Captain of Mornclaur, rode uneasily in the early hours of the morning. The sun had not yet risen, though its presence would have been obscured by dark clouds which had hung over the White Mountains for days. He turned about in his saddle to look behind him at the twenty men who accompanied him.
“Whom among you are chilled.” None responded, fearing this was to lead to an insult directed at themselves. "Good, though I assure you the enemy will feel quite a chill once we're done!"
A slight laughter escaped from those grim men, clad in the raiment of Gondor. Though their mission was perilious and the paths they traveled were hazardous, decrepit and riddled with obstructions, they rallied around their captain. His appearance was nothing striking; he was of average height, olive complexion, and slim. He could have passed for a man of Lebennin or Lossarnach with ease, for indeed he was so. Born from relatively well known family of Gondor he had been raised under the tutelage of the learned scholars of Minas Tirith, and was imbued with the morals and principles of the west. However ever in his studies did his mind venture from the confines of Gondor towards the wide unknown of Rhun, or Harad. He read and re-read accounts of the Haradrim, and any Variag who might enter the realm he would venture to glimpse. He had a clever mind, and found the promise of holding an estate and regulating profits from his pastures a great hindrance. The solution to him seemed simple, leave Gondor. And so he did, traveling to Umbar and then entering the service of the Dark Lord. For as he spent time in the south his resentment of the west grew, till the very thought of the white towers of Minas Tirith sickened him. So when war began he was nothing short of a boon for espionage, as none would venture to guess he was anything but a stout servant of the Queen.

Before Gwador, from the ruins of a pillar, sprung a cloaked form.
“Who seeks the shadow when the night is lost?” Hissed the being.
Gwador’s steed reared with a loud whinny, the other horses halted in the same fashion.
“The Herald of Dusk in the summer frost.” Spoke Gwador so silently it was heard to none save the figure, who nodded and motioned for the group to come nearer. Gwador waved the men forward, for they were increasingly apprehensive as a light rain began to fall about them. The horses ambled forward, and then off of the path. Soon they were within a wooded area, the great trees swaying as a wind passed through them, causing a hail of water to fall upon the men. Gwador dismounted and trotted towards the cloaked form, who now stood before a great oak.
“When we enter you shall count till five minutes have passed, and only then shall you commence.”
“Yet if peril befalls you?”
“No matter, that will be of no consequence.”
“Your intent will be known, and the alarm raised.”
“We shall continue as though all is well.”
The debate continued in that fashion for some time. In the end Gwador strode quickly towards his steed with a bleak expression.
“All went well m’lord?” Inquired a rider.
“Enough so that you lads should have no fear of what’s ahead. Remember, we’re relieved to come upon them, not panicky like a hare when it is cornered by the fox.” Gwador said, with a smile breaking across his face. However he felt, he would have to present a merry countenance for his men. He mounted his horse and with a laugh spurred the steed, daring his men to pass him.

They rode in this manner until the came upon a group of weary soldiers, who were undoubtedly soon to be released of their post.
”Ho there! What business have you in this land?” Bellowed a sentry, his voice failing him as he spoke.
“Greetings brothers! We come from Lord Éodath in the north, bearing grim tidings. You know not how it pleases us to find this haven amide the angry ocean of the enemy.”
The sentries glanced uneasily at Gwador, then at the men behind him.
“What word do you bring?”
“We rode eastward after our parting in Edoras, and thus proceeded for a slight way. Yet we were assailed at night by a great host of the enemy, so many were there as the leaves on the trees. And the western blood spilled upon Rohan like the rain unto the earth. We, men of Gondor, held the flank though soon we were separated from the others.” Here Gwador paused, clutching at his chest and bowing his head. After heaving a sigh he spoke again. “They came for us with a wrath unlike any I have seen. Oh to till the lands of my birth and not hew and be hewed!” He moaned, and threw his helm from his head. “They slew Éodath before mine eyes, they slew all.”
The sentries were aghast, whispering amongst themselves quickly.
“These men and myself are all that remain. I am a coward!” He cried out, and broke into bouts of weeping. A sentry quickly came forward and took the reigns of Gwador’s horse.
“Come now, do not speak such. A more valiant man I have not seen, and doubt I shall. To endure an onslaught of that strength and survive, where so many had fallen, that is not the work of a coward. Come through, word must arrive to our Lords quickly.” He led the horse forward as the rain intensified, and the others followed. The remaining guards bowed their heads as they passed. As they went forward a line of men came to meet them. They were assigned to take the place of the guards, and upon hearing of what had been said their appearances were ashen, and their stamina depleted. After some time they at last came within the camp. There hung a light fog among the clusters of tents, the rain having abated. The sentry who had escorted them spoke silently to another who nodded.
“Greetings men of Gondor! Await me here, for I must ask for the audience of Lord Ciryaher.” He promptly departed, as did the escort. He could not contain the news, and soon it was spreading throughout that immense camp swifter then fire.

