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Summary:

After countless years amidst the treacherous lands under Sauron's shadow, the Last Alliance found themselves frustratingly unable to breach the formidable walls of the Dark Tower. Desperation loomed, and it was evident that a new plan must be devised to entice the Dark Lord out and shatter the relentless siege. However, such a task was not to be taken lightly, and while the noble Kings of Middle-earth debated the matter in their war council, Jon and his companions ride for Minas Ithil for much needed rest.

Notes:

Kindly leave a review, I do love hearing from you all as we near chapter 90.

Chapter Text

Year 3440 of the Second Age of the Sun

"Six years, six wearying years of besieging this accursed tower, and we have done little save given the Orcs kindling," said Gil-galad, rising from his seat.

"Yes, my Lord though it seems fortune has been kinder to us than many might have hoped," said Glorfindel, his grey eyes glinting. "Though we have lost many, Sauron cannot flee his tower, nor can his Orcs break our sorties."

"Perhaps, but it does is little good to trap Sauron in his Tower; a cornered wolf still has fangs, and I fear that we shall be drawn into a prolonged siege much like we were at Angband," said Gil-galad wearily.

"The walls of Barad-dûr have proven resistant to any siege craft we possess; even after many years of work, we've not marred them in the slightest. I think nought save the hammer of Mahal could bring down those cursed doors," seconded Durin, stroking his greying beard.

"We cannot enter the tower, and Sauron cannot drive us from his land... So what hope is there?" said Gil-galad, glancing towards Elendil with his shining eyes; the years had taken a toll upon his friend, his once dark hair was now marred by veins of silver, and his face was sad and stern as if a great doom lay upon him, and yet hope dwelt ever in the depths of his heart.

"Between the siege and the armies marching from the east, it seems Sauron has thwarted us for now," said Elendil grimly.

"We must force the Enemy out of his tower. Only then will we put an end to all this!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"That is all well and good, my lord Glorfindel but how shall we draw him out?" asked Elendil, looking at them wearily.

"Perhaps we should bring more siege engines to bear at the very least that shall keep the Orcs at bay," said Círdan speaking for the first time.

"Aye, the Shipwright speaks rightly; we can burn the spawning pits nearest the tower and set a watch around the hinterlands. I'd wager that the Orcs shall not be rightly pleased to be cooped up with little food and none to kill but their own kind," said Durin, glancing at the map with keen interest.

"A sound idea, King Durin; Orcs are savage by nature, and without such wanton slaughter, they shall turn upon each other," said Elendil thoughtfully. 

"It could work orcs are more akin to beasts than men, but to draw closer to Barad-dur is not without peril," said Gil-galad gravely. "Sauron built his fortress to be unassailable the walls are well-manned, and the enemy has all manner of missiles to cast down on us."

"Perhaps... but what other hope do we have? Sauron shall never leave his tower unless forced to do so, and I'd rather we not remain in this cursed place till the end of Arda," said Durin, drawing thoughtfully at his pipe.

"Indeed, though our fortune is better than I might have hoped, in truth, I thought we wouldn't make it this far, but it seems the Valar have smiled on us, so let us be thankful we have not lost as many as we might have" said Gil-galad.

"You are right, my friend…" said Elendil, wiping the grim from his aged face. "Let us pray whatever luck we live by lasts the rest of the war."

"Well, now that is decided. I must ask, where are the others? Surely, they wouldn't miss a council?" said Glorfindel, noting the absence of his compatriots.

"Elrond has gone away to the south to scout the plains of Nurn," replied Gil-galad.

"As for my sons and grandson, I sent them to Orodruin and Lithlad to make certain we aren't taken unawares by the Easterlings or the men of Khand," said Elendil, pouring a little liquor from his silver-studded flask of leather.

"That upstart Magni is with his kin from Rhun. It seems the fools slew a particularly large Troll yesterday and thought to celebrate with some whiskey from Dorwinion, and now he's nursing the hangover…" laughed Durin, stroking his great beard cheerily.

"Tis most odd where is the Lady Galadriel?" asked Prince Amroth, looking round, as if he expected her to suddenly appear.

"It seems she wished to accompany Jon and the other to Minas Ithil" answered Thranduil, taking a draught of water.

"Why did Jon and his people go to Minas Ithil?" asked Durin, bewildered.

Elendil sighed. "Lady Fíriel of Emyn Arnen has sent a great gathering of supplies up the river, they have fought for many years, and I thought it would do them so good to rest even if it nought but a few days," 

"Lady Galadriel decided to join the Westerosi for a mere pittance of supplies and tending the wounded?" said Durin, surprised that the Lady of Edhellond would journey so far for so meagre a trifle.

"The mind of the Lady of Light is tricky and difficult to understand; her thoughts are deep, and she will have her reason for accompanying Jon and his family, although Lady Galadriel has always been merciful... No doubt the Lady visiting the wounded and leading the rest into battle will be a welcome sight," said Elendil cheerily.

Yet as his friend uttered those words, Gil-galad glimpsed a flicker of anger in Círdan's eyes, and the old elf frowned as if he had drunk a particularly sour wine.

"Is something wrong, Círdan?" asked Gil-Galad, glancing at the old Shipwright worriedly.

"No, my King, forgive me for my silence" groused Círdan. "I merely wish they had remained for the council. Jon has a keen mind for war, and Galadriel's wisdom shall be sorely missed."

Durin laughed. "The elf speaks truly. I'd think Jon a dwarf were he not so tall," 

"This is true; alas, we don't have either now... We shall do as Círdan suggests and burn the spawning pits, and if our fortune hold, the orcs trapped in the Tower shall turn upon one another, and Sauron shall be forced to sally forth and break the siege," said Gil-galad wisely.

"Aye, though I will not pretend it was a happy parting, it took many hours of convincing before Jon agreed to go," said Elendil wearily.

"That's odd Jon is never one to shy away from spending time with his family?" said Gil-galad in bewilderment.

"My heart tells me that your sons influenced your decision, King Elendil…." said Círdan looking suspiciously at Elendil.

Elendil nodded. "Mostly Anárion, who has noticed Jon growing restless as of late," he said. "At dawn not three days ago, Jon came to me and spoke of his misgivings about the siege, though when I pressed him for answers, he could give none, so I thought it best that he depart these lands for a time, no doubt this cursed place is playing tricks on his mind.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, Jon and his brothers have in a measure the foresight of our people, and they can read somewhat of the future, though I do not know if they might truly see all ends," said Glorfindel.

