[FATW AAR] Light of the West
UPDATED UPDATE: The compilation of all the chapters will be put here, for easier all at once reading and such, but new updates will be posted as they come regularly.
The Light of the West
Book I
Prologue
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
It was a cold night, unusual for the season, creeping on the lands like a whispering shadow. In Minas Ithil, a solitary figure, clothed in black, emerges from the citadel. Beyond the city he beholds the glistening river of Anduin, the new border of Andunbar. Pretty name, he thought, reveling in the destruction and chaos that had occurred. His Shadow Cult had cut deeply into the hearts of men, twisting ideals they once held dear, perverting them to his ends. Their people’s agitation with the king, and the military and economic loss of Umbar to Harad, had caused strife in the Reunited Kingdom.
“It’s all part of the plan,” he said, “Minas Tirith is weak, and soon, it will finally fall.” Such a devastating loss would shatter the Reunited Kingdom, and Andunbar could easily swallow the pieces.
“Those pawns that are men will fall to a master.” So said Herumor the Ageless, the Lieutenant of Sauron, the one whose words honeyed words could influence the wills of the princes of men.
Leagues away, across the shore of the Anduin, the new king of the Reunited Kingdom paced across the Courtyard of the Tree in Minas Tirith, stopping every now and then to gaze at the mountains in the distance. It had happened so quickly, the must have been in the works for months. “Of course it had,” the king said aloud, “that damned cult he had been a part of, that’s where he found his strength…such devious strength.”
Cemendur clearly remembered that day, mere months ago, when his father stepped down as king and Cemendur assumed the crown of the Reunited Kingdom. There was no contention, as the elder son. But Amandil, his once-loved younger brother, chose that day to reveal his treachery to the new king. He entered the celebration and proclaimed his desire to reshape the world in the image of his faith, and by the strength of his leadership as king of his people he would do so. With all the nobles of the realm in Minas Tirith that day, his supporters in cities across the realm had begun uprisings. Many of the cities in the eastern part of the realm succeeded in their uprisings, having fallen under the sway of the Shadow Cult, while the Western cities eventually put down the rebels. That day in the citadel a bitter struggle broke out between brothers, disciples of Amandil dueling with Cemendur’s royal guard and supporters, Amandil and Cemendur fighting a duel to a bitter draw, only ended when their father Aldarion intervened. Cemendur remembered that, the day his kingdom split, the day the corruption of his people so bitterly revealed. While it pained his soul, he knew what he must do: take the fight to Amandil, before he can recruit more to his cause, cut the head from the beast.
“But he is my brother…”
“And he chose his path.”
Cemendur, disturbed from his thoughts, sought the source of the voice, his father Aldarion. "The darkness in his soul has corrupted him, one that we all must confront."
"Those are legends father, driven from the world by King Elessar and his allies,” replied his son.
“The free peoples of middle earth, which my father fought alongside, may have destroyed Sauron and his forces, but the dark seeds in the heart of men have been in place since before the awakening of man. The darkness it is never defeated. Tyrants will rise, hearkening to its call, but there will always be others to fight it and resist. This darkness is one inherent in all men. Power and poisoned words consumed your brother, and despite my knowledge I did not prevent it from occurring.”
“I failed father, I should have seen the change in him.” The two men paused at the precipice of the city, looking at the silent moonless night that lay before them. “Would he have listened? He was always headstrong, always went his own way, but loyal and charming. Not the temperament of a king I thought, but he never wanted that…no, the brother you knew, the son I loved…he is gone.” Cemendur did not respond, but looked onward still, silent, coming to terms with the path laid out before him.
Aldarion sighed and spoke once more. "Scouts from Rohan have reported that the wild men of Dunland have mobilized, and that orcs accompany them."
"More legends,” Cemendur said in disbelief. "They were destroyed long ago, it isn’t poss-"
"Creatures like those can never be fully ratted out, they are perversions, a disease upon Middle Earth, one that lurks deep within it, and believe me my son there are things we cannot even begin to know.” Aldarion slowly turned back towards the House of Kings, but turned to look at his son.
"I want to believe that your brother has doubts about his actions. But he has long been under the influence of this Shadow Cult, and his sorcerous advisor has full control over him. He has abandoned his true strength, and has become the puppet of the new shadow, and once he has done his part in spreading the shadow, he will be deposed, and Middle Earth will feel chaos once more."
Upon hearing those words, Cemendur faced his father, with conviction in his eyes. "I know father. I will not see that happen. I will summon the remainder of our forces available that are still loyal, and take the fight to him. Our soldiers are still strong, the finest in Middle Earth, and I will show to Amandil that our people will not fall as he has. Even if I must kill him.”
Aldarion nodded in approval of his son’s words, and bade his son good night.
“May the strength of the West be true with you, Cemendur, may it’s light guide your way.”
Chapter 1:
The Rallying of the West
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
"Barahir! Assemble your forces and march toward Emyn Arnen!" called out Cemendur. One week had passed, and Cemendur’s assembled army had left Minas Tirith and marched into Osgiliath, reinforcing the city. Cemendur and Barahir, the long-lived steward of Gondor, paced across the battlements. Barahir, while 116 years of age, still had the vigor of a young man and enjoyed fighting alongside his men. However, he knew caution well, and wasn’t entirely in agreement with his King’s decision.
