[FATW AAR] Light of the West

[GreatOne]

Superb AAR, +rep

[Eldarion Telcontar]

Any word from Cemendur lately? I am almost more excited to read the next bunch of chapters than to play the next release of FA:TW itself!

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Well the next set of chapters may take a while since at the moment I'm pretty busy. But they will come. I wish there was some way to update my FATW game without losing my save, because I'm still playing an older version.

[thorongil45]

that makes two of us

[Aradan]

I guess you could simply get yourself a second installation of RTW...

[inzaghi4ever]

is this AAR dead? it was my favourite...

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Book II:

The Hearts of Men

Part III

Chapter I : The Serpent and the Bull

The Serpent. Cunning, intelligent, deadly. The Bull. Strong, sturdy, impulsive. Individually, these animals are a force to be reckoned with. But together…an unstoppable force. Yes, an unstoppable force indeed. That was the thought that formed in the head of Fuinur, the Lord of Umbar, when he first heard of Emperor Muntassir and Chieftain Bor’s alliance. Now, that unstoppable force will be unleashed upon the Reunited Kingdom, recently re-reunited. Yes, Andunbar had fallen, as had Harondor to the north. Despite those setbacks, Harad was more powerful than ever. The death of both King Cemendur and his heir Antanamir had been welcome news to the Lord of the Black Ships. They both were brilliant generals and stout Men of Light. Fuinur respected their abilities, yet hated what they believed in and their people, just as his ancestors before him had. With their deaths, the Reunited Kingdom’s military front was greatly weakened. Without strong leaders, their veteran armies would be destroyed. Fuinur reveled in this fact. While many of the other great Harad leaders quaked in fear of the Reunited Kingdom, Fuinur knew now his people would triumph. Now they would gain revenge that so alluded them. As he looked at the blackness of the masts that lay in the harbor, and the great mass of gold soldiers that stood before him, he knew the Reunited Kingdom’s days were numbered…
Meanwhile, in Rhun, the newly crowned Great Chieftain of Rhun Blodren received news of the fall of Andunbar and the crushing of the troops he sent to bolster their defenses. Damned fools, he thought. But when he heard the next bit of news that his messengers relayed to him, a cruel smile formed on his lips. Yes, he thought, now is the time. Quickly, he dispatched messengers to his kinsmen and general Brodda, who commanded the hordes that were amassed on the far eastern edge of Mordor. He would make sure that Cemendur’s army would suffer the same fate as their king…
On the plains of Pelennor, the Grand General of the Armies of the Reunited Kingdom (affectionately known as the Guard or Guardian by his men), Aradan, marshaled his forces. This army consisted of the veterans of Cemendur’s original campaign, coupled with some fresh troops to bolster the army’s strength. Aradan and Finrod still debated where to attack first. “We have already taken Harondor, and now we are currently holding off small Harad forces along the river Harnen. I say we finish what we started, break through the defenses of Near Harad, and take Umbar. The plan is simple for now, but we must get a lay of the land of Near Harad before we deliberate any further.” Aradan elaborated. “An interesting plan, and I would say deal with Harad first. However, be wary that Rhun has officially made it’s hostilities known, and most likely will send a large armed force into or around Mordor in the near future.” Finrod responded. “Hmm, interesting. I guess we should wait till our scouts report…” Aradan was cut off at the sudden arrival of a harried scout from the east. “My lord,” he said, “Rhun has dispatched its hordes into Mordor. The cities of Seregon and Mulsad are surrounded. The garrisons there are holding strong, but they won’t be able to last much longer.” Moments after, another scout, this time arriving from the south, burst onto the scene and delivered his news. “Lord Aradan, Black Sails have been spotted en masse sailing towards Pelargir. We believe there is a Corsair army aboard. In addition a Harad army has crossed the river Harnen and has invaded Harondor.” Aradan and Finrod looked at each other, worried at the news. “What are we to do? We cannot split our forces to face both threats. Aradan said. “Now, we cannot. But at the same time we cannot leave either threat unattended.” Finrod responded, “Are there any generals or forces in Mordor we can spare?” Aradan thought for a moment. “Yes, there is. An army under General Siriondil, stationed in Durthang. He is a capable general. You there,” he motioned to the messenger that arrived from the east, “ go to general Siriondil and tell him to march upon the forces of Rhun in Nurn. “ The messenger rode off with haste. Aradan then sent a portion of the newer troops and some veterans of other campaigns to assist Siriondil with Rhun. He kept intact Cemendur’s original army. They, led by Aradan and Finrod, would march towards Pelargir, hoping to intercept the corsairds before they could take the city. Aradan only hoped that he could arrive in time, for if not…he didn’t want to think of the consequences. The tides of battle have washed upon the Reunited Kingdom again. “But we will not fail.” Aradan said to himself.