After some time Gwador lifted his head and glanced towards the men behind him.
“It is time.”
There was no longer trepidation in their eyes, but determination. Gwador placed his hand on the hilt of his blade. Moments later, in great arcs from the nearby hills of snow, came lines of fire. Flaming arrows. They struck tent after tent, without respite they flew through the air and cut through the fog. Cries began to break the morning air; dusk was almost upon the land.
“Let’s get to it lads!” Gwador cried. They quickly rode deeper into the camp, each with a known purpose. They each slew a man, and clad them in their armor. And even as they did this a great horn was sounded, and from the forest came some two hundred men, wielding axes and blades, maces and bows. As they charged the arrows continued to fire from the trees. The charged into great tents serving as stables and slew the steeds, they drove through the fog and every horse they saw they felled. For this was their sole purpose, to slay every horse in the camp, to render the Rohorrim, the great horse riders, without transport. There was general chaos in the camp for the fog, fire, and word of defeat was bewildering to many men. Gwador, even as he drove his blade through the body of a proud white steed, espied a force being marshaled in the northern end of the camp.
“Curse them.” He muttered neath his breath. Placing his head next to that of his horse he whispered.
“Ride, pride of the East, our duty is done.”
And the horse obeyed. Gwador soon burst into the foliage and thus into safety. Within moments most of his comrades followed, and they embraced for the fires were spreading and already hundreds of the prized horses were no more.
“Let us ride far from here. We have dealt a great blow to the West this morn, one they shall not soon forget.”
They then did pass again within the White Mountains, along with the others of that attack.

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Lord Elessar entered the tent of Ciryaher, where Aerin also awaited. "Milord Ciryaher. The human casualty report is in. Very few of the men were slain, less than one hundred. It would seem that much of their assault was in the persuit of chaos, wherein they took not a few of our steeds to the blade. But, it is not as bad as it may seem, they numbered only in hundreds. Our horses are in the tens of thousands. And, they made a quick job of their work, and many horses have but arrow wounds or slashed neck-flesh, and will heal over time."

He turned to Aerin, and noded. "Lord Ciryaher, if you do not plan a counterattack, than Aerin and myself shall take our leave, off unto our own buisness..."

Lord Lorien entered the tent, his hands bloody. He had been in the medical tents. "Arrow wounds aplenty, milord. It seems as though the actual invaders of our camp did not have human flesh on their mind, and they will regret it. Almost all of our injured men can still walk and can still weild weapon."

All four stood in silence for a second.

[Lorien]

Lorien nodded and said, "Yes milord. If there is no immediate need of my prescence I would like to attend to a rather personal matter I have been putting off for too long alongwith the fact that I do have to meet someone."

[Aerin]

Turning to Elessar, Aerin said, "If you will excuse me, I would like to take a walk before we leave. Even I can have too many hours in the saddle," she grinned. "I shall return in time to ready my horse to depart, Elessar. Should you need to reach me, I won't be far; away from the battlefield is where I will walk."
With a slight bow, she excused herself and left the pavilion.

