Isildur

Barathor. 'My lord, I don't like this drawing in of the fleet. The pickets are spread too thin. Meaning no disrespect to the king, but I think this policy is ill-considered.'

Barathor's brows bristled. 'Luindor, you go too far! No one questions your loyalty or your love for Pelargir. But Pelargir is a city of Gondor, and our allegiance to our king must ever be paramount.'

Luindor glanced quickly at the king, now standing quietly listening, his face giving away nothing. Most men would have been daunted, but Luindor had been Pelargir's Captain of Ships for many years, and he bore the scars of many battles. He was determined to speak his mind.

'My lord,' he began, 'You can relieve me of command if you deem me disloyal, but I have something to say. I'm a seaman. My face has been turned to the sea all my life. Perhaps I may have paid too little attention to doings at the capital and in the east. Nevertheless, I well know the shadow that looms over us all. But my first responsibility is the safety of Pelargir, and I can no longer vouch for the fleet's ability to defend the city. Now that the fleet is being recalled, the outposts are left unmanned, whole provinces are undefended. Such a thing has never been allowed to happen in all the long years that Pelargir had been charged with the keeping of the Anduin. We should not be lying about here; we should be at sea.'

Barathor stared, his face grave. It was clear he liked the situation no more than Luindor. When Isildur had first spoken of the Elves, Barathor had felt only pleased and relieved, a great fear lifted from him. But now, as the time for departure approached and still no news came of Cirdan, he was less sure of his decision.

'You will not be relieved of your duty, Luindor,' said Isildur. 'Fear not that I think you disloyal. It is your loyalty that makes you question my orders. And I like no more than you the withdrawing of our defenses. But the situation in Mordor is grave. The Lords of the Alliance have summoned all of us for the final stroke against Sauron. This is the best hope of protecting Pelargir and all of the West. If we succeed, the war will be over. If we fail and the West falls at last, then Pelargir will be swept away with the rest. You can not stand against The Enemy alone.'

'Hmph,' grunted Luindor, unconvinced. 'Did the Lords tell you then to strip us bare? Did they order us to leave the Gate of the South standing open?'

'No,' admitted Isildur. 'The Lords expected me to have a great army at my back when I reached Pelargir, gathered from Calenardhon, and Anglond, and Anfalas, and the southern provinces. Pelargir was just to send the men it could spare from its own defense. And they did not know that the Corsairs were abroad. The Enemy has thwarted our plans at every step.'

'Then perhaps the plans need to be changed. Can you not send to the Lords and seek new instructions?'

'There is no time now. The fate of Pelargir, indeed of all of Gondor, is but one piece of a great engine that has been set in motion. All will come together at the Council in Osgiliath, but six days hence. We must be there, and in sufficient force to be effective, or all hope of winning the war is lost.'

'But, Sire…' began Luindor.

'Luindor,' said Barathor, 'we have long been friends and we are as one on matters that concern the safety of Pelargir. But I also know Isildur and his love of the city and its people. I know he would not ask this of us if there were any other way. If he says Cirdan is coming, then he will come. And if he says we must ride to Osgiliath, then we must ride.'

'I do not doubt it, my lord, but yet I fear to leave our shores unguarded for even a moment.'

'You speak for all of us, Captain,' said Isildur. 'But these are difficult times, and ours are hard choices. We cannot afford to do as our hearts list. I had dearly hoped to leave for Osgiliath today or tonight at the latest, but now we must delay another night. We must leave early tomorrow, whatever happens. Let us pray that Cirdan arrives tonight.'

There was nothing more to be said, and all returned to their tasks. In the evening Isildur and Ohtar again climbed the tower and gazed out over the lamplit streets of the city. But their eyes looked beyond the roofs and chimneys of Pelargir, beyond the walls, to the broad Anduin, gleaming faintly in the dusk. In all that long reach of River, where yesterday all had been bustling activity, no craft now stirred. The greater part of the fleet and all of the merchant ships were tied up at the quays or moored nearby in the Sirith.