But both Fuinur and Blodren had other plans…



Check out the final post for Book I here for the (long overdue) Epilogue

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Chapter II: The Invasion of Mordor



“Just a bit further. We should arrive at Seregon by midday,” the scout reported to Siriondil. The army had been marching for several days now, making haste to arrive at Seregon before it, and consequentially the rest of Mordor, fell to the forces of Rhun. Siriondil felt honored because he was deemed worthy by the High Command to defend the Kingdom from a great foe, a worthiness that he no doubt gained in Mordor. Orcs, he knew them well. Rhun, not so much.

The last reports he heard were that there were two Rhun armies in Nurn, their location wasn’t specified, however. He supposed that the targets were the cities of Seregon and Mulsad. His plan was to attack the army supposedly besieging Seregon, regroup, the finish off the remaining Rhun army. Well, he thought, it wasn’t so much a plan, per-se, rather a blatant set of objectives that he must accomplish if he hoped to save the Reunited Kingdom from Rhun. Yes, blatant set of objectives was the perfect description. The battle plans would come later, once he had an idea of the enemy’s strength. And so the army marched onward, into the gathering storm…




At midday, the city of Seregon was in sight. As was the army of Rhun. “They number over 2500,” Siriondil reported to his lieutenants, “with a sizeable force of cavalry, accompanied by a contingent of wains, a weapon I’m not too familiar with.” “I’ve read about them in the histories,” one of the lieutenants stated, “they are fearful devices, armored carts pulled by several strong horses. Inside the carts several soldiers can fire arrows and spear enemies.” Siriondil looked worried by that news. “Fearful indeed,” he said, “but nonetheless we can take them. Arm yourselves men, for today we decide not only the fate of Mordor, but that of the Reunited Kingdom…”

Across the field, the Rhun general and self-proclaimed Chieftain of Khan, Brodda, scoffed at the supposed rashness of the Reunited Kingdom’s general. Fools, he thought. Surely his grand army, strong warriors, and fearful weapons, would utterly destroy the pathetic force sent against him. And if not…
well he had a surprise that would surely secure him victory…




The Reunited Kingdom army moved forward as one to face the oncoming foe. But still Siriondil had little idea what his plans were. His knew he must rely on the strength and resolution of his soldiers to fend off the hordes of Rhun soldiers. And so he made his plans: to his left a small hill rose above the plain. He would station his troops there, utilizing the high terrain to his advantage. In a cluster of trees to the east, he placed his prized King’s Horsemen, ordering them to hide until the signal was given to attack. With his troops arrayed in line formation, shield to shield, all Siriondil could do now was wait…

Horns blew about the battlefield, harsh, wild sounds. The forces of Rhun charged.




The crash of shield upon shield echoed throughout the battlefield. The barbarians, hacking with disorderly might, struck the shields of the soldiers of the Reunited Kingdom, but the soldiers stood firm, fighting back with all their might.




The soldiers of the Reunited Kingdom, with much greater resolve and skill than their barbarian counterparts, gain the upper hand. Then, with more horns and a flurry of javelins, the wains crashed into the line of infantry. Bodies flew into the air, cries of men, both of Rhun and the Reunited Kingdom, rose up. The wains were fearsome indeed. Joined by heavy Rhun cavalry, they focused on the right flank, where the battle was heaviest, and the Reunited Kingdom was wavering.




Seeing this, Siriondil made a quick decision to save the lives of his men. Grabbing his horn, he and his bodyguard charged into the mass of troops, cutting their way through the infantry. But this was not Siriondil’s targer. He aimed for the wains.

Suddenly a wain headed right towards him. His horse swerved, but Siriondil fell from the stirrup. Dazed, he rose to his feet, just in time to see another wain heading towards him. Thinking fast, he jumped over the spinning blades on the wheels…and into the carriage, knocking over several Rhun soldiers inside. Scrambling to their feet, the confused soldiers looked at each other, then, realizing Siriondil was ready, blade drawn, they cried their war cry and threw themselves onto the general. But they were no match, and were easily dispatched, their bodies falling off the moving cart. The wain driver, terrified by the entire ordeal, jumped out, however not wisely, for the blades of his own wain ended him. Grabbing the reigns, Siriondil charged into the soldiers of Rhun, who were filled with confusion and dread of the oncoming wain. Up ahead, he saw the enemy general, Brodda, commanding his troops from his wain. Knowing that his next move would possibly end him, he charged right towards Brodda’s wain. The barbarian general avoided the attack, but not before Siriondil jumped into his cart. Again, the confused Rhun soldiers attacked, but this time, the barbarian general, wielding his great axe, joined the fight. The other Rhun soldiers in the cart were dispatched, but the Rhun general still remained. Swinging wildly, yet mightily, at Siriondil, he screamed, “Pathetic warrior, your time has come!” The axe flew above Siriondil’s head, and decapitated the driver on the backswing. Taking the precious moment he had as the confused barbarian wondered what he did, he swung his sword and knocked the mighty axe from his enemy’s hand, and knocked him into the side of the wain, where he broke thorugh the barrier. Siriondil then jumped from the wain. As the angered barbarian rose, he screamed, “YOU FO—!” But that was all he managed before his wain crashed into the other oncoming wain. The great crash alerted the soldiers of Rhun to their general’s supposed demise, startling them greatly. Many barbarians, losing heart, began to flee, but the stout Rhun troops remained to fight. Not for long. With a blast from his horn, Siriondil signaled the cavalry waiting in the woods, who broke through the Rhun line, resulting in the rout of the Rhun infantry.




