Late summer, 2993 TA: Eastern Numeriador, Ost Gelon
On a warm summer's morning Hirvegil looked at the town of Ost Gelon from his siege camp. His rangers had the town surrounded and Hirvegil had already proposed a peaceful ending to the conflict, as he always did. Eastern Númeriador was the last province he was sanctioned to take, after that he could go home. Each time he approached a settlement he would first come as an emmisary asking them to join the Dúnedain voluntarily, and if negotiations failed then and only then would he turn to violence. Hirvegil was a kind and peaceful man and did not like fighting, except orcs and their allies. The castle of Barketta had joined the Dúnedain of the North freely as had the town of Caras Celairnen but it seemed that the self made lord of Ost Gelon did not harbor the same feelings towards the Rangers. The negotiations had ended at the gate with Hirvegil looking up towards this 'lord'. This bandit leader had insulted the Dúnedain and told Hirvegil that if he and his 'beggars' would not clear off, he would show them steel. The men, of course, were not intimidated by this but they took the title of beggar as a great insult and their pride was injured. There were some, like Hirvegil, who didn't care what the bandits thought and let the insult slide. Still the gathering of bandits and rogues in Ost Gelon had no idea of the wrath they had incurred upon themselves.
Hirvegil wondered if they had reinstated the Kingdom of Arnor and called themselves Arnorians again, if more people would have willingly joined them. Of course nothing in life was ever simple. The future king was still in the south and Fornost still in ruins. The ancient foe in Angmar could still operate freely and no real offensive had been conducted against him. The king had to return to the north, the House of Kings rebuilt and Angmar defeated before Arnor could be resurrected. 'What is Aragorn doing?' Hirvegil thought. He had only received a short message from Halbarad, that Aragorn was alive and had achieved his mission, whatever that was, and that he planned to return to Eriador as soon as possible. When that was nobody knew.
“At least he will return to a strong realm ready to do his bidding” Hirvegil said to himself. With a sigh he collected his thoughts and began his duties as a commander of a siege camp. There was still so much to do.
Late summer 2993 TA: Northern Downs, Fornost
Halbarad had been 'Lord' of Fornost for quite some time now. “Lord of a pile of rubble.” Halbarad often muttered to no one in particular. He knew every inch of the place. From the slightest crack in the wall to the lowliest stone in a shadowy corner of the broken city. He had taken his abode in the ruined House of Kings, where he acted both as governor and Warden of the Northern provinces. More like Northern province, as the Northern Downs was the only one in Dúnedain control for the moment. Northern Arthedain and the Border Lands would join once Angmar was defeated. 'If Angmar is defeated.' Halbarad thought grimly. He had heard some disturbing reports from his spy network in Angmar that there was an enormous amassing of troops going on in the Old Witch Realm. It had been relatively quiet on the Northern Front and it annoyed him greatly. He was a man of action, not some magister sitting in an office tending to affairs of state. He wanted to go out there and smash some orcish skulls. He had intended to go with Aragorn on his epic quest, but he had refused Halbarad's request stating that he was needed elsewhere. 'What good am I here, filling in papers concerning logistics and troop counts' Halbarad thought full of resentment. Everyday more men ,Dúnedain or from other descent, signed up for the army that was gathering in and around Fornost. Most of them were men from Cardolan, men of mixed descent with a spathering of pure Dúnedain joining as well. A lot of settlers also passed from the south to the north. The repopulation of both Annúminas and Fornost was an ardeous and lengthy task. It would take years, nay decades to bring back life to these once great cities.
Halbarad looked up from his desk seeing a magistrate bringing even more papers inside. Halbarad put his hands in his long blond hair and let out a moan. “This paperwork will be the end of me, mark my words.”
Begin Autumn 2993 TA: Weather Hills, Ost Sûl
“Sir, another company of horsemen from Cardolan has arrived.” Melion said.
“About time, I've been expecting them for three weeks now. They should've been in Fornost by now.” Araphor was most displeased. How could they have taken so long. They're bloody horsemen for crying out loud. There wasn't much needed to annoy Araphor these days. He was still very much upset about the death of his comrade and every report he got from the Orcs made his teeth grind. The joyful and calm man they had all known was no more it seemed, consumed by his hatred.
“Should I offer them some lodgings in the village and some food after an undoubtetly long and hard journey?” Melion asked calmly. He had worked with Araphor for years now and was the only one who could calm him down. He knew the best course of action was to continue the conversation as normal as possible.
Araphor looked at his friend and calmed down a bit.