"Lady Galadriel holds him in such high esteem that she herself has taught him the arts of the mind and heart..." grumbled Durin, growing weary of the meeting.

"Yes, I long guessed that Jon and his companions possessed such gifts though I hadn't imagined they would rival the elves of Valinor," groaned Elendil, once more wiping the sweat from his brow.

Glorfindel laughed. "It seems to me that we are straying from the subject…." 

"Indeed, Lord Glorfindel...Very well, then we will set the orcs to flight and bottle them up inside the tower," said Gil-galad. "Now, is there any other matter that we must discuss?"

"A mere pittance, but those soldiers who suffered against the Orcs should be returning to the front soon. It seems that they were most eager to resume the siege," Glorfindel said, saddened by those who returned to the black earth again.

"Praise the Valar for the forethought of the Ladies Shiera and Ashara to come south with a great legion of their healers," laughed Elendil. "Even if Jon was quite displeased by their choice,"

"You are right, old friend, to mind so many soldiers is too much for anyone to bear, but I shall not fault Jon for worrying. He has suffered much in his long life," replied Gil-galad. "Though I admit I find it amusing that the poor boy is so henpecked by his lady loves; Beren was much the same as was Tuor."

They all laughed, and for a moment, the day seemed a little brighter as their minds wandered to happier days and thoughts of what they might do after the wars were over; and then the sun peaked through the gloom as if offering comfort in the midst of shadow.

(Rhaenys riding to the Tower of the Moon)

Rhaenys was most displeased, undoubtedly many would assume that she would enjoy the chance to leave that cursed land of shadow for even but a few days, yet such enjoyment was tempered by the pride of Galadriel, who at that moment was riding alongside Jon with a smile upon her lips.

"Once more, that damned elf wishes to taunt us as if it were a game," thought Rhaenys. 

She wished bitterly that her fortune had left her and Jon in the quiet of Rivendell. Still, it was not all bad; it had been many years since they truly had a moment of peace, and she was determined to make the most of the time she had with Jon, even if Galadriel wished to sour it with her haughtiness.

"How much longer till we arrive, Jon?" grumbled Arya, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"Not much longer, perhaps another half day of riding should the weather hold" replied Jon, "Have a little faith, Arya and enjoy the fresh air; it's far better than breathing the ash of Mordor."

"We've been riding for almost a week; my arse had gone numb," said Arya swatting at the particularly large flies that buzzed about their heads.

Rhaenys frowned, torn between her desire to reprimand Arya for her cheek and her own weariness; still, she knew it would not be fair to chastise Arya, and so she said nothing, tugging on her horse reins sharply and pulled back into formation.

"I agree with Lady Arya, Jon... Perhaps we should rest," grumbled Robar.

Arya glared at him. "I am not lady, damnable fool after so long in my company you'd think to remember it." 

"Yes, of course," said Loras, half kindly, half mockingly. "How could we forget proud Arya Stark, who wishes to act like a ruffian and sleep in the dirt."

Arya's eyes turned hard as stone, and for a moment, many thought she might draw needle and skewer him, but it seemed she had some sense and merely huffed and catered a little ahead of Loras, no doubt hoping to not hear his foolish japes.

Loras, seemingly unperturbed, met her gaze with a mischievous glint in his eyes; even after all these years, he still possessed the youthful arrogance that earned him the sobriquet of the foppish flower.

"Careful, Loras," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Words can be just as dangerous as a sword, and flowers may be scythed so easily."

Robar, not wishing for an argument, swiftly rode between them. "Come now, Arya let us not quarrel amongst ourselves. We are in dire need of rest, and the bickering will only delay us further."

Arya glanced at him queerly, her countenance half knowing, half humorous. "You're right, Robar," she conceded begrudgingly. "We shouldn't waste our energy on pointless arguments. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Loras, not one to let an opportunity for jest slip away, interjected with a smirk. "Ah, the mighty she-wolf learns the virtue of temperateness. Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

"It is a beautiful day, my companions," said Galadriel sternly, and her eyes glinted. "It has been so long since we have enjoyed such peace since the war began, do not spoil the day with your petty squabbles."

"But..." Arya began, but a stern glance from Jon silenced her.

"Enough, Arya, soon we shall reach Minas Ithil, and then we can rest. Until then, cease your foolishness, and that goes doubly for your Loras," growled Jon.

Rhaenys couldn't help but stifle a giggle, knowing all too well the seed of Jon's discontent. It was no secret that he was displeased that Sansa, Shiera and Ashara had decided to come south with a company of healers; though he had said little on the matter, she knew he was worried they were so close to the enemy's doorstep. 

"Oh, dear brother of mine... is it truly amusing to vex you, but perhaps you should have pondered what it meant to ensnare the heart of so many strong-willed maidens. Alas, there is no remedy now," Rhaenys pondered with a wry smile.

"Precisely, my good sister…." added Galadriel, amusedly.

It was some two years ago that Shiera, Sansa and Ashara had come south with a great company of healers and taken up residence in Minas Ithil, devoting themselves to caring for the wounded and overseeing the shipments of supplies sent from Lady Fíriel. No doubt, the three had grown weary of waiting in Imladris and thought it better to come south, no doubt wishing to be closer to her foolish brother.

As they rode on, Rhaenys's thoughts drifted to Arianne, who was in Imladris raising her son, Amanówë, who was Rhaenys's nephew. She wondered how they were faring in the peaceful sanctuary of Rivendell. It had been a long time since they had seen each other, and Rhaenys yearned to be reunited with her cousin and meet her young nephew.

She hoped that Arianne found solace in Imladris, though undoubtedly, Arianne would've marched south if she could.

Today was Amanòwë's sixth nameday, and Rhaenys felt a twinge of sadness that she couldn't celebrate with him. She longed to see the sparkle in his eyes, to witness his laughter and innocent joy. She hoped that Arianne would fill his day with love and make it memorable.

"I wonder how Arianne and Amanówë are doing," said Rhaenys cheerily. "I wish I could be there with them, especially on Amanòwë's birthday."

Jon laughed. "I'm sure they are well, Rhaenys," he said. "Arianne is a wonderful woman, and no doubt she is raising my son to be an honourable boy."

Rhaenys smiled. "You're right, as always. I just miss them so much. But knowing they are safe brings me some comfort."

Their horses trotted steadily along the winding path. The sun cast a warm glow upon the land, and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves. It would be spring soon.