"Emyn Arnen? Are you sure my lord? The city is well defended, and our forces are spread thin as it is." It was true, Cemendur thought. The combined rallying had brought up only 2000 soldiers to go on the offensive, 1500 under Cemendur and 500 under Barahir.
"Neither do I my old friend, but we must fight anyway, the longer we wait the more secure my brother’s armies will be. Let us show them our strength, I have faith in my men.”
“But should we wait for more soldiers to come?”
“The southern cities of Gondor cannot spare many troops out of fear of the Corsairs."
"What of Dol Amroth?"
"The old Prince is away in Anfalas. His son is in charge. But they do not have many troops either, and more problematic is that it would take them several months to reach us here. We must make due with what we have." Cemendur continued to ride forward, but Barahir followed.
"But wouldn't it be wiser my king to wait to attack. It would give us time to regroup and rasie more men from Minas Tirith."
"That would be the cautious tactic, wouldn't it?"
He continued at his pace. Barahir, confused, posed yet another question. "So why don't you do it?"
"Because we seek to surprise Amandil and his men,” responded Cemendur, “we will catch them before they can recover from their revolution, and -"
“My lord I understand your reasoning, but I believe your emotional investment in the situation is clouding your judgement. If I were Cemendur, I would station my troops in Osgiliath and wait for the enemy to come and let them crash upon our ranks.”
Cemendur did not slow down his pace, but sat in deep thought for a few moments. Finally, he turned and responded to his old advisor and friend: "So would I, if I were Barahir. I'm afraid I cannot my friend, I move forward to strike, and that is my decision. If you wish to stay behind, you may. But if we are not united then how can we defeat men who’s conviction broke our kingdom"
Barahir, sighing deeply, replied, "I would follow my king to the death. I will do as you wish, my young friend." Cemendur chuckled and smiled, "Thank you my friend, though I am not as young as I would wish."
As they walked, they heard a horn sound throughout the ruins of the city, but it was no horn of men. This was the horn of legends that Cemendur did believe in, ones that filled him with wonders and hope. The elves of Emyn Arnen, some of the last defenders of the first born Children of Illuvatar. Their leader, a Noldor Elf named Finrod, had long been a respected advisor of the court, and one of the most skilled warriors Cemendur knew. Now there is a point to be made about this particular Elf. For one he was of the Noldor, the Elves that had entered Beriland in the First Age, and all, save for very few, departed into the West by the end of the Third Age. But Finrod had not. There were rumors that he was a reincarnated legend from the ages of legend, with the soul of the same Finrod who was a King of the Noldor in the First Age of the world, and stood firm against the darkest shadow the world had ever seen. Now, at the utter twilight of the ages of the elves, he brought back by the Valar to remain a protector of the race of men, which he had deep respect for. Indeed, the long line of Cemendur had traces back to legendary men who Finrod fought with in ages lost. Now he had assembled elves of all kinds into a valiant fighting force, defenders of legends and songs of old. In a clear voice that seemed as if it were a song, the elf spoke to the king.
"Cemendur, King of the Reunited Kingdom and Elf-friend, the Shadow deepens, and we now stand ready to aid you against it, and honor the old friendships. Indeed, our blades seek to vanquish those that worship our immortal enemy.”
“We gladly welcome your aid, O Finrod, and assure you that the thirst of your blades will be sated soon enough.” Cemendur responded. The Elves formed in ranks with the rest of the army, and after some organization, the armies of Cemendur and Barahir left Osgiliath.
The plan was thus: Barahir’s army would march into Southern Ithilien and attack the city of Emyn Arnen, which had fallen to rebellion. Barahir was the most fitting for this task, since he was the lord of Emyn Arnen, but the cultists had a deep following there. While this occurred, Cemendur would march his army into Northern Ithilien, hoping to lure out Amandil, then besiege Minas Ithil, cutting off the beast’s capital and opening up a pass into Mordor. As Barahir’s force marched south, Cemendur hoped his old friend’s caution would aid him in his battles. He had faith in the Steward’s command talent, but still he did not know what awaited him in the southern forests…
In the dark court of Minas Ithil, Herumor the Lord Black, Ageless Advisor to the King of Andunbar and Prophet of the Shadow Cult, approached the throne of the King, Amandil. "My lord," he spoke with a voice that caused shadows to shudder,
“Ah my trusted advisor,” said Amandil with a dark regal calm, I’ve heard you edited your title again. The Ageless wasn’t good enough for you?”
"Well you do know I enjoy the accumulation of titles, my lord,” said he, his voice adding the smallest effect of sarcasm and guile, “but that should not be your concern. The foolish armies of the Reunited Kingdom dare cross the Anduin and challenge well earned position.” Amandil still sat calmly, betraying no emotion.
"Does my brother lead them?"
"Yes, the heretic does. He is stationed in Northern Ithilien. His Steward takes a smaller force and attacks Emyn Arnen."
