We bury the dead Orcs in a pit outside the walls. Súlion watches us from distance, arms folded on his chest, face hidden in the shadow of his hood. When I approach him, he turns and walks away without a word. He does not join us later at the campfire either.

Ingwil is in an elated temper. He laughs and jests with everyone, and he is friendly even towards me. We sit around the fire in a companionable mood, the Vanyar and the Noldor, when my cousin rises, stretches and looks up at the sky.

“My friends, two days from now these stars will shine over two cities freed from evil,” he says, and firelight dances eerily upon his face and form.

I shake my head. Two days? He has clearly underestimated the time it would take for our forces to arrive. “I believe it will take a bit longer.”

“Nay, it will not. We shall be in Eglarest on the day after tomorrow. I studied the map; the land is flat on the way, with merely some hillocks.”

I slowly rise and look at him closely. “What do you intend to do?”

“Why, to march to Eglarest tomorrow morning, cousin, what else?” He turns towards me with unfeigned surprise.

“No.” I am suddenly cold despite the closeness of fire. “We cannot do that. We must wait for the ships, for reinforcements.”

“Why should we wait?” Ingwil shrugs. “You saw our enemies, Arafinwë. They are no more than beasts. Yes, they can wield weapons and scratch someone with their blunt blades, but in truth, they are pitiful creatures. They barely fought back, they fled like rats to the river. Why should we lose time needlessly? But wait…” His eyes glint in amusement. “I seem to recall you were afraid of harbour rats in Alqualondë when we were children. Fear not, I will protect you, cousin!”

The laughter around the fire, be it a kindly jest or not, makes my blood boil. Reckless fools! And the biggest fool the one who leads them!

“I fear the disastrous consequences of rash decisions. We do not know how many of these creatures infest Eglarest. And those who escaped may carry a warning!”

This last frightening thought has only now occurred to me, and I curse the foolishness I mistook for compassion. Ingwil does not appear concerned in the slightest.

“Let them! How many can there be? They will fly shrieking at the sight of our banners. And if those creatures will carry the tale of terror, the better for us! We may even find the port already abandoned.”

He takes leave from those by the fire and walks away.

I follow him. “Ingwil, listen to reason! If you would not heed my warning, remember Súlion’s words. You underrate our enemies.”

“No, you overrate them. Súlion is an excellent guide but a poor advisor.” Ingwil waves his hand dismissively. “His mind is clouded by fear and hatred.”

“He has knowledge of our enemies none of us possesses. Eglarest is a larger city, there will be more Orcs present. Our numbers are too small to attack. One hundred already left for the ships. We shall have to leave at least three hundred here, to guard the place until the fleet arrives. And that leaves how many? Do you want to march with four hundred? Ingwil, please…” I seize his arm as he turns away. “I beseech you to see reason and not risk needlessly the lives of the people you lead!”

He pulls free and regards me coldly. “The people I lead will follow me without such whining, Arafinwë. Stay here, you and your Noldor. Guard the place. We shall have the victory!”

I shake my head. It will not be that simple. Does he not see? “This is but a game for you. A game you do not even know the rules of. Do you not realize that, instead of wooden pieces, there are people around you now? People who may be killed?”

His eyes narrow. “This is a game we will win, and every single one of my warriors is a willing player. But you clearly are not. So do not poison our hope of swift victory with your cowardice. Do us a favour – remain here and rid us of your presence!”

He turns and strides away, and I remain standing on the street amid heaps of rubble, shaking with rage, hands clenched in fists. So you would get rid of my presence, cousin? That will not happen!

The dawn is barely painting the sky when we set out from Brithombar. We leave three hundred soldiers to guard the port – an equal number from both hosts. A quarter of those who set forth are Noldor. Ingwil says nothing as we leave; he merely casts at me a single look, full of contempt.

Súlion marches with us, his face like carven from stone. At least he speaks to me again, aware of my cousin’s choices and our disagreement about them.

“This will end badly,” he mutters. “Very badly. Lord Ingwil has no clue what may await us.”

But he does not agree to remain behind.

I must admit, Ingwil has estimated the time well. On late afternoon of the next day we watch the port-city of Eglarest from a ridge overgrown with low trees, their trunks bent by the sea-winds. Grey veils of rain obscure the sight, and we discern merely indistinct shapes of walls and towers in the distance. The downpour started early this morning, and the low clouds above our heads show no signs of breaking. Everything around looks as miserable as I currently feel.

I cast a glance at my cousin. He stands atop a boulder peering intently in the gloom. Feeling my gaze, he turns and throws back his head spitefully.

“I will not change my decision!”

“Certainly, you will not. Admitting the folly of a rushed counsel is a trait of the wise,” I reply quietly.

Ingwil’s eyes flash. He steps down, turns towards his warriors and gives a sign to advance.

“Aranya, this is madness.” Artanar grabs my sleeve. “Will the Noldor take part in this?”

Torn in two, I look after Ingwil’s retreating company. I already turned back once. It was a wise decision, but one I afterwards regretted for centuries. “Can we abandon them now?”

Artanar frowns, then slams his fist against a stem of a gnarled tree. “No, we cannot.”

I nod and give command to the Noldor to follow Ingwil’s soldiers. We are in this together.

Cautiously we approach the open gates. None is in sight, no other sound than the pounding of raindrops on the stone and our armour. Ingwil gives a sign to proceed, and silently we pass through the gates into the main street that runs straight and wide towards the harbour in the distance.

Eglarest is similar in planning to Brithombar, but at least twice as large and considerably less ruined. The city walls still stand, and the towers, too. The houses lining the street are abandoned and despoiled, but not turned into heaps of rubble like in Brithombar; some even still have glass in the windows. And they are beautiful houses, built of white stone, with perfect proportions, leaning gracefully against the cliffs, surrounded by gardens, now overgrown and gone wild, but once carefully tended. Small pools of water or fountains adorn many courtyards, and in my mind’s eye clear droplets glisten in the Sun for a while. But then there is the dark, stagnant water again, its surface broken by ripples of persistent rain.

Sadness floods me that I must see the cities of Hither Shore like this – abandoned, plundered. If this was some other time… If I could just travel in a strange land, meet those who have designed and built these houses, exchange knowledge… We could learn so much from each other; some things I would have planned differently, though not necessarily better. If only… If…

Ingwil’s sudden laughter interrupts my train of thought, and I glare at him. But this time he is not laughing at me.

“There is nobody here; the city is abandoned. It is even as I thought – the rats have fled at the word of the cat approaching!”

He kicks a roughly shaped helmet that lies in the middle of the street, and even as it rolls aside with a loud clatter, nightmare breaks loose.