 | Within these pages, here I write my account of the battle of Amon Sûl; which Men call now Weathertop. In the days of Old, of the early years of the Third Age; it was called the Hill of Wind. Within, it held an object of great power…the Master Palantír; from which it is said Elendil watched for Hîr Gil-galad’s forces, in the waning days of the Second Age. Before I was given reason to travel to that accursed place, that is Amon Sûl, I was a scout for Lothlórien. No higher in the ranks of the Malledhrim, as Master Fairthalion or Lady Nimathaera. One day, as I remember correctly, I was summoned to the House of Celeborn, where there stood my Lord and Lady. They walked to me, and said “Suilad, Andarne. You have been summoned hither, to answer a call of War.” I was kneeling low, for I was not as accustomed to their presence as I am today. “In my mirror, which many things past, present and possible are seen; I have saw a great battle. Where, I cannot say. When, neither. But you and your company are there. Thus, you are to head to the house of my daughter; and speak with her Lord. Do not fail us, in this errand. And take what you need.” Two days after this, when I had gathered five of my closest and most trustworthy soldier-friends; we set out to Imladris. The days were warm, for it was Summer in the days of Men. Yet as we crept into Eriador, the air grew chill. Imladris was close to the realm of Cardolan, which houses the tombs of Men past. Angmar was close to those lands, and even closer still to Imladris. As we set foot in the Valley, we were greeted by the Sons of Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir, to us seemed indifferent. “Our father awaits you” said one. “Come with us” said another. And we did… Elrond, whom was by this day Old in the ages of Elves, was in his library. We, being myself and my company with his Sons, spoke long about the troubles brought by Angmar and the Witch-king’s sorcery. “Rhudaur has been taken. The hill-chief’s of the Dunedain are in revolt, and serve the Iron Crown; puppets of a Elder Malice…” said the Lord of the House, memory in his eyes. “Now, we fear, they seek to take the stronghold of Fornost by force. However, standing in their way are the Weather Hills; and with them Amon Sûl. We know of the power held there; yet if the Witch-king’s sorcery taints but one, or distracts the viewer…all will be lost” he continued. “Go now, Andarne of my wife’s kin; to that hill. And warn of this.” Myself and my kin were not in Imladris for long, near a day at least; and thus we set out once again… Amon Sûl came into our sights, on the fifth day of our travel. It was an astounding sight, rising a thousand from the ground. Walls ran along the hills, rising to the citadel on the summit. The walls were garrisoned not as I had imagined, by thick rows of Men with shining armour and weapons. Instead they were scarcely armed; for it was apparent that the full force was elsewhere. Arveleg, then King, heard of our arrival from his scouts (we made no reason to hide ourselves), and greeted us at the gate. “Welcome, friend Elves! Why dost thou come hither to this citadel?” he asked. I shook his hand, he was firm in grasp, and said “Lord Arveleg, of Arnor. I am Andarne of the Galadhrim, sent by Elrond of Imladris to warn you. Angmar’s arm has grown long, and thick; and threatens the City which your Men occupy. Fornost will fall, if forces are not sent!” Doubt was in his eyes, as was fear…yet he still held the standard of the Men of Numenor; they were a proud folk…and still are, though hindered. “Friend Andarne, look around thou. Dost thou see the Men we have hither? Our folk are abroad, fighting…hither is unkempt, but strong. Thy enemy will think twice, ‘afore coming hither.” Arveleg and I spoke long; and of many things. But I did not linger on the subject of the Palantír, which was set in the citadel. It was an Evil thing…to Elves, at least. We would not willingly look into it; for the Seven Stones were brought from a Land tainted. As the sun rose atop the mountains, battle horns sounded. Angmar had hidden in the hills, with Troll-folk and iron. They descended like water upon rock, and crashed against the walls. "Go to the battlements, friend Elf. And do what thou can!" said Arveleg to me. I took my company to the wall upon the third landing. By accounts, we were still far from the ground; yet Angmar's horde flowed like water dammed. The hill was surrounded, save for the back paths West. The gate did not last long, as the catapaults from the hills slew all that were in their view. “The gate is breached! The gate is breached! To the higher levels!” I heard ring out from below. "Leitho i philin" was shouted many times, as the Men of Arnor spoke our language often. The archers atop the citadel tossed spear and arrow down upon our Enemy. My bow, which was not the one I bear now, sang. Many I felled; yet a unlucky arrow struck my kinsman on my right and he was slain instantly. Not five minutes later, another of my kin was struck in the neck, yet spoke unto me before he died. "Andarne, friend. Should this day fall to ruin, and Angmar triumph...avenge it!" He died in my arms, and I wept softly. The battle raged onward, below; and suddenly the Trolls broke the inner gate. To many, the fortress was already lost; yet we all fought on. Arveleg had retired to the citadel, to use the palantír. I watched in horror as a catapault’s stone, which hurtled through the air, crashed into the walls of Amon Sûl. The citadel was crushed; and I presumed Arveleg slain, for afterwards his fate is unknown to me. The day turned to night, and still the battle raged. Yet even during the battle, silence rose. Those inside the walls kept fighting, but began shouting cries of “Iron Crown!” and “For the Dread-lord”. This was spurred by the arrival of he who commands them. I saw him, far off, in the hills atop his black steed, the Witch-king. My heart was filled with dread, for I knew there and then that he was far above any Mortal-man. A malice surrounded him, and his voice could be heard even by the Men of the citadel. “Raize it to the ground! Go forth all legions!” The battle was soon lost. I made for the rear entrance, which was a path down the high-hill, to a lake behind the fortress. Twenty-five and three Elves, of which I was one, escaped that night. The rest were slain, or worse...as we turned, to view the citadel that we stood guard over flames licked the sides of the walls and the citadel. Angmar had won this day, and their Dread-lord was scouring the ruins for his prize. The palantír. Yet hours passed, and as me and my company rested in the wood; we heard his scream of anguish and hate. His prize, was lost. Not in the city, yet sped out. Fornost was our next destination, and I saw off the Men that we travelled with. Our account, which I write here, was given to the new Lord; and we fled to Imladris again. There, Lord Elrond and Master Glorfindel of Gondolin greeted us at the valley gate. They had an air of sorrow around them, yet they sensed the dread which befell us. The Lord of Gondolin bid us follow, to his haven atop the Falls. We spoke long of what the Witch-king was. What he could be…and he was lost in thought. Not three days after, I sped to Lórien again; as did my kin. We learned that not long after, the realm of Cardolan fell. And thus, my tale here ends. Yet again; it will be told, for I stood alongside the White Lord, and Eärnur, at Fornost’s gates. |