"My son commands our loyal soldiers in Emyn Arnen, he will not let it fall.” Stated Amandil.
"Yes, my lord, your son commands 2000 troops who will fight to the death for our faith, whereas Barahir, the old fool, commands only 500 cowards, too ignorant to acknowledge the truth. It will be a massacre." Amandil agreed with the Dark Prophet’s words.
"Indeed, but a shame really. I rather liked Barahir, if only he wasn’t so loyal do those downfallen heretics, he would have been spared...so tell me my wise advisor, what of my brother?"
"Once Barahir is defeated, I will send your son to attack Cemendur –“
“And I will also send a force under my command to aid in the crushing of the heretics, including those vile elves."
“Yes my lord, but we have immortal allies as well, the orcs have flocked to our banners.”
“I do not care for their immortality, I only care for their strength and promise of loyalty and victory. I hardly trust them enough.”
“Do not worry, my lord. We will destroy these treacherous men that oppose us, and you will have your victory, I assure you.”
“Very well, it shall be done. Send the word for the generals to march, I hunger for this war.”
“As you should my lord, as you should…” With those words Herumor left the room. The following day Amandil ordered his loyal generals to march with their forces to face the banners of his brother. At once they obeyed, and Amandil smiled, pleased that his purge eliminated all those that officials that would not follow him. The loyal and corrupted citizens of Andunbar, under the indoctrinations of the Shadow Cult, prepared for war, and a dark shadow fell upon the horizon.
Chapter 2:
The Siege of Emyn Arnen
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
The second day of the siege of Emyn Arnen had begun with a start. Barahir awoke to the obnoxious sound of horns emanating from the city. “Damn them, are they trying to win this war through terror?” Once he had collected himself, he realized that the enemy planned to win through battle. The forces of Andunbar had rallied from the city. Barahir ran throughout the camp and rallied his men. "Awake men! Battle is upon us!"
His men-at-arms formed the first line of the army. His archers were arranged on the flanks; his Gondorian Archers on the left, his Rangers on the right. The cavalry were stationed to the far right flank, hoping to outmaneuver the sallying force. His plan was to have his men-at-arms rush the gate, bottlenecking the enemy, denying them time to assemble on the plains outside the city. His archers would rain death upon the flanks of the enemy, while Barahir's White Company, the finest Gondorian archers, would flank the enemy and cut into their flanks. However, the best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry...
The enemy reacted faster than Barahir had anticipated, and fielded units of King's Spears first. Barahir’s swordsmen rushed the charging spearmen, while enemy archers gave cover fire from the gate. Barahir's Ranger's circled the flow from the gate, raining death upon those charging forward. Many fell, but more soldiers and cultists poured from the gates. Hoping to counter the flow, Barahir rushed his White Company forward to fire powerful shots, hoping to scatter them quickly. But the enemy would not have it. Andunbar’s men-at-arms flowed from the gate and pushed Barahir and his forces back
“Brilliant, now I'm a dead man!” He yelled aloud. His men were being cut down left and right. He had only one chance to pull his guard back. "Cavalry, charge! Scatter their forces to cover the retreat!"
The horsemen provided enough cover for Barahir to retreat. All in all only 17 of his guard remained. Furious at his bravado for costing the lives of his men, he ordered the cavalry to pull back and the swordsmen to cover the gaps.
The battle at the gate was one of attrition. While the Reunited Kingdom's men cut down Andunbar soldiers left and right, more came, and Gondor's ranks began to thin. The Ranger captains order simultaneous charges as their arrows ran dry, but no matter how many died more came.
Meanwhile, on the flanks the enemy heir, Orendil, hoped to scatter the rangers, who were doing grievous damage to his soldiers. But the Gondorian horsemen, free from their battle at the gate, flanked Orendil and put his fighters to the test, while the rangers turned formation and fired.
Riddle with arrows, Orendil, the son of Amandil and nephew of Cemendur, fell to the ground. What dark days men have come to when once loved family become enemies.
But the battle at the gate was failing quickly for the Reunited Kingdom. After hours of battle, charge after countercharge, the Reunited Kingdom's swordsmen were cut down to a man, and the rangers, bereft of arrows, plunged their swords into the ever advancing foe. With failing numbers and resolve, Barahir looked sadly upon the great loss of men.
"So much for my caution, I made far too many mistakes this day,” remarked Barahir to his Ranger Lieutenant, "Pull the men back, we've done what we can." As his men pulled back, the gates of Emyn Arnen clanged to a shut. As they marched back, Barahir counted barely a hundred men of his five hundred remained. The enemy had paid dearly, losing 1050 soldiers, but they still had enough to hold their city, despite the loss of their prince.
But Amandil did not see a victory.
"My son, the proud heir...has fallen?" the king asked, sorrow and anger mixed into a storm of fury.
"Y-y-yes my king," replied the messenger, "but Southern Ithilien is still in our hands, and Lord Barahir has retreated. In addition, our troops in Anorien have beaten off a force lead by a captain by the name of Faramir. It looks as if the Reunited Kingdom's assault has come to naught."