[Lorien]

Lorien said quietly, "If you will excuse me for a while, I would like to retrieve something I left in my saddlebags." Exiting the pavilion he walked slowly and as he reached his horse he noticed Aerin walking and changed his direction and came up quietly behind her. "Do you think we stand a chance?", Lorien said in a low voice causing Aerin to jump slightly. Giving her an apologetic smile he said, "Didn't mean to startle you. Sorry."

[Aerin]

Stopping to turn and face Lorien, Aerin said, "Oh, I didn't hear you come up behind me. A chance?" She sighed, and looked up at the sky; stars were showing through misty clouds. Her breath misted slightly as she spoke. "It is hard to say whether we will be able to overcome the Mornclaurian forces. If we do win, we will still sustain heavy losses; war is never fought without exacting a heavy toll from both sides. Today was ... difficult. Mornclaur's forces are so numerous, and they do not care to defend, only to kill. They take pleasure in death and destruction. I only hope what I do will help to defeat them." She bit her lip, staring silently off into the distance.
After a few moments, she shivered slightly in the cool air, then looked back at Lorien. "The days ahead will be very dark, I fear, and I do not know when the storm will break."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar turned to Ciryaher, who had been silent.
"Your mind is everywhere but here, Ciryaher." He turned, walked over to a corner of the tent, and sat in the grass. "I only wish you would speak of your plans, so that perhaps we could breed some hope. Indeed, we do not have a ringbearer this time, and I dare to say I wish we did."

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher rubbed his temples and looked up at Elessar, but not seeing him. "What madness has befallen this world?" his voice had a strange accent in it, "What insanity has stricken the inhabitants of this world to make them seek only destruction? What fever of their sickened minds has driven them to wanton destruction?..."

His voice changed subtley back to its normal tone. "Madness? Too long a word is that for what this is...this is war....such a simple word, yet filled with the infinite hatred, evil, and folly of all life in Arda. It is here, regardless of how we few try to avert it, and so we must deal with it as best we can."

The strange voice returned, "But what hope have we? We are few compared to the wreckless hordes. There is no chance of victory."

The Emperor stood, suddenly, his voice rising to a roar, "Then we shall die fighting! I will not surrender to the dark whisperings that seek our doom!" his eyes burned and he grasped Elessar's shoulder as he dropped to a knee, eye-level with his companion, "We will overcome these dark times, no matter what. I will sacrifice myself before I see the beauty left in this world marred beyond all recognition."

He strode out the tent, his voice calling back. "Come! We march immediately!"

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar stood, and went outside the tent. A breeze was blowing in the early morning. The banners of Rohan and Arnor whipped in the wind, and before them was laid the force of Annatore, in full atention, saluting the Emporer. They were of Rohan, of it's blood and of it's valor, and they yelled into the morning air,

"Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising
We come singing in the sun, swords unsheathing.
To hope's end we ride and to heart's breaking:
Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!"

Ciryaher stood astounded, and could find no words. Elessar came to his side and whispered into his ear...

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Ciryaher turned back to Elessar, and said something inaudiable to the men, but when he turned back there was a set look on his face. Elessar looked disgusted, and turned from the men, for he knew that their doom would be harsh. We went in search of Aerin, and found her talking to Lorien.

"The storm will break when we break it. And Aerin, our time is come." He took from his pocket a small medal, and on it was a swirl of colors, the symbol of the now forgotten white council of old, and of it's power.

[Aerin]

Aerin's brow creased slightly, and a sad expression spread over her face. Nodding slowly, she spoke quietly, "I have not seen that symbol in so long." She reached out a hand to touch the medallion, then sighed. "Elessar, my good friend, I hate to postpone our trip, but I fear I must." At his questioning look, she continued. "It is a matter of great personal importance that I must speak to Ciryaher about. I am sorry..."
Meeting Lorien's eyes for a moment, she turned slowly away and began walking to where Ciryaher stood.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher leapt onto his horse and made a hand sign to a nearby captain. The man bowed and went off, the order for the men to make ready spreading rapidly.

