A/N: Props to Tolkien, itÂ’s his.

Chapter 7: The Beginning of the End

The Witch-King had rode up to the top of a nearby mountain along with his lieutenants to scout out the terrain. It had taken many years to push the Dunedain into the small pocket of resistance that was Fornost. Although the snow on the mountain was blowing particularly hard, both the Witch-King and Morgomir could see for miles around. Unfortunately, Rogash, Hwaldar, and Karsh could not; however, all of them could make out the huge fortress-city of Fornost in the distance.

“Blasted snow,” grumbled the mighty troll, “it not cold, but no can see.” He continued to grumble, but the others just ignored it; no one felt like flying off the mountain.

“Sire,” began Morgomir, “if I may suggest, the best course of action, that I can see, is to let myself and Hwaldar, along with Karsh, take a preliminary strike force to set up a base camp in front of the city so that we can hold them inside the city until you arrive with Rogash and the siege engines.”

“That is an excellent strategy, you shall also take some of the sorcerers with you to sow fear in their minds,” replied the Witch-King. He then began the long ride to their temporary base camp. The snow did not let up as they rode. ‘Good’ thought the Witch-King, ‘this weather will make my soldiers fiercer and make Arvedui’s soldiers sluggish and weak.’

Arvedui had inherited the throne of Arthedain from his father Araphant who had tried to re-establish a connection with Gondor; however, this brought no help to the Northern Kingdom for Gondor was under attack by the Wainriders of Rhun. So, it was up to him to defend the last remnant of Arnor from the Witch-King. ‘No wonder I am named “Last King” for I will certainly be the last King of Arnor.’

However, he did not once stop trying to find a weakness in the Witch-KingÂ’s army, even now, there were scouts looking for his army, rumored to be south of the city, poised to strike. He looked out across the northern horizon from the tallest tower in Fornost trying to find the Witch King for he, as his forefathers, was far-sighted, but the snow that was coming down was thick and impeded his vision to the point of frustration. He continued to stand in the tower and the gates suddenly opened and a small band of scouts came quickly into the city.

Arvedui raced to the bottom of the tower and at the door he was met by a ranger clad in winter armor that was still wet with snow that had been melted by the fires in the main hall of the fortress.

“I have some good news, and also bad news as well; it seems as though one is never unaccompanied by the other,” the ranger began as Arvedui led him to a small table near a fire, “We have located the armies of Angmar and they are to the east of us; however, almost all of their battalions are there and they are poised to strike us with all the fury of the North!”

“That has got to be around 60,000 troops,” gasped Arvedui, “how did they muster such an army, we have only 5,000 and they have many trolls. But more importantly, how can we even try to fend them off?” Arvedui started into the fire as he mused and during that time another ranger came in, whispered in his captain’s ear, and left.

“Sire,” he began, “I have just received word that not even half of their army is forming a sort of vanguard made out of crack soldiers to trap us in the city so that the slower main army can get to use with their siege engines.” The captain still looked grim for he knew that even as such, they had little hope of lasting out.

“Good, good,” said Arvedui, “We could possibly rout this part of their army, but all of our troops would be taxed to exhaustion and no one would be left to defend the city, we shall just have to use rangers to ambush them and then run to dwindle their numbers. Captain, take your men and another squad to ambush them.”

“At once my liege,” the captain said. He then stood up, saluted, and left to prepare his troops.

Morgomir knew that eventually the Dunedain would find their position and learn of their plan; that was the way it always was. So, he immediately readied both his and RogashÂ’s armies and set them on the march at a double pace. Luckily, the trolls were swift when pushed and could keep up with the Black Numenoreans for soon they were approaching the main road that led to the gates of Fornost.

Suddenly a high clear trumpet was heard and the sky began to rain arrows, the longbow arrows of Dunedain rangers. However, the armies were all composed of war-bitten veterans and soon the armies began a swift counterattack into the forest, but they found no enemy, they had already disappeared into the snow. ‘Blasted Dunedain,’ thought Morgomir, ‘They always disappear like that.’ He swiftly ordered several battalions of Dark Rangers to fan out through the forest at the sides of the army to keep the Dunedain away.

As it was before, this strategy worked and every so often a scream would be heard and cheers would erupt from the army. In this fashion they soon reached a clearing in front of the fortress of Arnor and soon a base camp was being erected.

Once completion of this was achieved, Morgomir finally took a look at the massive fortress. The outer walls had been built upon high earthen ramparts that would impede even the staunchest siege. The massive gates were built so that one had to pass through a gauntlet of tower lined walls that would slaughter many troops. Also on the fortress were many trebuchet towers, which would keep the troll-powered, stone-throwers at bay until they too were taken care of. Upon further inspection, Morgomir found that the high, white walls were made of a type of marble that Morgomir had never seen. The red embattlements gave the walls a slightly red tint which made the tower in the center of the fortress glow like a spike of silver in the pale winter sun which had recently come out.

MorgomirÂ’s first thought was of despair, but the realization that if the fortress were attacked systematically, it would be only of matter of time before Arthedain was finally destroyed brought a wicked grin to his pale face. He would keep the rats in the cage, but the Witch-King would kill them.

Morgomir had not long to wait, for when pushed hard, trolls move with terrifying speed and soon the full army was encamped outside the southern wall. However, no troops moved to the sides of the fortress for none of these walls would allow passage in or out and none of them would allow the soldiers to be out of range of the trebuchets.

Rogash quickly had the stone-throwers brought up and had them all firing at the trebuchet towers. Unfortunately for him, the marble was extremely hard and was not giving way, so Rogash ordered all stone-throwers to attack one target until its destruction and the trebuchets quickly came down leaving holes in the walls; however, none of the troops could climb the earthen rampart and the holes were of no consequence, they would have to storm the gate.

