Late Winter 3001 TA: Northern Downs, south of Fornost.
Damrod had pushed himself and his forces to the limit of their strenght to reach Ost Sûl in time, only to find out upon arrival, their enemy had already moved away. The Orcs had moved west, through the Bree-land, and then north towards Fornost. Thus Damrod took his forces and marched them through the winter of 3001 to meet the enemy south of Fornost. His men exhausted and underfed from the two forced marches prepared for the final test of their hard journey. Battle. They were lean and hungry and out for revenge. They wanted to kill the ones who had inflicted them with countless sleepless nights and hard marching days. They were determined to right their wrongs as only young, proud men would. Damrod suffered the most from this, lying awake for hours in his tent only imagining the destruction of his home town, his dead friends and all those innocent civilians. They had finally caught up with their hated foe and it was time for retribution. They fell on their enemy with a fury not seen since the high days of Númenor. The Orcs put up a strong fight and the battle was fierce. The young of the Dúnedain, blinded with rage, did not even use their bows and simply charged swords drawn into the Orcish ranks. Many died on both sides in the bloody clash but the Dúnedain were the stronger force in the end. No Orc was allowed to run away and in their fury the Dúnedain victors stabbed, hit and kicked the corpses of their tormentors into a bloody pulp. When they had done that they let themselves fall on the ground, finally giving in to their exhaustion. There among the corpses did they sleep and when they woke up at sunset, they felt strained and hurt. They looked like a sorry bunch when they stumbled into the fortress of Fornost on a bleak winters afternoon. They were covered in dirt, blood and vomit. Yet soiled by all this they still had some pride shining from them. They had dealt with the threat and no permanent damage had been done to the realm. They had redeemed themselves.
Damrod sighed as he layed himself to rest. The nightmare was over.
Late Winter 3001 TA: Witchrealm, in a fort south of Carn Dûm
Melion shivered as the cruel northern wind tore through his winter cloak. Why had he come here, he often wondered. The Hillman had told the truth, this was an unforgiving place for all living creatures. When Morholt had told them everything he knew, Araphor had sentenced him to death by hanging. Melion had agreed that the man was a threat and would always be a threat to the king if left alive. The man had wanted to declare himself King of Rhudaur. What would have stopped him from doing the same again. Araphor had also decided to kill him for personal reasons. He had been one of the people responsible for the attacks on Amon Sûl, having worked on the plans. All in all it had been the best solution to kill him.
Thus Morholt's honesty had been repayed with death.
They had started their march without additional supplies as they had been halted by the raiders that Damrod had finally taken care of not long ago. Not dissuaded by this Araphor sounded his horn at the coming of spring and they had marched ever onward. In the summer of 3001 TA they had encountered a force of Hillmen and Orcs coming south. They had soundly defeated them, being leaderless and unable to cooperate with one another, and had continued further with their march north.
In late autumn they had reached what the locals called the Iron river. It marked the border with Angmar, the Witchrealm. Araphor was the first to cross this icey river. It was a risky crossing as the only bridge across was shaky at best. The crossing happened slowly and by the end of the day only half of their force had entered Angmar proper. The next day was spent getting the bagage trains across. This went almost without incident. When the last three wagons were crossing, the bridge collapsed. The wagons were swallowed whole with the horses and men.
There is no going back now. Melion thought as he saw the last man drown, caught by a rope from his sinking wagon, draggin him underneath the surface.
How many more will die in the coming year in this cruel land. Melion thought, filled with sorrow.
Not far from the river stood a castle. A place of shelter against the cold and cruel winds. This had been the place Araphor was aiming for. It was a bit ruined because of disuse, but it would have to suffice. With no hope of reinforcements or supplies coming this far north, they would have to do with what they had brought with them. With the loss of three wagons their supplies had been reduced to little more than 2 year's worth. They would have to assault Carn Dûm before next winter or they would starve to death in the freezing cold. Luckily they had been perpared for this and had brought warm clothing with them.
Not a lot of equipment had been lost with the sunken wagons as the Rangers all carried their own equipment with them. It was only for the regular troops that they needed wagons to carry equipment and of course for food. Araphor had brought with them one of the most professional troops in the entire realm. The very first battalions of Dúnedain in newly forged Arnorian styled armour with winged helmets and shields bearing the seven stars of Elendil and the sceptre of Annúminas supported with wings. As well as strong Dúnedain Blademasters, men renowned for their skill with their two handed blade. They wore dark brown to black leather armour over a hauberk of chainmail. A strong steel helmet was placed upon their head that went all the way to their jawline but did not cover their eyes and noses. Supporting them were Dúnedain in the same armour as the blademasters but on horseback. Not armed with a two handed sword but with a lance and sword. The rest of the army consisted of Rangers, Cardolani archers and swordsmen, Dúnedain wardens and Cardolani riders. An army that represented all the peoples of the Dúnedain realm of the north.
Arnorian Men-at-Arms and Blademasters
They had left Amon Sûl, two years ago, with an army of almost two thousand men, not even an expeditionary force in the days of Arnor. Now after various battles and the winter cold they only had around 1600 men left.
Not bad for a two year campaign. Melion thought as he sighed.
Now they would rest here and wait for spring. If spring would even reach this part of the world.
Early Spring 3002 TA: Nîn-in-Eilph, Royal Tharbad
It was the 5th of Gwaeron and thus the thrid birthday of Aglardis, Eldarion and Elenien's daughter, and a great feast was held in honor of the little girl. She had grown a lot and could already speak in sentences. She was known as a clever girl and was very inquisitive. Eldarion and Elenien encouraged her to explore and learn as much as she could. She was allowed to roam freely around the northern side of the city. Royal Tharbad was a peaceful place and all the people delighted in the sight of the little girl running around town. They would also often take her into the wild lands of Cardolan to teach her about plants and animals. So the family lived in bliss and the shadow of Eldarion's fury seemed a thing of the past.
Now all the children of the city had gathered for Aglardis' party. Gandalf was there as well and he had brought some fireworks with him. He had specially made them for the little girl's birthday and Aglardis loved them greatly. They exploded into butterflies in bright colours of green, blue, red and yellow or into stars that could be seen in the daylight. The party was a great succes and Eldarion and Elenien were looking affectionally at their child while she chased the butterflies. Elenien looked at her husband's face and saw a glint in his eye. She knew of the unrest in his heart and knew it wouldn't be long before he would depart again to fight. She never feared for his life, for she knew he was a great warrior, commander and tactician. What she feared was his ambition to cripple the Wildmen. She feared it would take control of him and would consume the man she loved. Every time now he had come back after his raids, but she knew he was planning something bigger. He did it in secret and hid it well but still she knew. She also knew that trying to dissuade him was a bad idea. He would not listen anyway and they would fight for no reason. She could sway him in all other things but not in this. She would just have to see how it would unfold.
Nothing of this was visible on Elenien's face when Eldarion looked at her. She looked so peaceful and happy and Eldarion was glad for it. He did not like to fight with his wife over the Wildmen problem. And a problem they remained. From Arveldir he still got numerous reports of Dunnish troops assembling at their capital of Dun Larach. He would have to tell his wife of his plan some day. He simply could not leave again without saying where he was going. Not like last time. Elenien had been furious with him for just abandoning them without telling, especially because Aglardis had been a baby at the time. No, this time he would have to act differently. He also suspected his wife might already know he was up to something. She was after all a clever woman and it sometimes seemed like she could read his mind. A trait all women seemed to share.
For now he sighed in contentment and embraced his wife as they saw the children play.
Battle results
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