(Minas Ithil and the coming company)

They had been going for several hours with only brief halts when at last, they were welcomed by the sight of Minas Ithil rising from the shoulder of the Mountains of Shadow; it had been many years since any of them had come here, and it seemed that the sons of Isildur had kept the land well. 

As they approached, their eyes fell upon the walls of Minas Ithil, which had been carefully restored to their former grandeur. The stone stood unyielding, a testament to the devotion of those who had struggled to rebuild what once lay in ruin. The sunlight danced upon the polished surface, casting a warm and welcoming glow that spoke of hope and resilience.

Yet, it was not just the fortifications that captured their attention. The company's gaze wandered to the lands surrounding the city; there lay many mounds, high and green, crowned by wildflowers, the crypts of those men who had fallen in defence of the city so long ago.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms, as if nature sought to honour those brave souls who had given their lives. The wildflowers, with their rich hues, whispered tales of valour. Each petal seemed to carry the weight of history, a reminder that even amidst darkness, beauty could thrive and endure.

The sight of the Tower of the Moon renewed filled Rhaenys with joy; after spending so long here, she considered Middle-earth her true home, a place where she was loved and revered, not treated as an exiled beggar as she had been in Essos after the Usurper's War. 

She hoped once the wars were over, they might return to Osgiliath, and the ringing of swords would be replaced by the laughter of children, yet her thoughts inevitably strayed to her brother Aegon; she had left him behind, entrusted with the burden of securing their family's birthright, while she ventured to lands new hoping for a better life. In truth, she did not know if he even lived; indeed, if her brother did, he must be a frail old man, but perhaps they might meet again one day.

"I hope when that day Aegon can forgive me…" thought Rhaenys sadly; it was then she heard a horn echoing in the valley, and it was answered by many others; it seemed their hosts had been alerted to their coming.

They rode slowly over the great bridge. Here the road gleamed faintly as if fashioned of silver, passed over the stream in the midst of the valley, and went on, winding up towards the city's gate..... Wide flats lay on either side of the banks, where many flowers were blooming; at last, they came to the Great Gate, and its iron doors rolled back before them.

"High Warden! High Warden!" men cried. "You have come praise be the Valar!" 

"Indeed, we shall praise them," said Jon. "I have ridden on its wings. Let me pass! I must come to your Lord's Aratan and Ciryon; our time here is short, and we must return to the front, so I bid you let us pass!"

Then the men fell back, and Rhaenys was able to take stock of the city's inhabitants. Few among them were women who no doubt tended to the kitchens and houses of healing, while the rest were soldiers, yet there was not a child among them as most had been sent north or to Minas Anor.

Rhaenys's heart sank at the thought of how many may never see their parents again, though now was not the time to despair but rather to enjoy the time they had, even if Galadriel might spoil it.

"Speaking of inconvenience, that elf shall make me grey before my time," thought Rhaenys angrily.

"Oh, my dear dragon, you should put aside your jealousy and envy; such bitterness is not needed here," said Galadriel, her bright eyes glittering mirthfully.

"Oh, do not think yourself clever do you think I can't guess your intentions?... The path to my brother's bedroom will not be as easy as you suppose," grumbled Rhaenys glancing angrily at the elf.

"We'll see, young dragon though you are free to joy us," said Galadriel boldly. "Perhaps we can leave our wolf out in the cold and amuse ourselves."

Rhaenys turned scarlet and her words and huffed angrily before riding a little ways ahead to escape Galadriel's teasing. As they rode through the streets, they were greeted by many well-wishers and some of the soldiery until they finally came to the courtyard; at the head of the gathering were Aratan and Ciryon, clad in their finest raiment's yet she cared little for the sons of Isildur and was happier still to see who followed them.

Shiera, Ashara and Sansa each stood tall and graceful, clad in beautiful gowns adorned with glittering jewels, their eyes alight with love as they saw Jon drawing near. As for her brother, he couldn't help but conceal a flicker of warmth behind his eyes, a smile that betrayed his joy after being parted from them for so long.

However, they were not the only ones who were delighted by the return of her brother, for standing beside Sansa was a woman she knew well, Lady Fíriel, the Lady of the Emyn Arnen, keeper of the silver mines of the south, and the one who had supplied their armies for many years now.

Jon descended gracefully from Lòmerocco, offering his assistance to Galadriel as she dismounted her splendid mare. Next, it was her turn, followed by her aunt Daenerys and lastly came Arya, who although initially grumbling, couldn't hide her reddened face as she reluctantly agreed to be assisted down from her horse.

Galadriel was swift to offer her arm to Jon, who took it graciously, and they set off to greet their hosts; Rhaenys frowned but knew it would be unbecoming to speak out of turn, so she followed behind occasionally hear the grumblings of Arya was displeased that Galadriel had bested her again.

Aratan bowed low as they approached. "Welcome, Lady Galadriel," he said, his voice slightly faltering. "It is an honour to have you visit our fair city."

"Well, met children of Isildur," said Galadriel merrily, her eyes glinting in amusement.

"My Lady, we beg you to excuse us for such a poor welcome... We didn't know you would come," said Ciryon, his face reddening in embarrassment.

"Think little of it. I did not know I would accompany them until the day before," said Galadriel laughing.

"In that case, my Lady, we welcome you to our city, although it is a shadow of its former splendour, but perhaps with you here, the White Tree may bloom again, and the city shall regain some of its former grace perhaps you would accompany me for a stroll? I am certain your wisdom would be welcomed by the inhabitants," said Ciryon boldly.

Jon's brow furrowed, and his eyes flashed dangerously; he knew Ciryon's intentions were ignoble; they were guests, after all, and it wouldn't do well to anger Ciryon as he would no doubt tell his father so fanciful tale of slight.

"Thank you, Prince Ciryon, though I am afraid I must decline; the journey has left me weary, and I would like to rest a bit", said Galadriel, eager to finish that meeting.

"Of course, my Lady and welcome to you as well, Prince Jon", said Aratan glancing sidelong at Jon though his eyes showed he didn't care much for his presence.

"Prince Aratan" said Jon tersely.

"It is a pleasure to see the herald of my uncle again; I suppose you have come as his errand boy to gather more supplies?" said Aratan, his grey eyes glinting in mirth.

"Aye, and to gather what soldiers we might to return to the siege," said Jon sternly.

"They have been restless as most have been waiting to return to the front, though let us speak no more of battle. I am certain you wish to rest. I will have the servants prepare your rooms," said Aratan.

"That would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, Prince Aratan," answered Jon, casting a sidelong glance at Shiera and Ashara, and though he was vexed that they had come south, he could not hide the love in his eyes.