“Yes, Melion you do that. Thank you. Tell them they can rest here tonight.” he said appreciatively.
“But I want them moving first thing in the morning.” he added with ferocity coming back to his voice.
“They can travel north with the two companies of rangers, that should give them some protection on the way. We can never know when Angmar will strike again, so we must keep CONSTANT! VIGILANCE!”
And with that Melion was dismissed. Melion looked worringly back towards his friend but Araphor was looking at the ruined tower of Amon Sûl, as he often did, probably thinking about Malvegil and his misfortune.
Ost Sûl had been a quiet village at the base of Amon Sûl since it's founding, now it was full of life. Mostly soldiers passed here to fight in the Western and Northern fronts. Melion knew this was only the calm before the storm. Not even a small raiding band had been seen on the horizon. The orcs were lying low for the moment. 'We still have time to prepare' Melion thought “Let's hope it will be enough.” he often whispered softly to himself. But now to the task at hand, find lodgings and food for our weary comrades in arms. They will surely need the strength for the challenges ahead.
Late Autumn 2993: Nîn-in-Eilph, Royal Tharbad
“This used to be a city?” Eldarion asked questionly looking at the rubble lying in front of him. “Who would want to live here? I suspect some dirty unwashen Wildmen” Eldarion stated with a bit of disdain in his voice.
“There are still some Dúnedain left in these parts, though most of them don't live in the city itself.” Gandalf said hoping to put Eldarion in his place. The boy's loathing for folk of other descent than Dúnedain had not been tempered by the years, nor by the events that had occured since their conversation in Eryn Vorn. Eldarion had been wounded by one of the tribespeople on their way back east. It had happened in one of the villages in the vast lands of Minhiriath. Whatever had happened prior to the struggle, Gandalf knew not, but he had a feeling Eldarion had insulted one of the tribesmen, intentionally or not. This had prompted the insulted to draw his knife and attack the young son of Aragorn. The struggle didn't take long as Gandalf had intervened, but he had not been fast enough. Eldarion had been slashed in the arm, a rather insignificant wound, yet it had done its damage. Eldarion would never trust any Wildmen ever again and looked down on their kind. He thought they were savages unworthy of the friendship of the mighty Dúnedain.
“But what of the city itself, what folk dwells there?” Eldarion inquired.
“A mixture of Dúnedain and Northmen from Cardolan of old, old kinsmen of yours.” Gandalf replied. This seemed to silence the boy a bit. He was already 13 years old and proved to become a promising man in all aspects except for his contempt for those of “lower” descent.
“So the people of the city should join us as they are akin to us.” Eldarion said regaining his voice.
“Yes they should.” Gandalf said with a hint of doubt in his voice. Eldarion caught it quickly for he was intelligent and had grown knowledgeable under the guidance of his wizard tutor.
“Would they have reason to refuse our offer?” he asked with his brow furrowed.
Gandalf hesitated to answer for the answer would surely cause great harm in the future. But he could not lie to his trusted protegé. “The Dunlendings hold Tharbad on the other side of the Gwathló. They have ousted the Dúnedain and Cardolani populace and have confiscated all their goods before sending them this way. They might not want to give the Dunlendings reason to cross the river by siding with us.”
Eldarion's face redened with anger. “These Wildmen should be taught a lesson, preferably one taught with Númenórean steel at their throats. How dare they treat my people this way. I will see to it that these savages return back to the hovels from whence they came.” The boy was visibly trembling with rage. Gandalf tried to calm him down.
“This could work to our advantage. If we can persuade them that we can protect them from the Dunlending menace they might be inclined to join us. So let us meet your kin in OUR side of the city. I'm sure they will welcome us with open arms.” Gandalf said, soothing the boy with his booming voice. Eldarion visibly calmed down and said
“Yes let us do that, let us rejoice the rejoining of our kin.” Eldarion said 'After that we'll worry about those barbarians on the other side' he thought grimly to himself.
By the end of nightfall, after lengthy negotiations between Gandalf and Eldarion with the 'leader' of the city, Royal Tharbad had thrown their lot with the Dúnedain. It seemed that the maltreatment of the populace by the Dunlendings and the threat of an invasion was enough to tip the balance in favor of the Dúnedain. The protection given by the Dúnedain was a blessing from the Heavens the people of Tharbad thought. Another crisis averted Gandalf thought. 'But what will the future hold with this vengeful prince?' He filled his pipe with Longbottom Leaf. Not even he could forsee and he thought he was a very wise man indeed, puffing his pipe. |