The Reunited Kingdom could not celebrate yet, for many wains, causing chaos on the lines, remained on the field. However, a united attack broke the final line of the Rhun army, and the battle ended in a total rout of the Rhun forces. Or so they thought…




Siriondil, re-horsed, surveyed his men. The battle had exhausted his men, with about 35% of his army wounded or dead. Those who survived were weary with fatigue. Despite this, he was elated. His men had won a great victory, and at the same time routed a grand Rhun army. But as he watched the supposed routing Rhun soldiers, he became confused. They were…reforming?? But why? And where were they looking to? Fearfully, he turned to look in their direction. His first view was that of a wounded man on a horse. Siriondil was dumbfounded.

It was Brodda.

The silly man, Brodda thought. No wain crash could kill a great commander. He himself had been through about 26. Of course he could survive one. The look on the enemy general’s face was priceless. But he still had not seen what would really make him fearful. With a devious smile, he pointed his arm in the direction of...
the second grand Rhun army.




Siriondil was motionless. His victory, in the matter of a few short seconds, had been snatched from him. His men were wounded and tired, and were not fit to fight another battle. Solemnly, he gave his men the order to retreat into Seregon, ere the reinforcing army caught up to his exhausted men and overwhelmed them. He had won a great battle, but it looked like Rhun was winning the war…



To Be Continued…

[wzdeath]

wohoooo you continued the AAR nice update

[tuore]

Nice update!!!

[TM Is Back]

Great news to see you continuing this AAR. I still love it.

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Chapter III: The Battle for Pelargir



So this is the sea…Aradan thought to himself. He had been raised in the lands of Ithilien, and while he appreciated the beauty of the Land of the Moon, he always yearned to see the sea, and now as he looked out over the coast, he felt a sense of calm as he looked over the scenery, despite the approaching storm that was upon him. Close by, the city of Pelargir shone in the morning sun. Beyond that, dark against the skyline, were the dark black sails of the corsairs…battle had come.

Fuinur, Lord of Umbar, overlooked his arrayed forces. Half his army consisted of his prized Corsair units, including his elite Umbar guard, the most feared warriors in all of Umbar. The other half consisted of standard, but certainly not sub-par, Haradrim soldiers. Overall, a very worthy fighting force. In fact it was the grandest army he had commanded. It was only fitting, since this was the grandest invasion in the Empire’s history. Fronts were established throughout the borders of Harad and the Reunited Kingdom, not to mention the Easterling invasion from the east…Fuinur’s ancestors must surely be smiling on him this day, for he will have his vengeance. And it will all begin on this day…

Aradan lined his men up in formation, his elite soldiers in the center, spears on the flanks, and typical swordsmen in between. Behind this front line were the powerful King’s Longbowmen and Rangers, accompanied by the elite Elves of Ithilien. The archer line was led by Finrod, the great Elven commander, who had accompanied Cemendur from the very beginning of his campaign. To the far right flank Aradan placed the King’s Horsemen, the elite Reunited Kingdom cavalry, to flank the enemy forces. He knew that much was riding on this battle, for if he lost, Harad would take Pelargir, taking out the strongest port the Reunited Kingdom had, allowing corsair forces to freely across the great sea and up the Anduin, giving them access to most of Ithilien and Minas Anor itself. No, he would not let that happen. He would not let his King’s work be undone. He would fight to the death to stop the corsairs.

When the corsair force was in range, Finrod ordered his archers to open fire on the enemy army. A volley of arrows flew towards the corsairs, wreaking havoc upon the enemy front lines. The archers of the Reunited Kingdom were the most feared throughout Middle-earth, save the prowess of the elves, who stood close by.

Arrows flew about the field as the first lines grew closer to each other. Then, with a blast of horns, the two lines charged.

The Harad cavalry charged into the flanks of the Reunited Kingdom army, hoping to deter the weaker units there. However, since they were back by the King’s spears, it was a difficult task. Nonetheless, the cavalry managed to spread out the lines of soldiers on the flanks. Aradan, realzing this could crack his front line in half, circled around the left flank and engaged the Harad cavalry head on.