But before they could greet Jon, Lady Fíriel stepped forward, eyes shining joyfully.

"My Prince...Lady Galadriel" said Fíriel, merrily.

"Lady Fíriel? I didn't expect to see you here, though I am pleased nonetheless even if our reunion must be in these unhappy times, I trust you are well?" said Jon, cheerily unaware of the anger of his companions.

"Oh, by the Valar! Even after a century, you're still clueless regarding women, little brother," thought Rhaenys as she glimpsed the anger of her old friends.

"I know, my Prince, these dark days are a cruel poison to bear, but it fills my heart with joy to see you safe and whole," said Fíriel, smiling.

Rhaenys glimpsed Galadriel's piercing glance as Fíriel after she greeted Jon. The Princess of the Noldor towered above the women like some fair statue, regarding Fíriel as if she were nought but an insect she wished to crush under her heel.

"Perhaps this shall be amusing" thought Rhaenys wickedly, knowing her brother would face the ire of her sisters-in-arms.

"I am glad to see you safe, Lady Fíriel..." said Galadriel, but her voice was sullen with displeasure.

"Lady Galadriel, it is an honour... though I shall beg your pardon if I have offended you", said Fíriel in a thin nervous voice.

Rhaenys couldn't help but notice the mischievous delight on the faces of Shiera, Ashara, and Sansa as they observed the tense exchange between Galadriel and Fíriel. It was apparent that her friends were thoroughly amused by the situation, finding some twisted satisfaction in witnessing the exchange of words.

Rhaenys knew that the Princess of the Noldor was not one to be trifled with, and Fíriel's innocent greeting had apparently not sat well with her. But even amidst the brewing conflict, Rhaenys sensed a spark of amusement in Galadriel's eyes, as if she found some enjoyment in challenging the Dúnedain woman.

Meanwhile, Jon seemed to sense the mounting tension and tried to subtly pull away from Galadriel, yet her grip was like stone. Rhaenys knew her brother well, guessing he was trying to find the right words to placate the Lady of Light.

"Think nothing of it... I understand that Jon helped you in a time of need; it is only natural you should speak to him with such familiarity," said Galadriel, merrily though her eyes betrayed her disdain.

"Thank you, my Lady," answered Fíriel.

"I would appreciate it if you would take us to our rooms, we are involved in a skirmish, and our time in this City will be very short; I would appreciate a rest," said Galadriel, glancing towards Aratan with a most knowing look in her shining eyes.

"As you wish, Lady Galadriel," the princes replied in unison; Rhaenys rolled her eyes. It seems even the Princes of Gondor were but tongue-tied fools when faced with a fair maiden.

"Is something wrong, Jon?" asked Fíriel hesitatingly, noticing the look of pain on her friend's face.

"No, my lady, I am merely weary from the long ride" answered Jon.

Rhaenys smiled, knowing well that her brother was suffering for Fíriel's foolishness; even after all these years, it was amusing to know that for all her wisdom and might, Galadriel was still a childish and haughty woman, at it seemed she wasn't the only one to think so as she heard Ashara, Shiera and Sansa giggling like giddy maidens.

"Then let us make haste," said Aratan, unaware of the struggle between his guests as Galadriel seemingly clutched at Jon tighter.

"That behaviour is not worthy of a Wolf of the North, much less of a dragon from the House of Targaryen…" thought Rhaenys angrily. 

As she followed behind her brother, her attention remained fixed on Lady Fíriel. There was something intriguing in the way Fíriel watched her brother. Her eyes held a fierce longing, yet as her gaze fell upon Galadriel, her countenance twisted into one of disdain.

"It seems my foolish brother draws women to him like a dragon to gold." thought Rhaenys angrily, "By the Valar, when shall it be enough for him?"

(Sansa, in the fortress of Minas Ithil)

Finally, after so long apart, Sansa could see her sister, though she had accepted long ago that Arya had become more than her sister; she was also her lover, and though she often felt shame at the thought of the things they had done, those reservations were swiftly forgotten when she felt Arya's lips upon her own.

In truth, she was wholly eager to rekindle their romance tonight; after all, it was how she and Arya had fallen into Jon's bed, working together like wolves for a kill, the mere thought of such things made her redden in joy.

Putting her impure thoughts aside, Sansa greeted her cousin and younger sister with a beaming smile, approaching them gracefully and dignified as a true Lady.

"Jon!... Arya!" cried Sansa happily; she wished to kiss her sister but thought better of it, knowing what a stir it might cause, she was a lady, and courtesy was her armour.

"Sansa!" Arya exclaimed happily, rushing towards her, all decorum forgotten as they embraced each other warmly. 

"I missed you..." said Arya, burying her face in her sister's bosom, not caring if anyone saw them.

"I miss you too, sister, and it's a shame you'll only be here for two days," said Sansa, her face reddening as Arya held her close and nuzzled her bosom.

"She's doing it on purpose…" thought Sansa embarrassedly.

"Arya..." Sansa whispered, her irritation evident at her little sister's indiscretion. Yet, as Arya broke away, a mischievous smile played on her lips, and her grey eyes glinted with desire.

"What is it, dear sister?" asked Arya innocently, but Sansa was not so easily fooled. She had known her sister long enough to see through such tricks.

"Tonight, we shall have a proper reunion," said Sansa, her eyes shining in mirth.

"Just as I hoped, my dear sister," said Arya lustily.

"Be discreet with your love, silly girls! You've no idea who might be watching, and I'd rather you not sully your reputation," said Ashara angrily.

Ashara's voice swiftly snapped them out of their little tryst, and their faces reddened in embarrassment. They turned to meet the gaze of their adopted mother, a vision of aggravation and reddened cheeks, glaring at them. While Shiera giggled uproariously at their chagrin.

"Leave them, Ash; after all, they love each other dearly and merely wish to make up for lost time." laughed Shiera. 

Shiera's words caused Sansa's cheeks and chest to flush as red as her hair, and she stammered, desperately trying to find an excuse.

"Oh, just stop it, Shiera," she growled, equally embarrassed, as she took Sansa's hand and hurriedly led her into the castle, with Shiera's laughter following them.

A few minutes later, Sansa and Arya reached their private chamber. After requesting hot water from a maid for a bath, Sansa locked the door so that no one would disturb them, and they both began to undress.

"Try to be more discreet, Arya," Sansa sighed, feeling irritated as she started removing her garments, while Arya had already immersed herself in the large tub of hot water with aromatic oils.