So, Rogash turned the stone throwers onto the gate to level it for it would be suicide to try and take it with a ram because the inner walls were lined with Dunedain bowmen armed with giant longbows. However, Rogash wasnÂ’t stupid; he knew that if the stone throwers occasionally lobbed a stone onto the walls, the Dunedain rats would stay down and troops could mass in front of the gate.

Unfortunately for the Witch King, Arvedui wasnÂ’t stupid either, the gates of Fornost had been built by the Dwarves and were enchanted so that they would not break under the barrage of the trolls, or any other siege weapon for that matter. Soon, the Witch-KingÂ’s army, along with HwaldarÂ’s, crested the hill and filled the clearing with a terrible army that filled every heart within Fornost with despair. The Witch-King swiftly left the column and rode down to where Rogash stood before the gates.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Witch-King hissed at the massive troll standing before him. “Are your trolls too weak to break a measly gate?!”

“No lord,” rumbled Rogash, “Gates are Dwarf made. Got magic, no can bust by any troll!”

The Witch-King let out a low, evil hiss and rode to the gates behind which stood hundreds of spearmen and archers, ready to fight to the death. The Iron Crowned King held aloft his mighty scepter and let forth the most terrible screech that even those trolls that stood near him flinched and cowered before its power and at that instant, the once proud gates of Fornost burst asunder and the evil army poured into the city with their weapons darting back and forth slaughtering the defenders.

However, some of the captains were of noble Numenorean blood and had no fear of this Witch-King or his armies and soldiers rallied to them, the chief of these was Aralder of the line of Ohtar, squire of Isildur and survivor of the orc ambush. Aralder stood wearing his bright Numenorean armor holding a banner in one hand and his longsword in the other, rallying all of the nearby soldiers to him and come they did for soon he was standing in a courtyard blocking one of the inner gates of the fortress with hundreds of soldiers around him.

“We shall not let them pass!” he cried, “And if they do pass, it will be only after every one of us is dead and gone to our forefathers in the afterlife! For the King!” At this he swung his sword in the air and a volley was released into the horde of orcs and men charging them with Hwaldar at their head. But the numbers of the enemy were too great and soon they were pressed against the gate with swords and spears flitting to and fro dispatching many orcs. Hwaldar soon had the upper hand and engaged Aralder in one-on-one combat.

“Heh heh heh, stupid Numenorean,” Hwaldar cackled, “You should have joined the Witch-King, we could have used your skill, but now, I’ll have to kill you.” He then began fighting Aralder with his huge battle axe and soon he caught Aralder in the leg, knocking him to the ground. However, he hit him with the flat of the axe head and Aralder took his sword and drove it home into the evil Hillman’s chest.

“No, it is I that shall dispatch you, swine!” cried Aralder. He then drew his sword from Hwaldar’s body and continued fighting. Fortunately, Arvedui had seen his plight and had sent a battalion of Royal Guards to get Aralder out of his hopeless position and soon the gate swung open to receive Aralder and his battered troops into the safety of the inner level of Fornost.

The rest of the Siege did not go so well for the Dunedain, many brave captains and soldiers fell to troll blades and iron arrows and they were soon pushed back to the Citadel level of Fornost in the very center of the city where the only escape was through the locked sewers.

The King had watched most of the battle progress from his tower and now he was at the entrance to the sewers, encased in his finest armor with Aralder at his side.

“Aralder, my friend,” Arvedui began, “I have known you for many long years and I want you to know that the end has come for Arthedain and Arnor.
I will flee with what few people we have saved through the sewers to the Ice Bay of Forochel to await a ship to rescue us. I want you to travel to Mithlond and send a ship to rescue us, after that I want you to guard my son who at the moment lives at the Grey Havens with Cirdan the Shipwright and continue waging war against the Witch-King until such a time as he can be removed. The people I send with you will become Rangers and protect the lands after Angmar falls. Also, I will send with you an extra battalion of Rangers to guard the peaceful land of the Shire where the Halflings live.”

Aralder stood in thought for a moment and finally replied, “Lord, though I would much rather travel with you; I shall do as you bid and protect your son. If we do not see each other again, we will look for each other in the afterlife.” With that, he led a battalion of rangers down into the sewers and took the southern branch of it and began the long journey to Mithlond. Arvedui helped herd the rest of the people they had saved into the sewers and once everyone was in, he went in and seal the door behind him shut and began the long cold journey north to Forochel where he would die in the ice after befriending the men who dwelt there.

Aralder, on the other hand, was successful in his mission and soon Aranarth, ArveduiÂ’s son, became the first Chieftain of the Dunedain and the lands around Mithlond and the Shire became less dangerous and the Hobbits remained oblivious to the danger that closed them in on all sides like an ocean of evil.

The Witch-King was surprised that the resistance soon just ended within the city for he knew of no way out of the city other than the main gate. His armies, once given the order to stop the attack and set up camp within the city, began looting and destroying every corner of the city turning it into an evil and haunted place which would later be known as Dead ManÂ’s Dike.

‘Arthedain is mine now, and yet I do not feel safe, I feel that I will be defeated and driven out of the North before long,” the Witch-King mused to himself while pacing in the topmost room of the highest tower in Fornost. He was uneasy because Morgomir soon discovered the sewers and he knew that word would eventually get to Gondor some time, sooner or later. The Witch-King looked toward the gap in the Misty Mountains and the White Mountains from the tower’s balcony.

“They will come soon,” he muttered.

(A/N: Come on, leave a review, it makes me write better.)