The city slowly quieted as final preparations were completed. The necessary supplies had been gathered, divided, and packed. The men were all armed and drawn up into companies. Now they fell to the harder task of waiting. A thin layer of smoke from the cooking fires rose above the walls to hang motionless in the darkling sky. The flaming color in the west faded to purple and the first stars appeared. Looking down, they could see other groups of people here and there along the parapets, straining their eyes into the dusk for a glimpse of the Elves. One by one these other watchers descended to their beds, leaving only the guards.

Isildur seemed determined to wait all night if he had to. Ohtar waited with him, but at last he settled into an embrasure, wrapped his cloak around him, and fell asleep. His last sight was of Isildur standing above him, tall against the stars, peering into the west.

* * *

It seemed only a moment later that Isildur clutched Ohtar's shoulder.

'The Elves are come,' he said softly. Ohtar sprang up quickly, shaking off his dreams, and looked to the west. The moon, now waxing to first quarter, was setting beyond the River, turning it to glittering diamonds. For a moment he could see nothing. But then, far away at the edge of sight and still very small, he found one diamond that did not twinkle, but shone with a cool pure light. Behind it he could just begin to make out the outline of a ship, black against silver. It was beating up the River toward them, the gentle night wind just filling the sail.

'Your eyes are better than mine, Sire,' he said. 'Is it indeed Cirdan at last?'

'It is an Elven ship, I am sure. A cog, I believe — one of their lighter, faster ships. Odd that it should be in the van instead of Cirdan's flagship. Still, it would move more easily against the current. Perhaps they have outrun the rest of the fleet.'

At that moment a cry went up from the parapet below them. The lookouts too had now spied the ship. They heard a quick debate, then running feet, taking the word to the Lord of the city. A bell rang in a distant tower. The ship neared the far shore and tacked toward the city. They could hear faint shouting down at the quays now, and a jouncing lantern showed running legs coming up the lane from the River.

Isildur still peered into the west. 'Where are the rest?' he muttered through tight lips. 'Where are the others?' Then he whirled and rushed headlong down the winding stairs. Ohtar stumbled breathless after him.

They met Barathor near the gate leading a mounted party and bearing a blazing torch. Behind him in the dark were several other prominent citizens looking rumpled and sleepy, along with a score of soldiers. The gate creaked as it was opened.

'There you are, Sire,' Barathor called when Isildur pelted out of an alley into the broad street. 'I have brought horses for you and your esquire.'

Clambering up, they set off at once down the road to the River. By the time they reached the quays the ship was much closer, heeling slightly in the gentle night breeze as it beat in to the shore. A crowd was already gathering at the head of the dock. An awe fell over them, and they stood silently watching. All could now see the long white pennon floating from the masthead. The ship was white, low and long, but broad amidships. The stern rose high and arched over the after part of the deck, ending in a carved swan's head. White wings sheltered the figures that stood there. The stem rose high and ended in a large oval lantern, like a cage of mithril silver. From it shone the strange cool white light that illumined now the faces of the watching throng.

The sail rattled down and several figures moved forward and quickly secured it along the yard. The ship ghosted silently toward the dock as if out of a dream, and indeed for most of those watching the Elves were as creatures out of legend. They knew they existed in far-off lands, but never had Elves sailed up Anduin since before the city was built over a thousand years ago. Pale figures could be seen moving about the deck, readying lines and mats for docking, but no sound could be heard save the gentle lapping at the cutwater.

Suddenly then the ship loomed large before them and soft gray lines looped through the night to land at their feet. The nearest men looked down at them for a few seconds, but then a seaman's rough voice rang out. 'Are you frozen, lads? Haul and make fast. Belay those lines!' The spell was broken. The lines were secured and eager hands on both ends drew the ship against the dock. The ship was beautiful and magical, but it grated reassuringly real against the stones before a mat was adjusted. A plank was swung across to the shore and a tall figure in a long grey cloak strode across. He was fair and golden-haired. His mail was of mithril silver that caught the moon's light and set it dancing about his feet. Isildur stepped forth.