"Aaahh," Arya moaned contentedly, enjoying the warmth of the water, seemingly unfazed by her sister's annoyance. Sansa narrowed her eyes at Arya's nonchalance.

"Don't just ignore me," Sansa said, giving her sister a playful tap on the head. Arya grunted but shifted to make room for Sansa, who joined her in the tub, standing right behind Arya, who promptly used her sister's breasts as makeshift pillows.

"I wasn't ignoring you, silly," Arya retorted, relishing the softness of the support. Sansa sighed and began lathering her hair.

"You should start lathering yourself," grumbled Sansa, yet Arya only laughed.

"What do you find so amusing?" asked Sansa vexedly as she lathered sweet-smelling oils into her sister's hair.

"Nothing, but we both know that you've been looking forward to this... sister of mine," said Arya, a teasing smile dancing on her lips before she leaned in and softly kissed Sansa.

"Arya!" exclaimed Sansa as she turned red as her hair.

"Keep washing my hair, Sansa…." said Arya as she leaned into her sister's embrace, and Sansa huffed irritably but continued with her work.

"Alas, it's a shame Jon is not here" grumbled Sansa.

"I know, but I doubt Galadriel shall let him leave her side, especially after Fíriel's blatant flirtations," Arya mumbled angrily, as Sansa wiped away the foam about their chest.

"By the Valar... I had hoped some time apart would do them good, but even after all these years, Fíriel loves him," growled Sansa angrily.

"It is to be expected. Jon is the reason she is not a beggar," said Arya, and she sighed as Sansa began to undo the knots in her shoulders.

"Yes, in truth, I feel sorry for her. To see her house, dwindle and wither is a horrid burden. Worse still, she was forced to pose as a maid. If the ladies of Minas-Anor spoke rightly, Lady Fíriel descends from Tar-Ancalime, which means she is a relative of ours," Sansa began to speak, but Arya silenced her with a sudden kiss that left her breathless.

"Arya…" stammered Sansa, her face flushed from the warmth and love.

"Oh, do stop harping on Sansa; we mustn't lose sight of our prize. It has been too long since we all shared a bed, and I want us to make love as we did on our first night together," said Arya lustily.

"Oh, yes, that's true..." Sansa said quickly, as Arya began to caress her breasts tenderly.

"It must be such a burden to be so endowed with such plump udders, but they are comfortable," Arya said mockingly, and Sansa's face reddened in embarrassment; she turned and playfully swatted her sister on the head again.

"Shut up, Arya," Sansa replied, teasing her sister. "Now, let's get back to doing my hair. It's my turn to relax." Arya grumbled in vexation at the playful blow she had received, but Sansa knew that Arya was enjoying their time together. She rested her head on her younger sister's petite body, knowing she wouldn't pass up the chance to grope and caress her.

They sat there for some time in silence, merely enjoying each other's company. Alas, the mood was dampened as they heard someone pass their door, Sansa couldn't make out what was being said, but there was no mistaking the voice of Fíriel, who sounded quite pleased with herself; she frowned when she heard Jon's name mentioned and knew the woman must be plotting something.

"We must keep an eye on Lady Fíriel and keep Jon away from Lady Galadriel!" exclaimed Sansa angrily.

"Yes, but how? Galadriel clings to him as if he were a rare jewel... much the same as her aunt, and I daresay she is far more envious," Arya replied, her voice dripping with jealously.

"All because of that kiss she gave him after returning from Umbar," thought Sansa angrily. "Írimë did not care how it might affect us, but such is the courtesy of the elves."

"Perhaps we might corner Jon when he goes to sleep" suggested Arya, lathering her sister's shoulders.

"Mmmm...Maybe, but I don't think Galadriel, Rhaenys or Dany shall let him out of their sight," moaned Sansa, as her sister slipped her fingers between her thighs, teasing her pearl with deft skill.

"Please, Sansa, we are his darling cousins and wolves at that." snorted Arya. "Tonight, we can work as one, and I daresay that Jon shall not be able to resist us... now do be quiet and kiss me. I have missed you dearly."

With that, Arya kissed her sweetly, yet her sweetness gave way to lust, water sloshing on the floor as they made love after so long apart.

(Dining Hall of Minas Ithil)

They lounged in the bath for what felt like ages, enjoying each other's company until, at last, the water grew cold, they reluctantly stepped out of the tub as the water grew chilly, shivering slightly as the cold air of the chamber, clung to them, but it was of little bother as they wrapped themselves in warm towels taking care to dry each other before laying on the bed. Indeed, they had almost fallen asleep when Sansa jumped up in fright.

"Oh no, Arya, we completely forgot about the feast!" she exclaimed worriedly. "We need to hurry and get ready!"

Arya rolled her eyes playfully but couldn't help a small smile. "You and your feasts, Sansa. We're not used to all these noble gatherings," she muttered, but she knew to forgo the feast would be seen as an insult to the Princes as well as Jon.

Sansa grabbed a dress from the Nerby wardrobe and threw it towards Arya. "Put this on quickly! We don't have time to argue," she said. "It's a special occasion, and we must look presentable."

Arya caught the dress with a sigh, inspecting it with a raised eyebrow. "Fine, but I still don't see why we can't wear something more practical," she grumbled.

After preparing themselves as best, they could, she and Arya departed their chambers and set off as swiftly as they might; they were already late, and it wouldn't do to miss the feast altogether. They walked side by side as they made their way to the Feasting Hall, their footsteps echoing softly in the grand corridors of Minas Ithil. The flickering torches on the stone walls cast a warm, golden glow that illuminated the tapestries and ancient banners hanging proudly above them. As they approached the Feasting Hall, the laughter and merriment grew louder, and they could hear the faint strains of music playing within. 

The door was intricately carved with images of Lords long past and mighty ships upon starlit seas; fair and mighty it was, just as the Men of Westernesse who had built it so long ago.

Sansa paused before the door, taking a moment to calm herself; then, with a gentle push, the door opened, yet her joy was swiftly soured when she saw the scene before them. Lady Galadriel was seated to the right of her beloved cousin and Ashara to the left with Shiera at her side. But worst of all, Lady Fíriel sat opposite Jon, clad in raiment's of honey yellow, her golden tresses woven with wildflowers and about her neck was a necklace of onyx. 

Seeing that upstart so close to her cousin and knowing she wouldn't be able to sit near him that night after so many months apart filled Sansa with jealousy and anger.

Soon all eyes were upon them; Sansa flushed, knowing it must look foolish for her and Arya to be loitering in the doorway, and so she swiftly curtsied before she and Arya made their way to the high table as the servants scrambled to prepare their seats.

