The lead riders saw the armed horsemen on the hilltop and reined in their mounts. One raised his arm and brought the column to a sharp halt in a choking cloud of dust. A score of riders quickly fanned out on either side of the road. There was a brief conversation among the leaders. Then a dozen of the foremost horsemen rode on up the hill and stopped twenty yards from the Elves. Their cloaks were dripping and their long hair hung lank, though whether from a squall of rain or from the sweat of hard riding, Amroth was not sure. Their faces were grim and set and their eyes held a cold hard glint. Their leader was a large man wearing black and gold armor. A long blue plume trailed from his helm.
'Who are you strangers to ride thus armed in Gondor?' he called. 'And if you came from Pelargir, what do you know of its fate?'
Then Cirdan urged his horse forward. The man's eyes widened as he realized he was addressing not Men but Elves.
'From your haste, sir,' said Cirdan with a smile 'I take you to be Lord Barathor. I am Cirdan, called the Shipwright, Master of Mithlond in the land of Lindon. And as for your city, it is safe.'
Barathor's people cried out in amazement. Their astonishment and the change in their faces was wonderful to behold.
'But…,' Barathor stammered, at a loss for words. 'But we heard the city was besieged. We have ridden with images of fire and slaughter before our eyes. We feared it already lost.'
'The fleet is destroyed, it is true, but your banner yet flies from the Blue Tower. The walls are blackened and many defenders have fallen, but your son and his people held the walls until we arrived.'
'You saw my son?' asked Barathor, his voice tight with tension. He paused, as if afraid to ask the next question.
'He is alive and unhurt. We left him feasting in thanksgiving this hour two days past. Your Lady was with him.'
Barathor's relief was evident in his face, but he quickly asked, 'And the Corsairs?'
'We fell on them from the rear as they attacked the city. They are utterly destroyed. The Black Fleet will trouble you no more.'
Then Barathor's dark face was split by a wide white grin. He whipped out his sword and threw it spinning high above his head. It glinted and flashed in the bright sun before he caught it deftly by the hilt. The Men back in the main column were staring at him in wonder. No doubt they thought him struck fey. But two of the knights were already spurring their horses back to deliver the news. In a moment a great cheer broke out in the foremost ranks and rolled back through the column as the word spread.
Barathor directed his men to fall out in a field beside the road and the Elves joined them to tell what they knew of the battle. The mood was festive. Flagons of wine were broken out and passed around. Amroth soon realized that many of the soldiers were in fact mariners from the fleet of Pelargir. There were many downcast faces when they were told of the burning of the fleet, but they asked the Elves over and over to tell them the details of the naval engagement. They laughed aloud at the confusion of their ancient enemies when the White Fleet had appeared completely unlooked for at their rear. But the listeners' mood became more somber as they came to realize the losses suffered by the defenders.
'And what of young Foradan?' asked Barathor. 'He was at the bridge over the Sirith.It was his first command.'
'I know not, my lord,' replied Cirdan, but Amroth shook his head.
'Lost, my lord, with all his garrison,' he said. 'I heard the tale at the feast. The quays were so crowded with the ships of both fleets, many in flames, that some of the Corsairs landed on the other side of the Sirith. Many of the Pelargir people who had gone down to the docks were still rushing back to the gates. If the Corsairs had won across the bridge quickly they could have cut them off. The situation was desperate, because the gates were of course still open. Foradan's men held the bridge long enough to allow the people to escape and to close the gates before the Corsairs could reach them. It was a hopeless struggle, but every man of them held his ground until he was slain. They delayed the Umbardrim just long enough.
Barathor shook his head sadly. 'Foradan dead? That noble young man? He was so eager to ride with us, but I ordered him to hold the bridge.'
'From all accounts, my lord, he did all that could be done.'
'And you say losses were heavy? Do you need medical assistance? I have several skilled physicians with me.'
'No, my lord,' said Cirdan. 'My own healers are among them now. They can get no better treatment anywhere in Middle-earth.'
Cirdan assured them that his own ships would soon be on station at the Ethir and patrolling the River, and that his people were helping Luindor to begin rebuilding the fleet.
'Then there is no need for us to go to Pelargir?' asked Barathor.
'None whatsoever,' replied Cirdan. 'Your son told me particularly to tell you that he has everything well in hand. And it is true. With the people that I left there and the supplies we brought in the fleet, they lack for nothing. The mood of the city is one of thanksgiving.'
'Then we shall return to Osgiliath at once. These injuries we have suffered are the work of Sauron. Let us ride with Isildur and repay these debts. We shall take the war to Sauron's door and let him taste his own bitter medicine.'
His men cheered and clashed their weapons together, eager now for revenge.
'Come, my lads,' he roared. 'Back to Osgiliath, and thence to Mordor!'
And so the column formed up again, back the way they had come. But what a difference in their manner! Instead of galloping at full speed, they now cantered easily, their helmets slung at their saddles. They laughed and called to one another and asked endless questions of the Elves. They passed through a few brief rain showers, but no one minded.
And thus after a hazardous voyage and a long ride, Cirdan and his Elves arrived at last at many-towered Osgiliath. Topping a small rise, they saw below them the capital of Gondor within its walls. It was the largest city many of them had ever seen. It stretched for over two miles along the banks of Anduin, with street after street of stately mansions and temples and public buildings. Domes and towers and minarets bristled into the sky. The wide Anduin wandered through the city, and across its heart stood an immense many-arched bridge like no other in Middle-earth. It was so large that it was lined with houses along both sides, each with several balconies and cloistered walkways out over the River. And beyond Anduin the city continued again, stretching away into the distance.
Amroth had been surprised by Pelargir, but he stared in wonder at this immense city, much larger even than Mithlond, and yet all so new in comparison. Few of the buildings had seen their first yen. It was as if it had sprung up overnight. Amroth wondered how mortal Men could build so much in such a short time, and all without even the most basic Elvish arts, that they in their ignorance call magic. He spurred his horse and caught up with Cirdan, now jogging along a little apart from the others.
'My Lord,' he said. 'This city the Men have built is a wonder to behold.'
'Aye,' he agreed. 'Isildur and Anarion have made much progress in a few short years. And Elendil's city at Annuminas is nearly as great.'
'Does it not surprise you, Lord, that creatures as ephemeral as these Atani find time enough in their brief lives to create such beauty, and on such a scale? Generations must toil and die that their descendants, whom they will never know, should have a fair home. It is as if they forget that they are mortal.'
Cirdan's eyes moved over the city, taking in detail after detail. Each tower seemed lovelier than the last; each house more stately; each monument and arch more impressive.
'Perhaps it is because they are aware of their mortality that they build so feverishly,' he mused. 'Though they will be gone, the builders will be remembered as long as the buildings themselves stand. Perhaps it is their way of grasping at the ages that are our birthright.'
Amroth considered this. 'You may be right, my Lord,' he conceded. 'But do you ever wonder, if our roles were reversed, would we Quendi do as well?'
'That we shall never know. The Gift of Man is forever denied us.'
'The Atani do not call death the Gift of Man but the Doom of Man.'
'It is because they do not know so much of life or death as we Quendi. They see death but as an ending,
