Fall of Umbar
Fall of Umbar
by Mbat
It was a very, very short campaign against the south, which had held it's grudge against the north for many years. Prince Adrahil long awaited this day, the day that they would march upon Umbar itself. Their plans had been in the making for many years and a great fleet was brought up, and within the year Umbar itself and it's provinces lay in ruins. When they sailed home, there were many parties and songs of their achievements. Many citizens were skeptical until Prince Adrahil took Gobel Tolfalas with little to no resistance, and all doubt was washed away. There were no raids from Umbar that year or many years since then and so, a new banner rose above the walls of Gobel Tolfalas. The people happy again and prosperous, until a new enemy came from the east.
"Yes, that is him," confirmed Imrahil, "I have seen that face many times before battle."There was no doubt that it was Adrahil, even Lord Arthion and Cuon confirmed it, Dol Amroth lost a great warrior and leader. There were numberous wounds on Imrahil's father, and many dents in his breastplate as well. From what weapon, it was not known, but it terrified Imrahil that such an enemy could do this. "It's said he died in battle, yes?" asked the Prince.
"Araphor witnessed it, and his account of the battle was written by Meluinir" said Cuon, stroking his golden beard. He held a scroll up and read it aloud, "As the battle raged they (Haradrim) withdrew to a hill and challenged Adrahil, who answered their call. It was then, Adrahil and his vanguard entered battle unaided by request and he was assaulted by many enemies."
"Is that all?" asked Imrahil, looking over the wounds and Lord Arthion sat with his head in his hands. Cuon walked over to Imrahil, examining the dents in Adrahil's breastplate.
"I have heard that they were attacked by troll-men of the east, and it is said that they are strong as ten good men," stated Cuon, shaking his head. "Father was too old to fight these wars for us."
Many years later, Prince Imrahil is visited by Cuon, and they hadn't seen each other for several years. They had been separated by duty and Cuon had become famous for his habit of overindulgence. He was very trusting of others, despite being so close to enemy territory and was plainly oblivious to his surroundings, Cuon was known for being a 'fool noble' but he was charming and made many friends in Linhir. He had put on so much weight since they last met, so much that Imrahil barely recognized his brother.
"Malvegil's a good boy, and he'll make a fine Knight," said Cuon, stroking his beard, just like Imrahil imagined him doing. "Mistven has taken Barad Harn, all by himself? It seems, you did teach him something after all this time, and I thought you kept him because you didn't trust the man on his own!" Imrahil dipped his pen in ink as he finished talking, and began his letter to Lord Arthion.
"Mistven's a fine man, I only took him with me because he saved me many times in many battles, these haradrim are fiercer than we think," said Imrahil, "And I sure hope Malvegil hasn't taken after you, and if he did I'd come back to see Tirithoros in flames!"
Cuon laughed, his cheeks now flushed red, as he crossed his arms, "the boy has learned a thing or two from me, it's true, but I made sure he hasn't seen my bad habits." Imrahil dipped his pen in ink again, now wishing that Arthion was here to visit and maybe he could see his sister again.
"All these years spent on war, such a waste, and all that time we could have spent on better things," said Imrahil.
Cuon caught a glimpse of a scar on his brother's right cheek, "where'd you get that?" he asked bluntly.
"I avenged father, he was strong and fast, and he landed the first hit," he said, pointing at his cheek, "and I landed the last." Cuon readjusted his posture, now interested.
"You didn't dismount, did you?" he asked, curious. Prince Imrahil smirked, his scar now hidden behind his long hair, continued writing his letter.
"No, they were mounted, the enemy surrounded us, and I was disoriented," he paused, his hand shaking. "but then I... I-I saw Mistven, and he unhorsed them..."
There was a moment of silence, Imrahil's hand now still, he started writing again. "It's difficult to fight when you've got blood in your eyes," he finished. The Prince put down his pen and set aside his letter, he was getting ready to leave again.
"Have you heard of what's happened in the north?" asked Cuon, changing the subject.
"Yes I have, western osgiliath has been taken, and Gondor has lost two more cities over the river."
"Ha! Yes, those bastards managed to lose the west side of the city while keeping the eastern side! And now Denethor is asking you to join their battles in the north, can you believe that?"
"I've read the letters, and I'm afraid I can't leave now, until the Enemy threatens the white city itself," he paused, "I do feel for them, they've been at war all this time and gained nothing, yet we are so lucky. Boromir has fallen and Faramir is now missing, what are they supposed to do now?" asked Imrahil.
Prince Imrahil stood up, taller and fairer than Cuon despite his scarred face but in him Cuon saw hope. In all his years dealing with warriors and Knights all over the land, he never saw a man like Imrahil. Many years before, to him, Imrahil was a young boy, and perhaps too soft for war.
"The end has not come for them, yet, as long as we stand, many years ago we were under the terror of Castamir's sons, and they are now gone!" boasted Imrahil.
"So you'll so south and meet this 'Hannad' then?" Cuon questioned, "Arthion would not like that but maybe I should go with you!" he said bowing, "It would be my honor, afterall, it should be the duty of all young men to defend their right to live, I think!"