"Welcome..." said the princes at the same time.

"Prince Aratan...Prince Ciryon..." said Sansa merrily.

"Please take a seat; I trust you and your sister had a pleasant rest," said Ciryon politely.

"Yes, my Prince, thank you" answered Sansa kindly as the servants pulled out a chair and brought her a decanter of wine.

"It's been a while, Sansa…" said Jon softly, his eyes glittering in love and concern.

"Yes, it's a great pleasure to see you… Cousin," said Sansa quickly, taking a sip of her wine.

"I hope you are well and comfortable here", Jon said, and Sansa averted her eyes; of course, her lover would try to get her to return to Imladris.

"I'm well, Jon... the princes have been charitable hosts" Sansa replied politely.

"In that case, I shall thank the princes doubly for their courtesy and allowing us to rest here for a while" Jon said politely, and both Princes nodded.

"Think nothing of it, Jon... though I must ask, have you news of the siege? It has been some time since we have heard much of anything," asked Aratan, glancing at Jon hopefully.

"It's been a while since we've seen our father and brother as well as our grandfather, although that's also glad because it means they're okay," Ciryon said.

Jon nodded and considered his words for a moment. "I shall be honest with you. The siege of Barad-dur has proved troubling," he said. "The walls of the fortress have proved equal to any siege craft we might have, and we cannot hope to take the gates for want of the Orcs lying in wait, so we have trapped Sauron in his tower for the time being though this does us little good," 

"Aye, we must trust to hope then; we men of Westernesse have faced such trials before and each time shown the measure of our valour," said Aratan proudly.

Jon laughed. "You speak truly, my lords and more wisely than most," he said. "Never have I known a man stubborner than your father nor as wise as your uncle; I daresay they shall find some way to breach the Dark Tower, and should all else fall, I'd wager your father will climb the walls with nought, but his dagger and his courage."

"You speak truly, Jon. Indeed, I doubt they shall give up even if old Eru himself ushered in the next song," added Ciryon, regarding Jon with hope in his eyes. "I pray though that the war shall end soon, six years is far too long to be away from home."

"It shall be soon, my Lord. I'm certain of that," answered Jon. "Then, when this war is over, we might share in the days of peace together."

Aratan's eyes gleamed with hope. "Thank you, Jon," he said." I will hold you to your word and pray that Eru delivers us to victory soon."

Jon smiled. "You are most welcome." he said, "Now let us speak no more of war and death and perhaps enjoy the feast."

"Very well, my lord," said Aratan, turning towards Galadriel. "As well, my lady, I apologise for the poor reception. Had we known the Lady of Edhellond was coming, we would've prepared appropriately for the occasion."

"Your apologies are not necessary, Son of Isildur... I did not send emissaries announcing my arrival, so the fault is mine," said Galadriel sweetly.

"Even so, it is surprising to see you here, my Lady; I did not think you would have any interest in such matters," said Ciryon, eyeing her curiously.

"Although we should really appreciate your presence, my Lady, everyone in Minas Ithil is excited about your arrival and the soldiers who have finished their treatment and are ready to return to the front feel their courage renewed at the sight of you, Lady Galadriel", Aratan said quickly.

Galadriel smiled. "I am honoured to know I am held in such esteem by the High Men of Númenor," she said. "So, few have been worthy of such praise, my lord."

"Indeed, my Lady Galadriel, your beauty and wisdom are known by all," stammered Ciryon, his cheeks reddening. 

At those words, the halls were filled with laughter, yet Sansa couldn't help but perceive a change in Jon's countenance. Beneath the guise of a smile, his violet eyes glinted with an ember of concealed ire. 

 "By the Valar, how did I come to love such a fool?" thought Sansa angrily" Why must those fanciful elves always outshine us? I love him just as keenly as them, even more so perhaps."

Sansa was weary of such games; she loved her cousin madly. However, she could scarcely conceal the jealously she felt towards Ladies Írimë and Galadriel. Írimë, being her beloved cousin's true wife, all for want of a foolish kiss so long ago, while Galadriel seemed to enjoy taunting and teasing like some bespotted maiden, and she feared those two might take Jon from her.

"This is not a competition, my child…" said a sweet voice and Sansa nearly spilt her wine before she realised who the voice might be.

"My…Lady Galadriel?" asked Sansa worriedly, and her thoughts were filled with sweet laughter.

"My child, I wish to apologise to have made you feel such things," said Galadriel. "Jon loves you just as he loves all of us, do not think yourself lesser in his heart; you have flowered into a maiden most fair, the jewel of the Dúnedain, and he is luckier to have you in his life."

"Thank you, my Lady…" thought Sansa warily, wondering if the elf may know of her and Arya's plans.

Sansa only heard a snort of amusement in answer as the elf glanced at her, pale eyes glittering as the stars.

"Please, my child, I knew of your plot the moment we crossed the gates of Minas Ithil," Galadriel said, her piercing blue eyes meeting Sansa's own, which seemed dull in comparison to her Tully blue's.

Sansa frowned, "I... I only wished for one night with the one I love," she grumbled angrily. "You, Princess Daenerys, and Princess Rhaenys can be with Jon every night you desire. Even Arya..."

She heard nothing, yet Galadriel's face reddened as it seemed she had never been spoken to in such a manner.

"Your words are true, my child…"  said Galadriel, clearly embarrassed, and Sansa chortled lightly.

"Is something wrong... Lady Galadriel? Your face is flushed," asked Jon amusedly, noticing the ruddiness of his wife's cheeks and no doubt wishing to tease her.

"No, Prince Jon, I'm fine... it's just the wine..." said Galadriel politely, though Jon merely grimaced and nodded.

Sansa raised one of her eyebrows and accidentally dropped her napkin. Looking under the table, she saw Galadriel grinding her heel into her cousins' boot; it seems even after all these years, the Lady of Light doesn't suffer fools lightly.

"It seems Jon still plays the fool well," thought Sansa amusedly.

"Indeed, my girl, although I much prefer this to his surliness," The Lady said with a hint of sadness in the voice of her mind.

"Forgive me, my Lady?" asked Sansa bewilderedly.

Galadriel laughed merrily. "Oh, dear Sansa, he may not appear young, but for a fleeting moment, my thoughts wandered to our beloved fool," she said. "Even after all our time together, he can still act like a child."

"I wonder why we love him so deeply," Sansa sighed, taking a draught of her wine.