Urging his steed to an increbidle speed, he came quickly to the pinnacle of a hill. Rolling lands and high hills spread out, streaked by rivers and fading into a blue horizon; the sea. He sat there and stared, as if in deep thought.

[Lorien]

Lorien looked upon the retreating figure of Aerin and then looked at Elessar and the medallion he held. As his eyes fell upon the medallion he started smirking and then burst out in a low laugh and shaking his head moved towards Ciryaher.
As he reached his horse Lorien reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a small pouch and glancing quickly at its contents, tied it around his waist. He mounted his horse and coming upto Aerin said with a smile, "If you're going to Ciryaher I could give you a ride."

[Aerin]

Aerin turned, and looked up to find Lorien smiling down on her. "I would greatly appreciate a lift," she said, with the first hint of a grin on her face that had been seen there in a long time.

Lorien kicked a foot out of his stirrup, and held a hand out to Aerin. Grabbing his hand, she jumped up in the saddle, behind him.
Turning his head, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, let's go." They set off at a walk to where Ciryaher sat contemplating. Looking out at the horizon, with the clouds forming a multitude of colours along the sea, Aerin gave a small sigh. "It's so beautiful," she whispered.

"Not as beautiful as some other things, or people I might add." Lorien spoke softly.

Aerin looked back at him; he had been studying her face. Feeling a slight blush rise to her cheeks, she looked away. "This sunset is stained by the blood of those who have died in the war; I just pray the taint will not last long. If only what I go to do will help prevent anymore blood from being shed," she added in a barely audible voice.

As they approached Ciryaher, Lorien stopped his horse, and helped Aerin down. Smiling at him, she turned to walk over to where the King of Attanore sat. "Ciryaher, may I speak with you?"

This was a collaboration between Lorien and myself,

[Ciryaher]

Looking out over the world from the West, Ciryaher lowered his brows in thought. The Undying Lands were hidden from his sight, but all the world laid at his feet, bathed in a warm, red glow. With a sigh, his mind's eye descended and settled just above the peak of Mindolluin. After looking about, towards the east, for what seemed like an eternity, he heard hooves approaching, and his mind's eye drifted back westwards until it sat just above his head.

The Emperor turned to face them...his eyes were pure white and glowed softly. "Yes? What is it you wish to speak of?" His eyes returned to normal and he looked at them both for a moment apiece.

[Aerin]

"I wish to speak of Morwen." Aerin said, "I have not seen her for many a month, and would dearly love to hear of her; she is like a sister to me. I have heard rumours, but nothing I care to listen to. It would gladden my heart to hear tidings of her."

Ciryaher looked off into the distance again; his voice was remote, as if it came from a distance. "I have not heard from her for a long time. She has not ... kept in touch."

Looking down, Aerin said, "I wish I knew where she was; I must speak with her." She closed her eyes for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. When she opened them again, they were bright with unshed tears.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher made a noise of disappointment and then sighed heavily. After a long, open-mouthed pause he spoke, "To be honest...yes, I have spoken to her. We met upon the battlefield nigh a week ago. From there she left, taking a following into the east. She is traveling far...far far into the East, and has not yet stopped. I cannot guess her intention, but at the moment there is nothing that can be done. For good or ill (or neither) she will return, and will have a great part to play in this blasphemy that is a war. My sister ever speaks little of her intentions, but guesses can be made. She'll be back."

He leapt onto his saddle again and looked down upon them, his eyes moving slowly between them and then resting upon Lorien. The Emperor's eyes stayed upon him, but he spoke to them both, "If you have more of me to ask, then ask...otherwise let us ride back. We must make all haste to prepare ourselves for the doom that may await."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar stood in the small forest path for a second before turning and sitting on a small tree trunk. He had not expected that, and was angry at himself for letting something slip past his roaming eye. But still he sat. He would not follow his friends off to Ciryaher, and did not know how long he would sit there, for they had not told them where they were going, nor how long it would take.