"But is my son the sacrifice that must be made for victory? Killed by that old fool? I want Barahir's head! And you!” the king yelled, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword, "what say you of this news?"
"My lord, I am but a messanger my lord, I had no part in the battles, p-please have mercy!"
"Mercy?" The king paused, a smirk flickering for but a second, "Yes, yes of course…" And with one sweeping motion took the messengers head.
“But there shall be none until Barahir's head is brought before me, or I take it myself.” He slumped onto his throne.
"Herumor!!”
The Prophet entered the room, amused at the sight of the headless messenger. "O dear haven’t we quite a mess here." The king would not have this callous disregard to the situation in his court.
“My son, a faithful servant to the Shadow Cult, has fallen."
"So I have heard, my lord" replied the Lord of Black calmly.
"And yet you speak as one who is unconcerend? My son, my heir, who had done no wrong but follow his father's orders and that of his faith, has fallen, butchered like a lamb, and you act unconcerned?? Do you know –“
"Nothing of your troubles? Nothing of the fate of the kingdom? My king you should think more clearly. Yes your son died, but it was a necessary sacrifice for the advancement of your cause and your people. Did you not hear? Our lands are secure, the Reunited Kingdom is weak, and all we must do is rip the head off of their King and victory will be assured. ”
Amandil, calmed slightly yet still full of fire, breathed heavily. "And where is their King?"
"Marching into Ithilien, ripe for the slaughter."
"Then tomorrow he dies."
"Very good sire. Destroy Cemendur and murder Barahir, rend his head from his body as vengeance for your son. Build up your other armies to sweep west. The time has come, for this is only the beginning.”
With this Herumor turned and left the room, leaving Amandil to his thoughts. There is still too much to be done, thought he. Within the hour armies left Minas Ithil, marching into Ithilien, ready to do battle the next day in a battle of King versus King, Brother versus Brother.
Chapter 3:
A Friendly Debate
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Cemendur walked out from his tent and stared up at the night sky.
"Varda's greatest gift to Middle Earth." He smiled and sat down on the side of the hill outside the camp. He produced a pipe and a pouch of the famed Longbottom leaf. Those hobbits know how to make fine weed, he thought to himself, smiling. He found he couldn’t help smiling when it came to this fine herb. He began smoking and continued to look up, admiring the heavens above him. He leaned back and began to drift off into sleep. Thoughts raced through his head, thoughts of the past, of epic wars, of the oncoming darkness, of the upcoming confrontation with his brother.
"Cemendur?" A voice awoke Cemendur from his thoughts. It was his friend and brother in arms Aredethain. Nowadays, the man was more of a brother to Cemendur than Amandil ever was, the troubles of his brother’s revolution still fresh on his mind. But this was no social call.
"My lord, one of our scouts has returned. He reports that a great host has marched forth from Minas Ithil, and is heading towards our position."
Cemendur, drowsy mere moments before, was now utterly alert. "Who leads the army?" "We do not know, but from our reports so far it is a force large enough to more than match our own, and consists of Andunbar’s elite soldier."
Cemendur looked out towards the Ithil Vale, the resting place of Minas Ithil. He could barely make anything out in the dark distance, but the peaceful nature of the woods felt deceitful.
"They will arrive within the next few days. We must prepare our troops for battle tomorrow." Cemendur said, turning towards his friend.
"Yes, let the men rest one more night. This battle will determine the fate of both kingdoms. Amandil knows this, he would not be foolish enough to put one of his generals in charge of such an important task."
"Unless he has other plans…” replied Aredethain.
“Which is an entirely valid point. My brother…he is ambitious, and does not lightly act when it comes to the fulfillment of his goals." Aredethain nodded in agreement. He knew this first hand, he was there the day when the Kingdom broke.
"He was not always like that, he was once a true member of the House of Telecontar, he had his faults, but none ever suspected that.”
“None ever suspect betrayal until it is too late. We must always be wary. One of the sad truths of our existence is that men are easily corruptible. One needs only to look at Rhun or Harad, or the legends of old…the corruption of the Wraiths of old. They were once great kings of men also, but their souls twisted for power, their minds lost to madness, consumed with hate, nothing remained of their former nobility, bound forever to the will of the Dark Lord Sauron."
Cemendur shuddered at this. While convinced this age would be one furtherst from the legends, the stories of old always stuck with him.
“Sauron had been defeated over 200 years ago, but new evil rises, worshipping that of old. But this shadow is darker than the rest for me, for it breaks kin, moves cities…it is a shadow hidden deep within our hearts, all it needs is a spark."
Aredethain was perplexed by this statement. "Darker? How? What could be darker than hordes of orcs and all sorts of terrible creatures overrunning Middle Earth?"
Cemendur replied, “My friend have you not been listening? The old darkness did not split the hearts of the Men of the West. Rather, it united us, giving a unified spirit to fight evil. That was shown at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, when our allies in Rohan arrived to save the old kingdom of Gondor from destruction. But now these alliances have grown cold. Rohan does not trust us anymore. We remain distant friends, looking out only for ourselves. The kingdom that Elessar Telecontar founded has been split into two. The darkest evil is within ourselves, within the hearts of men. Greed, desire, hatred, they cause a man to loose their true selves. In the Third Age we fought an external darkness. In the Fourth, we fight an internal, our own brothers and friends. What evil is worse than killing your own brother?"