"That is a mystery beyond my understanding, young wolf." Said Galadriel, her eyes sparkling lovingly. "Yet I know I would not trade a single moment I've spent with your cousin for all the Mithril of Khazad-Dûm."

"I've pondered this a great deal; I've always lamented that Jon was sent south to foster with the Tyrells. Now, however, I concede it was for the best. If he had stayed, Arya and I could have only loved him as a brother," said Sansa, her cheeks reddening in shame.

"Oh, young wolf, it seems we are both determined to uphold Valyrian traditions, for I find solace in knowing that I am not the only one who desires to share the bed of our wolf with her kin," Galadriel answered, her blue eyes sparkling in mirth.

"Lady Galadriel, have you and your aunt Írimë...?" thought Sansa, utterly surprised. While it was known that both Princesses of the Noldor were, according to their customs, Jon's wives, Sansa had never fathomed that they would also share an intimate bond with her beloved cousin—much like Ashara and Shiera or Arya and herself. Blushing, Galadriel laughed gaily before returning to her wine.

"Well, now, I would like to know what Ashara and Shiera have been up to while I've been away. I hadn't thought they would venture so far south when the enemy is so near," said Jon, glancing at Shiera and Ashara, who met his gaze defiantly.

"Oh, they have proven true friends to us, my lord and saved countless lives," said Aratan proudly, 

Both women smiled defiantly at Jon, who, feeling a tad uneasy, averted his gaze, much to the annoyance of the Ladies.

"I'm glad to hear that," answered Jon happily, yet his eyes held sorrow. "I know that with them here and Lord Elrond's skill at the front, many soldiers will be able to return home."

"Indeed, many have been saved, but there are countless others who have already lost their lives in this war, and no poultice can bring them back." thought Sansa, and for a moment, her heart was heavy with grief.

"Thank you, my love, for your ever-flowing approval," retorted Shiera, a mischievous smile on her lips. 

Jon's face grew sullen as the two women shared a knowing look, accompanied by laughter from the rest of the table, Arya and her cousin's brothers-in-arms revelling in Shiera's jape.

"Oh, fear not, my love, we're merely teasing," said Ashara merrily.

"Don't misunderstand me," said Jon proudly. "I'm elated to have you both here. I take pride in your deeds and the countless lives you've saved with your knowledge. There isn't a soldier among us who doesn't owe you their life."

Sansa interjected, her voice tinged with curiosity and vulnerability, "But you wish we had stayed in Imladris?"

Jon sighed and paused before he spoke again. "Yes, I wished you had stayed in the North, far from such peril," he said. "You may think me selfish for such things, but I hoped to spare you all from such evils."

"But I'm a not; no, I have lived longer than most, and though Írimë bested us, Jon loves me all the same." thought Sansa.

As her thoughts were drawn back to Írimë and Arianne, she was filled with bitter jealousy. Though her glance fell on Jon, and though he smiled, his eyes were sad and stern, as if a great burden had been laid upon him, and she thought of Amanówë; he had not been there to hear him speak here first words nor take his first steps; Sansa knew it was a bitter grief for him to have already missed so much of the boy's life.

Sansa likewise knew that Arianne and Írimë missed Jon desperately; truly, it was as if joy had left the Princess of the Noldor; she glimmered enough like a radiant sun but a star pale and distant, yet Arianne was fortunate for she had little Amanówë. She smiled as she thought of the boy her little nephew appeared altogether Dornish, but for his eyes that twinkled a beautiful shade of purple and his hair that curled like his father's.

Alas, in those moments, seeing Princess Arianne with her son, Sansa felt weary. She had just celebrated her one hundred and thirty-first nameday and merely wished for a child of her own."

"Alas, I know how deeply my aunt and Arianne care for our beloved fool, and it saddens me to know of Írimë's suffering," said Galadriel, her blue eyes flashed. "Though I shall not lie and say I am not jealous of Arianne, I felt she took something that did not belong to her... Although it did not belong to you either, Sansa!"

"Your glib tongue does you no service, my lady!" exclaimed Sansa angrily, yet she heard nothing save the merry chuckle of Galadriel and knew that the elf was enjoying toying with her.

"Prince Jon..." Fíriel said suddenly in a sweet voice.

"Yes, my Lady?" Jon asked, smiling politely.

"I had heard that your Firstborn was born in Imladris a few years ago, but I never had the chance to congratulate you properly…until now," said Fíriel raising her glass.

"Yes, my Lady, some six years ago…" said Jon gloomily, no doubt thinking of the son he didn't know. 

Sansa's heart ached for her cousin, desperately wanting to lift his spirits, but she felt uncertain about how to do it. Indeed, she was not alone in her sadness as the others appeared just as unknowing, and even Galadriel couldn't hide her unhappiness as a shadow of sorrow passed over her face.

"Is something wrong, Lady Galadriel?" asked Aratan.

"No, forgive me, I was merely pondering the war", answered Galadriel, taking a sip of her wine.

Jon glanced at Fíriel, and it seemed joy arose from his heart for a moment like a spring from a rock.

"I thank you for your words, Lady Fíriel; alas, I have not seen him yet, but I hope that the war might end soon, and I can make up for the time I have already missed," said Jon, a glimmer of longing in his weary gaze.

"I didn't expect anything less from a man as honourable as you, my Prince," said Fíriel with a sweet smile, and her eyes shimmered merrily.

Sansa frowned; she knew that look all too well, and a glance to Galadriel proved her suspicions about Lady Fíriel were correct, as the Galadriel's eyes turned stern as a summer storm.

"You are very kind, my Lady, and I want to thank you for your help in this war," Jon said kindly. "The supplies you send from Emyn Arnen have often been our greatest aid. Cultivating crops is a daunting task, and without your goodwill, survival in such a desolate land would have been unimaginable." 

As Jon spoke, her faced reddened, touched by the earnest gratitude.

"My Prince, it is an honour to be able to aid in the downfall of the Enemy, whose treachery not only robbed us of our cherished home but also claimed my father; I'll aid you and our King in any way you might need even if I must storm the Dark Tower myself," said Fíriel fiercely as gazed at Jon her eyes smouldering with a fondness that unsettled Sansa.

"I am glad to hear your determination, my Lady. I realise that I chose my administrator well. Perhaps when the war is over, you may achieve your other desire", Jon said with a kind smile, and Lady Fíriel reddened before nodding.

"I hope so too, my Prince, truly, I do." Fíriel answered, "But none have proven worthy, I fear, but I shall not give up hope." 