Meanwhile, the Corsair archers and the Reunited Kingdom’s archers were engaged in a fierce duel of arrows. However, that problem was soon to be taken care of by the Reunited Kingdom’s cavalry.

The second cavalry force then charged into the rear of the Corsair line.

The elves, led by Finrod, the circled around the enemy on the right and crashed into their unguarded flanks.

The rearguard of the Corsair force, mainly composed of Harad spears, began to hunt after the Reunited Kingdom’s cavalry, forcing them to retreat. But the damage was done. The Reunited Kingdom troops were revitalized, and the Corsair forces were wavering. The Reunited Kingdom’s left flank, led by Aradan, pushed through the Corsair troops, causing them to flee. Soon after, the center began to break under pressure. Only the right flank and a portion of the rearguard of Harad remained. However, a second cavalry charge by the Reunited Kingdom sealed the fate of the battle. The remaining rearguard soon cracked and fled. The entire Corsair army was routed, and they fearfully fled towards their ships.

Fuinur looked in angered disbelief at the field of battle. How could his grand army be so utterly defeated? Suddenly he came to his senses and ducked; an enemy arrow passed over his head and struck one of his bodyguards square in the forehead. He began to order his bodyguard away from the field when he saw his opportunity for redemption: the enemy Captain, Aradan, was chasing down the fleeing Corsair soldiers. With a blast of horns Fuinur charged towards him. Aradan had time to prepare as he wheeled his bodyguard around to face the oncoming foe.

The two bodyguard units clashed, and soon Aradan and Fuinur were locked in hand to hand combat. “You may have won this day, Captain,” Fuinur yelled over the din, “but your victory will not last long.” “What do you mean, Corsair?” Aradan yelled as he parried a blow from Fuinur, who laughed at Aradan’s remark. “You think this was the only army to face you? No, there are more, more than you can handle.” Aradan looked dumbfounded. “Why? Why must there always be more? Every single time it’s always more!! Why can’t anyone be satisfied with one great defeat??” There was a pause, as Fuinur looked quizzically at him. “I said that out loud didn’t I?” Aradan said sheepishly “Yes, yes you did.” Fuinur replied, and the two resumed their duel. But Fuinur realized that his bodyguard was rapidly depleting, and that it may be time to retreat. “Farewell, Captain,” he said, “until we meet again.” He quickly sped off with what remained of his bodyguard. “After him!” Aradan yelled. But Fuinur was too far gone to continue pursuit, so Aradan pulled back and reunited with his army. He observed the chaos on the field. It truly was a hard fought battle.

But now was no time to celebrate. After the dead had been buried and the wounded were attended to, Aradan, Finrod, and their lieutenants met in their hastily constructed headquarters. “Fuinur’s words trouble me deeply. He said there were more, more than we could handle…I fear his words are true.” The assembled commanders fell silent. Finrod finally broke the silence: “I fear his words are true, my friend. A Haradrim army has crossed the Harnen and currently is ravaging the lands of southern Harondor. In addition, the black sails have broken through our outlying naval forces and are currently on their way.”

Aradan knew this would be a long fight, but he would fight to the very bitter end to defeat this foe. Even if he did, there was still the matter of Rhun…then he remembered.

“Have we heard any news from the Eastern Army sent to fight Rhun?” Aradan suddenly exclaimed. He looked at his lieutenants, seeing some of them frown, but none speaking. “Well?” Aradan asked, a tinge of anxiety and anger in his voice. Finally one spoke: “Ah….well we have received reports from Seregon.” “Well what’s the situation there?” Aradan replied, more pronounced.

“Not so good my lord, not so good…”

[Solid Snake]

Great update, I´m glad u decided to continue, I still love it

[inzaghi4ever]

just fantastic!!! LOVE IT!!!thanks a lot for this AAR,it's without doubt the best I've seen on twc! and of course...please continue it

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Pictures have been added for chapter three, not as many as I wanted but still enough. I haven't been able to write consistently recently (school exams and such) but once I'm free, which should be very soon, I'll be able to write and post chapters faster. It'll be worth the wait, trust me.

[Solid Snake]

We´ll wait but please let us keep reading your marvelous AAR

[|Sith|Duke_Spartacus]

first time i went to look in the FATW AAR. And im DEFINATLY not sorry. Please continue this great epic AAR +rep for you mate, GREAT stuff.

[The Despondent Mind]

Huge AAR...

[Cavaleiro Cruzado]

Splendid, really was amazed to read this AAR, congratulations

[Cemendur Telcontar]

Posted here are the rewritten chapters for the AAR, hopefully my writing style has grown in the years I've been gone. Chapters from the old AAR will be rewritten and posted here, along with new pictures from the campaign to illustrate the storyline. Hopefully old readers and new will enjoy it, for that is my goal. And to write a good story. Positive feedback is encouraged! And now onto the show:

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.