Changmin grieved when he saw the wreck and slaughter that lay around him. Fire and smoke and stench were in the air; for many Orcs bodies had been burned or cast into the fire-pits. The good earth shall be cleansed from the vile creatures’ filth. The battle had ended, and the elves soon labored as they searched the bodies of survivors, ignoring their own fatigues. The lamented sadness echoed around them, for they had lost many good friends and brothers.

The war, however, lingered. They may have won the battle, but the war continued; the Dark Lord lingered. The Cardonnan army managed to slay most of the enemies, and what remained of them had retreated back to their Black Gate. But it came with too heavy of a cost. There was no telling how many of their brothers had met death, but it was clear that the number was far greater than back in Gondolin, and for that the grief was heavy, the sadness was strong.

This was the King’s last war, and although it was a futile hope, he had hoped it to be the last one. But it was not. With the Dark Lord’s army defeated, it would take time before he could muster his dark army and attacked again. Still, it should give the elves enough time to prepare for the next war.

The King sighed. His body was weary and the wound on his left shoulder throbbed most painfully. He would not be able to wield his bow until it healed. He should go to the healers, Eric had advised him that, but he knew there were other warriors that had injuries worse than him. He had given the healers command to look after the warriors first. He had lost enough countrymen and he shall do everything within his power to make sure the rest of them survived.

And now he was looking for one elf: the Lord from the House of Golden Flower. Jaejoong was nowhere to be found. A few warriors told him that they last saw the Lord during the battle, but they did not remember afterwards, for they were fighting their own battle. Changmin did not blame them. But now he must look for his childhood friend.

Bodies after bodies he looked, his heart were mixed between grief and relieve every time he saw a body that was not Jaejoong. He knew that as a King he should not feel relieve, for it was his own people that had died, but he could not help but feel relieve. Hope lingered that his best friend was still alive.

Finally from few feet away, a guard shouted. “My King Changmin! Over here!”

Changmin rushed towards where the guard was. His heart sank. He would recognize that armor anywhere, for it was carved with golden flowers with five stars, and it was the symbol from the House of Golden Flower. The body remained still as Changmin turned it around. There was a deep gash on Jaejoong’s stomach, blood was pouring from it. But the Lord had not met death.

“He is still breathing. Quickly, take him to the healers.”

Few guards brought Lord Jaejoong’s body between them. They moved slowly, carefully, as they made their way to the Healing Tent where the healers were.

Changmin sighed in relief. His friend was alive and for that he was grateful. The wound throbbed again and the King grimaced. Black spots began to appear in his eyes for he too, had lost some blood. How he wished that his Consort was here. Changmin could do with the other’s warm hands now, the ones that had supported him many times before.

But Junsu was not there, he was in the White City where he remained safe, away from danger. And Changmin would see his Consort soon. It was almost pathetic when the mere thought of his Consort warmed him to the heart. He wondered what it would be like to raise a family with Junsu.

“My King!” Changmin ly to see Yunho ran towards him. His seneschal seemed unhurt, his gleaming chest armor was almost dark, for it had been splattered with Orc’s blood many times. He had with him a sword, one that was so familiar to the young king.

It was a sword he had given to Junsu. And at that moment, Changmin felt his world crumbling down. Something had happened to Junsu.

 

The young king listened to the new Lord from the House of Harp with a heavy heart. How in the Valar’s name could have this happened? Each word Lord Myungso had spoken had only made Changmin’s world crumbling down. The White City was on siege. Seven hundred warriors against twenty thousand. It was not a good odd. The city might have been at lost now, and so did his beloved. Junsu, Junsu, Junsu. His Consort had asked to join him in battle and Changmin had foolishly refused.

And now he might be dead.

Changmin dismissed the thought as soon as it arrived. No, he had to keep his faith. Junsu was a capable leader, a brave warrior. He would find ways to defend the city. Lord Myungso had also mentioned they had prepared their best; barricading the gates and placed the sentries. Then there was only one thing Changmin could do now.

He rose to his feet, but soon was overwhelmed when black spots appeared in his visions, for he too was injured. Two pair of steady hands came to him. He heard Eric’s concerned voice. “My King, you are injured. You cannot ride.”

“What good would I be if I cannot fight for my people, if I cannot fight for the one that I love?” the young king replied. “My Consort needs me, my people needs me. Prepare the men. Even though the night has fallen to us, we will ride to the White City. How many warriors do we have left?”

“Not more than two thousand spears my Lord,” answered Yunho.

“Gather them all and we would soon ride. The longer time we spend here, our chance to save the city lessened.”

Yunho bowed and quickly stepped out, wanting to abide his King’s command. Eric spoke in low voice, “Then you have to tell the healers to look at your injuries my Lord. And drink some herbal tea. You have lost too much blood and the tea will strengthen you. Lord Yunho will need some time to ready the men.”

Changmin nodded, knowing his guard was right. He sat quietly as two healers came into the tent. They cleaned the injury in his left shoulder and bandaged it. They told them that it would leave scars, but the young king paid them no heed. He would wear the battle scar with pride, as did his forefathers before him.

“You also have a cracked rib my King,” said one of the healers, “by all means you should not ride, let alone go to another battle.”

“That is not a choice, I have to go,” answered Changmin tiredly.