Sansa's frown deepened as she caught a fleeting glimpse of the adoration in Fíriel's eyes for Jon. 

"Oh, she thinks she might seduce Jon? I suppose that is the reason she hasn't bothered to find a husband... by the Valar could she be any more shameless?" thought Sansa incredulously, wondering how the woman could be brazen.

"You are not wrong, child," Lady Galadriel said. "Fíriel, though fair and just as any woman of Westernesse, is still of the race of men. When she yearns for something, she is quite willing to do anything to see her heart's desire come true." 

"Neither Arya nor I will allow that upstart to get close to our cousin, our love nest has grown too large as it is," thought Sansa angrily.

"We are all of the same minds, it seems," said Galadriel boldly. "Alas, I fear that neither you nor your sister shall share Jon's bed tonight nor any other I fear tis a pity, but such is the way of things."

"My Lady? I have not shared by beloved's bed for years, and you now tell me I must wait a little longer; I shall have my due!" Sansa exclaimed, gathering all her courage to face Galadriel, earning a look of scorn from the elf.

"You are as shameless as your sister Arya in demanding that I hand him over to you... But I shall forgive such rudeness," said Galadriel. "Alas, you shan't share his bed tonight; Ashara and Shiera came to me earlier and asked if I would be willing to let them have a proper reunion with Jon, so I obliged them, a pity perhaps if you or Arya had been so courteous you may have had a chance."

Sansa could feel her face, neck, and chest redden like her hair as she sneered at the elf. Her meticulously crafted plans had been crushed, and it was disheartening to see them foiled, especially by her adoptive mother and her lover.

"That is not fair, you spiteful elf!" said Sansa angrily, her voice petulant, almost resembling a little girl whose beloved doll had been taken away. 

Galadriel laughed and took another sip of her wine. "No, but comfort yourself knowing I'm not happy about this either. Alas, if I should suffer such indemnity, then you shall as well," she said. "But do not fret, girl. Perhaps if you ask them sweetly, you might convince Shiera to share."

Sansa glanced at Shiera and Ashara, who were chatting animatedly with her cousin. Although, for a few moments, Sansa considered it, her modesty swiftly won out, and she felt anger. Sharing a bed with Arya was one thing; after all, they were sisters and knew each other very well. However, the thought of being with Ashara and her lover unsettled Sansa. She downed her wine and contented herself with the food before her, knowing it would be a dull affair for the remainder of their stay.

(Siege of Barad-dur the following day)

On that fateful morn, when the fiery tempest of Orodruin roared with infernal fury, the slumbering warriors of the realm awoke before the sun kissed the horizon. Assembled before the foreboding entrance to the Dark Tower, an air of trepidation hung heavy, for they knew all too well of Sauron's cunning and wicked traps. Six long years had elapsed since Isildur first beheld the dread fortress, yet with the passing of time, the terror it instilled only deepened. The shadows that veiled Barad-Dûr seemed to be imbued with a voracious hunger, concealing even its lofty spire from view.

Isildur, the valiant scion of the line of Elros, had endured these arduous years within the heart of Mordor, but the summit of the monstrous tower had never eluded his gaze, forever veiled in darkness. Only yesterday, his father, Kings Gil-Galad and Durin, Lord Glorfindel, and Lord Círdan, had decided to goad Sauron into confrontation. Their aim was to thwart the orcs' departure, hoping discord and scarcity would take root within Barad-Dûr. Alas, the efforts to breach the formidable walls of the fortress had proven futile.

"It is a dire situation, is it not, brother?" mused Isildur as he turned to welcome his brother.

"This rude awakening, courtesy of Orodruin's fury, has me yearning for the solace of my bed. How I envy Jon and the others," Anárion grumbled, his youthful spirit yet untamed despite being a husband and father.

"I understand, Anárion. I, too, long for respite from this foul air. But we must venture to Minas Ithil for supplies and to tend to the wounded. We have all had moments of peace," Isildur recalled, his heart heavy with memories of Aratan and Ciryon, sorely missed in these trying times.

"True, true. Though Jon and others shall return soon, so do not envy him yet," Anárion said with a chuckle. As they conversed, a peculiar sound caught their attention.

"What is that?" Anárion inquired, perplexed, as suddenly a massive rock hurtled towards them, crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact, shrouding the area in a cloud of dust, sending the warriors into a panic.

"Careful, they are hurling rocks!" Isildur's voice echoed, trying to discern the source of the deadly projectiles, yet the shadowy shroud veiling the fortress obstructed his view.

"Watch out, Isildur!" Anárion's urgent cry came as he pushed his brother away from another incoming rock, saving him from harm.

"By the Valar!" Isildur grunted as he glimpsed, albeit briefly, that the rocks seemed to hail from the tower's lofty pinnacle.

"Are you unharmed?" Anárion asked, helping him to his feet. Isildur nodded, vexed, when the gates of Barad-Dûr swung open, and a horde of fierce Orcs, goblins, and trolls poured forth while the rain of rocks persisted.

The retreat was no simple task, but they had survived the cataclysm of Númenor. Sauron's schemes could not break their indomitable spirit, Isildur sounded his horn and rushed to meet the enemy.

"Come on, brother!" Isildur bellowed while Anárion drew his sword, Anariel, its black blade singing with the heat of the sun. Together they rushed to bolster their comrades in the fierce battle against the dark forces while the rocks continued to rain down.

Before long, Glorfindel and Elrond, at the vanguard of the cavalry, thundered forward, their banners fluttering valiantly. Yet, the unrelenting barrage of rocks disrupted their formation.

Undeterred, Isildur met the orcs with the fury of Westernesse, yearning for Jon and the Westerosi to be present with the Helm of Hador, capable of instilling dread in their foes. But there was no time for such longings as he fought on, tireless and resolute.

Abruptly, another rock crashed nearby, veiling the surroundings in a thick cloud of dust and dislodging Isildur's balance. "Anárion!" he called out, hoping to hear his brother's voice, but there came no response, and his heart quickened.

Anárion! Anárion! Anárion!

Filled with desperation, Isildur sprinted toward the last fallen rock, and as the dust cleared, a sight that tore his heart asunder met his gaze—his brother lay there sword notched, his helmet crushed, his countenance frozen in terror, and blood trailing from his lips.

"No... No, Anárion!" Isildur's anguished cry echoed across the land, tears streaming down his face as he cradled his brother's lifeless form, and thus Anárion, the Lord of Minas Anor, had died an ignoble end for so mighty a king.

Notes:

Thanks to great red