Aredethain saw the truth in his friend’s words, but still replied back, "You speak as if there is only darkness. But wherever there is darkness, there is a light to put it out. There will always be evil, but there will always be good. There will always be hope. In the end the evil will pass, and the darkness will fade, and the sun will shine the brighter, just like in the stories of old, the War of Wrath and the Last Alliance. Never lose hope, for if our forebears lost hope, we would not be here right now."
Cemendur faced his friend, grave on the outside, but inwardly appreciating the conversation. "What do we fight for? The restoration of the Kingdom? The death of my brother? The defeat of the Corsairs?"
"No," responded Aredethain. "There's good in this world my friend, and that’s worth fighting for. And we will my lord, we will.”
Cemendur, glad for the support, smiled. "You would make Samwise Gamgee proud."
“O so I’m a hobbit now? Do my feet look furry to you?”
“O come now that’s a compliment, if it weren’t for that hobbit we would have the legends we know now.” Aredethain laughed at this, knowing his friend’s torrid love affair with the legends of old, and inside appreciating the comment.
"But you are right all the same. Come my friend let us rest. We will need it to face the challenges the next few days will offer us."
As the two men returned to the camp, finishing their pipes, Aredethain asked his king one final question.
“My king, would you ever consider banning the use of this weed?”
“My friend, I would never be so foolish to even consider such a thing.”
Chapter 4:
The Plains of Ithilien
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
"What news do you bring me? Who commands their army?" Cemendur demanded from his scout he sent to spy on the Andunbar army
"My lord, their King has come, but they have moved around our lines towards Osgiliath.” The scout responded.
“He’s trying to cut us off from our lands and utterly annihilate us. March towards them, we cannot fall into the trap.” The news of his brother’s move worried him, out maneuvering him and hoping to utterly vanquish his forces. Such a move would utterly crush the Reunited Kingdom. Finally, the moments his dark dreams had led him to arrived, for on the plains of Ithilien the brothers would settle their dispute once and for all.
“Of course he’s following our movements, unwilling to leave Minas Tirith undefended. No he’ll attack, playing right into our hands.” Amandil announced to his war council, “I am after all the Defender. No army has moved myself or my forces my entire life. And I intend to keep it that way, breaking the Reunited Kingdom here today. Captains, you know your orders. No surprises in this engagement, keep your strength and faith about you.”
"King Cemendur, we must move now, the enemy is approaching fast." Finrod the elven commander advised the King.
"Indeed we must, their hand is played. Aredethain! Order the captains to move their companies out!"
"Yes sir!"
Cemendur mounted his horse, and looked out over his army. The caution Barahir warned him to use had now taken hold, wracking his nerves. The enemy army consisted of Andunbar's finest soldiers; all hardened by battle, all well armed, all loyal pawns to their cult. He knew he must not fail this day. He wouldn’t.
His forces were ready, tense at the oncoming approach of battle. His officers lined the troops to their best possible position. Across the field, the enemy lined up, mirroring their position. Anticipation hung in the air.
"My Lord, an envoy approches!" one of his generals shouted. Cemendur looked towards the Andunbar battle line, where three horsemen had broken away from their fellows.
"Finrod, Aredethain, come with me to meet this envoy. I think I know why they’ve come." Cemendur’s orders were followed. The three commanders rode out to parley with the three, one clad in the raiment of an officer, one in the raiment of a king, and the other cloaked in the darkest robes, hiding his face.
"So good to see you again brother,” Amandil greeted his sibling with a mocking regal grace, “tell me, how does your kingdom fare? Shattered and reeling on its knees I believe?”
“I don’t believe we’ve come here to exchange pleasantries Amandil. We’ve come here for battle. I only honor this parley to hopefully dissuade you from your misguided crusade.”
“A noble try, brother, but as we all know it is far to late to go back. The pieces have been moving far before you ever suspected a thing. But come now, I musn’t reveal my secrets. I want you to fall, never knowing how.”
“Or why Amandil. I know you brother, you’re above a lust for power. Did you really do this just to become King and prove your strength? Or have you truly give yourself to this cult that has poisoned the minds of our people and become a willing pawn of shadow?”
“Be silent on matters of which you know little, Pretender King,” spoke the cloaked figure, “you only seek to justify your pitiful existence in the face of one who walks leagues ahead of you.”
At this it was Aredethain, not Cemendur who responded, "By what right do you talk to the true King, one who has refused to adhere to such treachery and deceit?"
“By the right I take for myself, foolish captain. The faith you hold will fail you before your end, before this day is done you will see your lands, beliefs, and very soul fall before you.”
“O wise one, you must be mistaken, for before this day is done I will see my sword at your throat.” Aredethain retorted. But the cloaked figure laughed.