The healer bowed in acknowledgement. “I can put a bandage and perhaps a sling to lessen your movement. Try not to put a pressure on your ribs.” They worked quickly, knowing that their King was eager to leave. The news had travelled fast and the whole camp knew what had happened to the White City. The healers were too, concerned with their families and it was all they could do to tend to their injured King.

Finally the healers were done with their work. Changmin wasted no time. He stepped out of his tent, glad that his men were ready and only waited for him. Fatigue, concern, disbelief; it was all on their faces. Changmin wished things had gone differently. His men had no chance to rest and yet they were to fight another battle.

The King did not speak as he mounted his horse. No words could be of use now. They would need to reach the White City and only by then would Changmin speak. His men needed to see the enemy with their own eyes and Changmin knew they would feel fear. Twenty thousand was not a small number.

He glanced at Yunho, his loyal seneschal who rode next to him. “Do you think we should go by the Crystal Cave? Lord Myungsoo can show us the way.”

Yunho, however, shook his head. “Caves are not for horses my Lord, we can go there if we go by foot, but we need all the horses we can get. The Dark Lord’s army had none, it would be one of our advantages for them.”

Changmin nodded, seeing the wisdom in his friend’s words. Oh, how he wished Jaejoong was with him, but the Lord of the Golden Flower was injured and still unconscious. He would have to remain here at Cair Andros alongside other injured warriors. They had taken as many able warriors to ride to the White City, leaving only a handful to guard both Gondolin and Cair Andros. Changmin prayed that the Valar blessed the injured ones with fast recovery, and so they would stand guard at the fortress.

He turned his attention to the road ahead of him. They seemed so long, so far. “Norolim, Aerwithen for I fear we might be too late,” Changmin whispered to his horse. Aerwithen obeyed the command. She soon galloped and rode like the wind but the King’s heart was heavy. One name chanted in his heart. Junsu, Junsu, Junsu.

 

The Dark Lord’s army had broken into the Great Gate. The mighty mithril gate soon crumbled under the assault of the enemy’s siege weapon, for it was also made with mithril. The enemy had breached the gate and although the Elves of Cardonna had guarded the White City as well as they could, Junsu knew they were fighting a losing battle.

The sky now was quickly clearing and the sinking Ithil was shining brightly. But the light brought little hope to the Elves of Cardonna. The enemy before them seemed to have grown rather than diminished, still more were pressing up from the Field through the ramp and the broken gate. The assault on the White City was redoubled. Against them, the enemy roared like a sea. Orcs and Goblins and trolls swarmed about from end to end.

Ropes with steel ladders and grappling hooks were hurled over faster than the elves could cut them or fling them back. Hundreds of long ladders were lifted up. Many were cast down in ruin, but many more replaced them, and Orcs sprang up from them like ants in dark forests. The first, second and third level of the City all had been lost, and on it the dead and broken were piled like shingle in a storm, even higher raised the hideous mounds, and still the enemy attacked.

The elves grew weary. Many arrows had they shot, every shaft was spent. Their swords and blades were no longer the color of bright metal, but dark as the Orc’s blood they had slain. Junsu had rallied them three times, and three times had he succeeded.

He gazed at the scene around him. Andy had stayed near, as his oath had bided him, but many of their folks had perished. Junsu not know how many survived, and still the battle raged. Over the wall and under the wall, the assault came sweeping like a dark wave upon a hill of sand. The defense was swept away. Some of the guards were driven back, further and further to the next level, running and fighting as they gave way, step by step, towards the castle.

“We cannot hold them here for long my Lord!” Andy yelled as he killed another two Orcs with a single swift of his blade, “We have to go back!”

“Fall back!” Junsu shouted. “Fall back into the Castle!”

His men heard him. They turned and sped up the stair, shooting more arrows as they retreated. At once the enemies leapt forward, their long arms stretched out to seize the retreating elves, who climbed the vine ladder and cut them as soon as they were up. This way the Orcs had to break down another gate before they can reach the elves.

Junsu leant wearily on his sword. Away from behind the barricaded gate he could hear crashes and clamors of the battle rose loud. Soon it would too, break, and the enemy would come again. Junsu had lost hope. He had failed his King. He had sworn an oath that he would protect the city and yet he failed.

“Things go ill, meldir,” Junsu said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his arm.

“Ill enough,” replied Andy, “but not yet hopeless, while we have you with us. We have defended the city well and we shall have no qualm if we die under your command.”

“It is said that the City has never fallen to assault,” spoke the King’s Consort, “but now my heart is doubtful. The world changes, and all that once was strong now proves unsure. How shall any city withstand such numbers? How should-“

His words died in his throat, for Junsu had heard something. It was not the voice of battle around him, nor was it the jeering of Orcs from outside the gate. And yet he heard it clear and sound, raising above any other noises. He gazed at Andy, who unlike him, seemed had not heard the voice. But of course, how could he, for the voice came resounding only at Junsu’s mind. No. It was not possible. He had not heard that voice since many moons ago, and long had he relinquished any hope of hearing it again, for they were now separated by many seas.

But it was so familiar, so well-known. Junsu would recognize it with no mistake, for he had heard it since he was an elfling. It was the voice of the one elf he had missed since his wedding, the bonds between them now soared in the King’s Consort’s vein like a newly lit fire.

“Gwador,” he whispered.


-End of Chapter Twenty Two-


Glossary:
Valar = gods
Ithil= moon
Meldir= my friend