He sat there for hours, that seemed even as though they may have transformed to days. He suddenly looked down, and saw that the emblem still was in his hand. With his mind so pulsing wiht thought, he had failed to realise it's presence. He turned his hand over, and it was heavy as though made of stone. The small emblem fell to the dirt, with a thud that echoed through the quiet forest. He slowly turned his hand back over, and the imprint of the symbol was there, in his hand. And still he sat.

[Aerin]

Aerin nodded, "Yes, we must prepare ourselves, but hopefully not for doom." Looking over at Lorien, she said, "I have a few things that I must collect, before I can leave."

"I would be happy to give you a ride back," offered Lorien.

"Thank you, but I would rather walk." Aerin smiled, "My legs work as well as your horse's."

"Then I shall accompany you," Lorien bowed elegantly, but spoiled the effect by grinning.

As they walked along, back toward the camp, Aerin looked thoughtful. When Lorien asked what was on her mind, she said, "I am trying to think where Morwen could be... and what I need to pack." The latter was said ruefully. "You would think, by this time, that I would know what I have to bring." She sobered, "I wish I never had need of the knowledge of warfare."

[Lorien]

Lorien looked at Aerin and said, "There are many things in life that we wish were different, but it isn't so." As he walked along with Aerin, Lorien pulled out a small, oval, onyx colored stone on a chain from his pouch and looked at it with a sad smile on his face. Then he put the chain on and asked Aerin, "So will you ride into battle? Or shall you look for Morwen?"

[Aerin]

"My dear Lorien," said Aerin with a slightly bemused smile, "what I intend to do now is to pack my things. After I have done that, I shall rejoin Elessar; we have some... unfinished business to attend to." She fell silent for a few moments, as they walked along. The horse pulled at its lead, to get at the grass that grew abundantly along the path, forcing Lorien to shorten the reins.

The last birds of the day were flying about, preparing for the night. Gradually, the noises quieted down, into a peaceful silence, broken only by their footsteps and the soft whickering of the horse. Quickly looking away when she found herself gazing at his profile, Aerin's eyes instead sook refuge in the trees. For the first time that day, she felt somewhat at ease. She relaxed, and let her hands fall freely by her side, instead of clenched, as they had been.

Chancing another glance at Lorien, Aerin said nonchalantly, "And you, where do you plan to go? Certainly you've no reason or intention of attempting to find Morwen; neither, I think, do you wish to ride in the front lines of the battle. Surely you have some destination to which you travel?"

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar sat, and sat, and thought to himself. He wondered if Aerin would truely return. He though that she must, for she was the closest thing he had to a friend left on this middle earth... Mithrandir had left. Eomer was gone. Valar had died. Dain was off into hiding. And, indeed, in that moment Elessar began to weep.

[Lorien]

Lorien smiled at her and said flippantly, "I'm a rather lost soul dear. I do not have a clue as to what I should do. But I am expecting someone to come looking for me, she shouldn't take too long."
As she turned away from him, Lorien found himself staringat her face and shaking himself slightly said out loud, "Maybe I shall ride in the front lines if Ciryaher permits. Who knows?"

[¤-Elessar-¤]

Elessar's body sat, but his mind wandered. It flew over plains and mountains, observing what it would. It streched itself, and engulfed itself in the joyous feeling that it was to fly. He came at last, after looking upon the wars in the west, a strange happening in the east. His body sighed, and his mind reeled. And it returned to the body in a flash. And Elessar stood, rather light-headed. He stood, remembering his place, and trekked off toward the west. He came back to the camp of Ciryaher, and unto the tent of Aerin. He stood outside for a moment, observing the conversation within. He found his timing, and entered.

"And yet you two may spend the next days together, for it seems that our plans were foiled, lady Aerin. Indeed, one of the few I have trusted has betrayed us, and I know not whom. I must go now, for my greif and the weight of my mind is causing me to age, and now I feel as though I were a hundred, rather than nearly fourty."