“He has come to jest, this one. You may find the opposite will be true this day fool…but we have come to present the truth, that your lands are no longer safe. Hear our terms and listen.” The officer moved forward and read the terms from a scroll:
"In exchange for you lives and your safe return to your lands, the King of Andunbar, Amandil the Great, asks in exchange never to raise arms against his highness the King ever again, for all the lands west of the Anduin, and for King Cemendur of the Reunited Kingdom to forfeit his crown to the true beliefs of King Amandil and his subject, and to-"
"We have heard enough!" roared Cemendur in the middle of the reading. The guard fell back to his place. "We do not come here to bandy words with minions of shadow. Battle is upon you brother, and today we shall decide our fates."
“Indeed we shall brother, indeed we shall…”
With these words the parley was broken, and horns sounded across the plains. Battle had come.
"Men of the Reunited Kingdom! Sons of Numenor!" Cemendur yelled as he galloped down the line, "Today we stand against our kinsfolk. Only a few months ago were these men were your family and friends, your fellow sons of the West. But now we lie divided. We have made our choice, and they have made theirs. They have chosen the shadow, the dark ideas that in centuries past have threatened to wipe the race of men from this Middle-earth! They have rebelled against their very hearts and souls, not just the political realm of a man. Are they true to themselves, true to their hearts and minds? No! They have chosen a king that is a puppet ruler, a minion of the Cult that they profess so much faith for. You men have chosen to stand for the truth, to stand for the values of Numenor, to stand for your own lives and faith! They are the traitors, not you! Now, Sons of Numenor, stand firm against the shadow, fight for what we know is right. Stand firm, Men of the West!"
A huge cheer went among the army, in response to which Amandil scoffed, “By the end of this day they will cheer no more, for can dead men celebrate?”
As the sky darkened in preparation for the clash that was to come, the opposing armies moved forward. In number, they were equal, numbering 1080 each, both armies ready to die for their kings. Amandil’s forces consisted of the best infantry his kingdom could muster, arranged in a solid line with archer support behind. This was his preferred tactic; his men would absorb the enemy attack and cut the attackers to a man. This is how he earned his name the Defender, and his men have never failed him in defense.
Cemendur’s army consisted of the elite infantrymen of the Reunited Kingdom, under the command of his lieutenant and friend Aredethain, but his true strength lay in his archers. The fierce elves under Finrod, masters of the bow, would lead his longbow men in devastating volleys that would shatter Amandil’s defensive line. Meanwhile, the heavy cavalry, lead by Cemendur himself, would flank Amandil’s forces when the main infantry lines were engaged. All the while, Aredethain would lead his infantry forward, crashing upon the defensive line. Cemendur hoped the added mobility of his line would shatter his brother’s defensive line. In the end, the fight would be determined by the steel of his foot soldiers, for if they fell to Andunbar’s defenses, the Reunited Kingdom’s army would crumble.
Arrows soared over the heads of the soldiers, embedding themselves into the chests of the Andunbar soldiers. The enemy’s archers tried their best to counter, but the strength of elven bows was too much for them, failing to match their devastating volleys.
As they approached the infantry line, Aredethain addressed his soldiers:
“Men, if I die with you today, let it be known I die with you as a free man, who has made his choice not to stand for the darkness that has corrupted our kinsmen! Let it be known that we die as free men of the Reunited Kingdom! Let the Valar themselves know the fury of our arms!” He drew his sword, and with a deafening yell, his men close behind, he charged the Andunbar line.
The field turned into a center of carnage, both sides motivated by their beliefs, both sides refusing to give until one broke with fear. But none broke. Men were killed by those closest to them, kinsmen cut down in their prime…an endless deluge of brave men lost their lives in those lines, but despite the losses, none broke. None wanted to break. They knew the cost, and they would die before they lost it.
As the chaos on the main lines broke, Cemendur, under heavy support from his archers, wheeled the cavalry around the enemy line, hoping to scatter the archers. But before he could charge he received disturbing news.
“My Lord! The enemy King has charged our right flank! If we do not act soon the will be routed!”
“Long shields! Take your men and scatter their archers! Send a scout to Finrod, tell him to open fire on my brother’s horsemen. Guards, to me! We take the fight to Amandil!”
His orders followed, Cemendur drew Anduril, the sword of his forebears, and whispered softly, “My the Valar have mercy on me for what I am about to do…”
“AMANDIL! Your reckoning has come!! FORWARD MEN!!!”
So ferocious was his charge that within minutes Amandil’s guards fell to 5 men, all the while the elves aimed calculated shots at the horses. But Amandil could not be found.
“My Lord, he flees!!”
“After him! He cannot escape!”
But an entire volley of arrows prevented such an occurrence. Cemendur watched in silence as his brother, turned into a living pincushion, fell from his horse, moving no more.
There was no time to process his thoughts, however, for the battle still raged, and the men of Andunbar still fought with unholy conviction. Wheeling his cavalry around, Cemendur crashed into the undefended flanks of the enemy. After grueling hours of fighting, they finally broke.
