Where the stars are strange

“I have crossed many mountains and many rivers and trodden many plains even into the far countries of Rhûn and Harad where the stars are strange.” Aragorn

Chapter 11

She had betrayed them. The awful truth overwhelmed him; he tried to push it away but he knew. Feelings built up inside him: bewilderment, grief, and anger.

Their camp had been watched. They had seen the king leave, then organised scouts to be placed near the camp. Her capture had been planned and deliberate. Suddenly, everything was falling into place. The murdered guards: someone had planned to rescue her, but she had sent them away. Now he knew why. She had made a ‘confession’ to Faramir, knowing it would alter their plans. They had done as she expected, ridden on to the city without waiting for news of Imrahil’s fleet or the king to return back to camp. They had weakened the force by dividing it to assail the city on both sides. The enemy’s plan had worked.

The army continued to approach from all sides. His men stood ready, not advancing until he gave the word. He gripped his sword tightly, trying to control his feelings, knowing they would cloud his judgment. Rage such as he had never known was pulsing through him.

Inzilbêth. He had fallen for her against his better judgment, knowing that nothing could come of it. And why had she let him, he wondered. Then he smiled bitterly. He was not going to fool himself that she had feelings for him. She had done it to gain his trust. And it had worked. Because of it, he had led his men to their deaths.

Eldarion spurred his horse onward, keeping an eye on the approaching armies. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Faramir was at the other side of the city, at the bay. There would be no help coming from him. Like as not, they would all probably meet their deaths here.

Even in the darkness he could see the fear on his menÂ’s faces. Resolve suddenly flooded him. He gritted his teeth staring at the ranks upon ranks of men. He held up his sword and it glittered in the night. Then he cried out:

“Men of Gondor! We are an army of few against overwhelming odds. Yet do not lose heart. Remember why we are here. Your homelands are in danger. We do not fight for riches or power or glory, we fight for our families! Our women and children need us; that is why we have marched miles into this forsaken land. We fight for a cause more worthy than any other. If these men want a battle, then by the earth and heavens, we will give them one!”

The cries of the Gondorians echoed in the night. Each man drew his weapon and a deathly silence fell. They waited for the single word.

“Attack!”

The Haradrim were almost on them. Eldarion kicked his horse and charged forward into the enemy. The red sand clouds were blinding and swirled in the desert winds. A fierce elation overcame his fury and even his fear. The prince swung his sword at the first man he came across, riding down those his sword could not reach. In every face he saw Inzilbêth.

Every face he cut down.

Â…

Faramir raced down the steps in the harbour and threw his dagger at the approaching enemy. The man fell back down the stairs, knocking into another Southron who was behind. Faramir leaned back against a pillar, catching his breath. All around him the sights and sounds of battle raged. Never had he anticipated such an overwhelming number of men. By this rate, reaching the ships in the bay was hopeless, though the archers were proving invaluable.

However, his men were being pushed back by the Haradrim forces. He knew with a dull certainty that if the battle kept heading in this direction, he would have to call a retreat. There was no chance of gaining the city without EldarionÂ’s force. Eldarion. Faramir hoped desperately the young man was not facing such odds as his force was. If he was, he would need help from FaramirÂ’s soldiers, in which case, should they not retreat and make their way to the city entrance? But if they retreated and tried to head to the main entrance, the Southrons on the city walls would try and stop their approach.

Faramir fought his way down the steps and looked out over the water. He did a double take. The ships in the harbour were starting to move away from them into open water, not attacking them. Then he saw why. There, in the distance he could see ships. And in the faint light of the stars could discern something faint and silver on the sails. The swan prowed ship emblem of Dol Amroth. ElphirÂ’s fleet had arrived at last. He felt a grin spreading across his face. About time.

The Southrons were turning now, racing toward their ships, to see what was happening. Faramir called his men and they surged forward with new hope. They continued to fight throughout the nightfall.

By dawn, the harbour was theirs.

Â…

The burning desert sun rose over the city entrance, turning the gleaming stone glaringly white, streaked with gold. Eldarion groaned. There was a blinding pain at the back of his head. He ran his hand gingerly over it and pulled it away, his fingers sticky with blood. Pulling himself slowly into a sitting position resulted in a thumping pain. He remained still until it had passed. The back of his throat tasted like ash. Unsure how long he had been unconscious, he forced himself to stand up. The feeling in his legs came flooding back, as did the memories.

The scene around him was utter carnage. The sands scattered over the fallen bodies, already coating the men who had fallen. Soon they would be entirely buried. Everywhere the dead soldiers lay. He moved dreamlike among them, calling out every now and then, but there was no answer. There never would be. The Southrons had killed them all. No, Inzilbêth had killed them all, just as surely as she had put a knife through each heart.

Tears streaked down his dust-covered face. He stood with his eyes closed but the scene of massacre was branded in his mind. He wanted to turn and run, but exhaustion had taken over him. He was unable to move. Unable to do anything for those fallen men. Horror was slowly building up in his throat. He knew that once it was strong enough he would scream and scream.

How long he stood there he didnÂ’t know. An eternity and more had passed when reason started to set in. The sands were moving faster now, and looking at the fallen, he realized that a sandstorm was coming. If he didnÂ’t move, he would soon be joining the dead. But where to go? The Southrons had gone into the city and he realized with a dull sense of shock that he had forgotten about Faramir. His men were possibly still fighting in there.

That decided him. He had to get to the city. He could see it in the distance, not far at all, but it could have been a million miles for all his exhaustion. He took a step forward, so sudden after remaining still for so long, he almost pitched forward into the sand again. His foot sank into the sandy earth.

The winds were picking up. He forced himself to move, one step at a time, pushing onward against the driving wind. He knew that once he fell, he would die outside this city. Every part of him ached. His throat was burning with a raging thirst. The sand was being blown into his face, drying the tears that ran down his cheeks. It took every ounce of determination and willpower to keep going, not to lie down and end it all. Keep movingÂ…

Â…

It seemed like eons when he finally stumbled under the great archway that spanned the city entrance. The gate was just ahead. The harsh brightness of the stone brought tears stinging to his eyes again. His legs had lost all feeling, yet he felt them carrying him closer.

The city gates were right there, five steps, four steps, three, two, one. He gave a half choked gasp of relief and reached out and pushed the gates.

Nothing happened.

Despair rushed back. He realised what he should have known from the moment he tried to get to the city. The gates were barred from the inside.

Eldarion slumped down onto the burning sand and gave a wail of anguish that echoed across the desert.