He turned, and looked out of the tent, one of his hands clinging to the top of the slit. He turned again, and a glint of sorrow passed his eyes. "Indeed, even know my words are sparse and mangled. I am not quite the man I once was..."

"But now, though one hope is gone, many remain. There is more than one way to divert the stream of darkness, may you find it in the days ahed. I prey that you may, for it seems that I cannot."

With a hefty sigh, he turned, and left the tent. He walked off into the distance, going northward, so it seemed...

[Aerin]

Before Elessar departed, Aerin said, "I wish you the best of luck, my friend. Go where you will, but do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything." She stood, and watched Elessar disappear into the distance.

When she turned back, Ciryaher was pouring over a map. "So, you shall remain here for the time being?" he said as he looked up.

"Yes, I shall. Elessar has his own plans, and t'would seem I do not play an immediate part."

"That is well, for I have a task for you here. You, along with Lorien, shall be in command of the Rohirrim troops. I shall advise, but you will be commanding."

Aerin's face registered a little suprise, "Do you then intend to leave so soon?"

Ciryaher's eyes returned to studying the map, "Not at the moment." Nothing further would he say on the subject.

Aerin nodded and looked over at Lorien. He was standing apart, his unfocused eyes seemed to stare at something in the distance. She walked over to him and touched his arm; he jumped and turned to her. "Did you hear the Emperor? We have preparations."

[¤-Elessar-¤]

From the southern end of the camp, a cry came. There was someone coming from the distance. Immediately there was action, a section of twenty or so riders rode out to meet the bogie, spears aimed for death. But they were quick to see that the man was adorned in a tattered uniform of the infantry of Gondor. He was collapsed, crawling upon the ground, but his voice was still sharp. He looked up at the riders, and caughed dust from his lungs. "This army *caugh* must not go into Gondor, *caugh* for Gondor is no longer *caugh* what she were..." The man's face hit the dry dirt again. And faded from conciousness.

[Ciryaher]

Ciryaher had a map in his hand as he knelt down beside the rider. "Give this man a cot, and when he awakens, give him food and water. He may have my ration, if he desires more food."

He walked away and looked to the south and east. "The sea smells of flame...and there is death and despair in the eastern wind. I must leave very soon." His eyes drifted to the north and west, but the sun was near setting.

The Emperor sighed and walked to his tent.

[Aerin]

Aerin ordered the generals to the tent. "Your orders are to march the Rohirrim troops out of the hills, and to Dol Amroth. I want as little delay as possible; speed is of the essence. Ready your men to march at sunup!"

The commanders all gave a short bow and left the tent to attend to their troops. All around the camp, the sound of packing was pacific in contrast to the sharpening of sword, lance, and dagger. Bows were checked for resiliency; arrows for straightness; shields for wear.

Throughout the preparations that stirred the camp, one was not participating. Astride his great steed, the Emperor Ciryaher rode to the North; not looking back. Too busy with her own tasks, Aerin did not see him leave; but knew he had some other plan in mind that was to be set in motion.

[Ciryaher]

Aerin opened the letter sitting on her cot and read it quickly. It was from the Emperor. Now is the time. Go forth. was all it said, but she understood well it's meaning.

The Riders were all ready, and it took but a few minutes to break down the last tents and stow them away. Within a quarter of an hour, every person was mounted and with the Generals of Arnor at their head, they began to move forward.

They carefully picked their way through the hills and mountains, slowly but steadily descending through the Ered Nimrais. As the cavalry began their trek down the final hills, they could see far to the south a citadel upon a hill. Armies moved about it, and there was a hint of smoke in the air.

"We must make all possible speed," a captain advised.

"Yes," Aerin answered, looking for a moment at Lorien beside her, who nodded. "Let us ride, to beat back the foe that consumes! Forth Eorlingas!" she cried. Voices echoed thunderously and in a cacophony of hooves, the vast cavalry of Rohan moved southwards, with vengeance on their minds.