After the battle, Cemendur observed the field. Andunbar’s army was wiped out to a man, but many of his finest troops lay dead and bleeding on the plains. He knew such a cost though, and his men did not blame him for it. Rather, they praised his decisive victory over Andunbar, and sang his praises. From the tents outside the field where the injured were kept, Finrod approached the King
“King Cemendur, your presence is needed.”
Cemendur knew what was coming, the claiming of his brother’s body…while he had not struck the killing blow, he felt as responsible as if he had. His last words with his brother had been ones of war…in his heart he had hoped to capture him, but his father’s words ran true: Amandil’s death was necessary.
The numerous arrows had been plucked from his brother’s body. Arms crossed, eyes closed, he was peaceful now in death.
“Amandil…may you find peace in the world beyond, and may your sins be forgiven.” He turned to his guards. “Bring his body back to Minas Tirith, to my father. He would want to see his son one last time.” The orders were obeyed, and the men prepared to deliver the body to Minas Tirith.
“Lord Cemendur, there is one last thing…”
Across the tent, a white cloth was removed from a dead man’s face. Upon seeing the man’s face, Cemendur’s conviction, so strong upon seeing his dead brother, had begun to falter.
“He died bravely, sire. He fought to the end to protect his men, led them from rout. But he was struck by a poisoned arrow and fell…Andunbar offered no mercy.”
Cemendur only barely heard the soldier’s report…he grasped his fallen friend’s hand and looked into his unseeing eyes.
“Aredethain, my brave and loyal friend, we have our victory…but at what cost?”
Chapter 5:
The Affairs of the Realm
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:“So the man not only routs his rebellious brother in pitched combat, but then besieges Emyn Arnen? Incredible!”
“Yes indeed my lord, it has assuredly improved our fortunes in this war–“
“To hell with that! He’s besieging my city without me! Assemble the men captain, we march to avenge the souls of our fallen brethren and reclaim our homes.”
Barahir found the news of Cemendur’s victory quite well, but he refused to stay put in Minas Tirith while his lord and King besieged his dear city without him.
“I understand your desire for vengeance sire, but the city needs administration, we need to find income and men to defend the realm, and lord Cemendur surely has enough troops –“
“Soldier, we will be able to properly defend the realm when we reside back in the land that was ours. Prepare the men. We march.”
Cemendur was surprised but pleased to see his friend and his rangers. “I should have known you wouldn’t have sat idly by my good Barahir,” he said, greeting his comrade. But their greeting was cut short by the sound of horns.
“Andunbar approaches my lord!”
Cemendur turned to his friend, “Well, it seems we may win back your city this very day.”
Battle was met outside of a small rock formation jutting from the ground. “Move the infantry to the western edge of the rock, keep our archers behind and hold their fire. Cavalry, with me on the far western flank, ride!”
Cemendur’s orders were followed, and the enemy formed up accordingly. The main flank of their infantry marched to meet our soldiers, while a contingent of spears made their way around the eastern edge of the rock. But Cemendur had expected this.
“Fire!”
The spears were caught between a rock and arrows, stumbling and dying all around.
Meanwhile the Reunited Kingdom infantry line had engaged the enemy, wrapping around them. Cemendur and his knights had routed the enemy archers, and wheeled around for an attack, smashing into the unprotected rear of the enemy formation.
They quickly routed afterwards, the cavalry mopping up the few that remained. Meanwhile, the archers turned to fire upon the recently arrived garrison from the city.
Under an unrelenting fire of arrows, none could survive.
The Andunbar rearguard of Emyn Arnen had been routed, and the Reunited Kingdom claimed it once more.
As Barahir walked through the city, he looked with sorrow at what had happened in the months that had passed. The citizenry had dwindled due to the purges of the Shadow Cult, and a dim atmosphere had settled upon the city. Cemendur responded to his Steward’s crestfallen look.
“Give it time, and peace will return here. The light can’t be blotted out forever.”
In the next few days, Cemendur received word of other events in the realm. A small mercenary and militia force in Anorien, led by Barahir’s son Faramir, had besieged Calenhad, where only a small garrison stood ready.
Meanwhile, the corsairs had begun renewed assaults on the Kingdom’s already depleted navies, scattering a fleet outside the bay of Anduin. corsair ships followed the survivors to the port of Pelargir. But a Reunited Kingdom navy, led by a Captain Ciryaher, pushed the Corsair force back and saved Pelargir.
“Despite these victories, there are countless more corsair navies out there, eager to plunder and raid our cities.” Cemendur said truthfully after hearing the news. “We do not even have enough money left in our treasuries to raise more navies. What we have is all we have, have them maintain defensive positions and protect the ports.”
“Right away sir.” A rider was dispatched to deliver these orders.
“And from what I gathered in Minas Tirith, taxes have been raised across the realm to counter this economic deficiency,” said Barahir, “which means our only forces are this army, small mobile forces, and the garrisons from the cities and fiefs, many of which refuse to leave do to the corsair threat.”
“And they won’t move, not unless that threat becomes an invasion. We will deal with that when it is necessary.”
“And what of Dol Amroth? Their Lord Prince garrisons Anfalas with a sizeable force, and his city is well defended.”
“I believe he intends to scout into Anfalas with his forward force, believes there’s a corsair base there. If he’s right, he would have saved us from a potential threat, if he’s wrong, well Anfalas is brought back to the Kingdom.”
“Very well my king, but now what of this Andunbar force in Ithilien?”
“Simple. We ride out and meet them.”
The battle went simply enough; more militia men and soldiers from Andunbar were outflanked and turned into pincushions, with the Reunited Kingdom sustaining negligible casualties.
With the latest victory and the business of the realm seen to, Cemendur moved his victorious yet depleted forces to garrison the ruins of Osgiliath. Barahir and his rangers returned to their homes in Emyn Arnen. All the Kingdom could do now was wait for her enemies to strike.
Chapter 6:
The Turn of the Tide
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
But strike Andunbar did not. Anorien fell to Faramir, Barahir’s son, and peacefully and graciously returned to the fold of the Reunited Kingdom, having resisted the advances of the Shadow Cult.
Noting Andunbar’s indecision, Cemendur led his rested yet depleted army to battle against an Andunbar force in Northern Ithilien. He hoped to scatter the enemy forces into the wind, and then march on Minas Ithil itself, the center of the rebellion.
The army in Ithilien consisted of the usual lower tier Andunbar troops; mostly militiamen, a few swordsmen, and some archers. Cemendur and his captains followed their usual strategy in dealing with such armies: the infantry center would slowly advance towards the enemy, while the powerful Gondorian and elven archers would rain hell upon the enemy.
Lines of Andunbar troops fell in the first few volleys, while their archers desperately tried to counter with their own shots, killing half of the contingent of Gondorian archers.
But with the concurrent infantry charge into the Andunbar center, the remaining Andunbar archers fell to the arrows of skilled Gondorian and elven marksmen. Meanwhile, the small yet experienced contingents of knights and spearmen made short work of the Andunbar militia, quickly routing them.
So quick was this rout that the rearguard of the Andunbar force began to flee almost at once. Cemendur and his knights quickly caught up to the fleeing militia and cut them down, making sure they could not return to Minas Ithil.
With Ithilien cleared of Andunbar forces, Cemendur returned his diminished army to Minas Tirith, using what was left in the treasury to bring his army back to full strength. Once his men had been retrained, they would cross the Anduin one final time, before bringing the fight to Minas Ithil.
Despite the victories against Andunbar, the corsair attacks on the Kingdom’s ports had only increased. The few remaining vessels that had not fallen in the initial assaults had retreated either to Dol Amroth or Pelargir, still pursued by the corsair ships, blocking all ports they came across, cutting off the Kingdom’s economic lifeline.
The Chief Captain of the Reunited Kingdom navy, Captain Ciryaher, a brilliant and grizzled captain and veteran of the seas, knew that with the ports blockaded the Kingdom could not fund a navy to strike back. Mustering all the survivors and ships he could, he brought battle to a corsair fleet besieging the Port of Linhir.
In a brilliant display of tactics, wit, and luck, Ciryaher inflicted enough casualties on the corsair fleet to send them fleeing, saving Linhir and changing the course of the war on the seas.
As winter fell upon Middle Earth, it seemed as if the Reunited Kingdom’s luck had turned in its favor. After the Battle of Linhir, sea trade increased, bringing in enough revenue for the retraining and rebuilding of the Reunited Kingdom navy. The project was led by Atanamir, Cemendur’s heir, a young and influential man who, as Captain of the Haven, knew the importance of the seas to the Kingdom’s prospects in its wars. He re-equipped Ciryaher’s fleet and commissioned the building of an alcontras, the heaviest ship the Kingdom could create, to finally bring the fight to the corsairs.
Meanwhile, the Prince of Dol Amroth, Adrahil, had discovered his expedition was not in vain. As he entered the peninsula of Andrast, it quickly became obvious that it was indeed under the control of the Southrons, and hurried his march to the cape.
In the months following their arrival, Cemendur’s army had recovered greatly from their casualties, and his soldiers were eager to bring the fight to the capital of the rebellion.
The night before Cemendur was to lead his army to Minas Ithil, he and his father Aldarion paced the Courtyard of Kings, as they had done two long years before, at the start of the rebellion.
“It won’t be the end of Andunbar…no far from it, they will struggle on…their true leader is still among them…O Amandil, my son, why must you have died when that parasite of corruption still lives, mocking all of us with the chaos he has sown…”
He stopped and grasped his son’s shoulder, “Cemendur, spare the people of Minas Ithil. We can bring them back; lift the shadow from their eyes. But Herumor…make that creature of evil pay for his crimes.”
“I swear upon my honor and my Kingdom, father, that I will see him pay.”
The next day, in the high court of Minas Ithil, Herumor the Lord Black looked out upon the army that would bleed for the right to be his executioner.
“So be it.”
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The Gondorian Men-at-Arms replaced the archers at the gate, and cut through the enemy archers, until they reached the King's Guard Spearmen, finest of the Men of Andunbar. However the Rangers arranged themselves to the flanks and opened fire on the Andunbar troops, decimating many of them. 
