It was late afternoon on a warm early spring day.  Bright clouds chased each other across a deep blue sky.  His army was making camp in the rolling swales of the Downs southwest of the Undeeps. 

It seemed unreal to Cirion, a fine spring day coexisting with the certainty of a desperate battle against a powerful foe not so many days away.  He was proud of his men, the best soldiers to be found.  Man to man, the Balchoth were no match for them.  But it was not man to man.  They were outnumbered at least two to one. 

Centuries past, Gondor had more men at arms and a cavalry wing to support them.  Time, invasions, neglect and a long period of peace had not been kind.  There were less volunteers, less pressure to commit funds and with the migration north of the Woodmen and Northmen, less horses.  Now what steeds they had were used by messengers or hauling wagons.  All the more reason he reached out to the Eothoed.  He knew their reputation, the unstoppable force of their eoreds.  It had been 20 days since his riders left for the north.  He had heard nothing, knew nothing. 

His eyes drifted north, over the near hills and beyond, catching the glow of the late sky.  Far off a dot emerged against a puffy cloud drifting west.  Larger it grew, moving little to the left or right, as if fixing purpose on him standing there.

Vorandur, his general, emerged from the field tent and followed his gaze. 

“A hawk, Steward if my old eyes don’t betray me” he growled

“Coming our way it would seem.  Look its wings have stopped beating.  It comes in at a glide.” Cirion replied.

The hawk banked left, then right, coming down from its high flight line, braking its speed, but keeping its eyes on the man in a white tunic standing just two hundred yards distant.  It was he who he had been sent to find.  The red hawk drew close rapidly, then reared up, fluffing its wings at the last, stopping forward motion and landing haughtily in front of Cirion, eyes flashing.

“Look, its right talon.  It bears a message” Vorandur observed.

Cirion approached it gradually, then knelt in front of the raptor, gently removing the tightly wrapped band about its right leg.  And aide appeared at his side with some scraps of meat to keep the hawk busy and sated.

Cirion unrolled the message.  His eyes widened, then closed with a relieved sigh.

“It is from Gandalf the Grey.  The Eotheod are coming, in large force.  Just over a fortnight they will be north of the Undeeps.”

“They must make haste.  The Balchoth will not abide along the Anduin waiting on their arrival.  I fear we will meet them sooner than that.  The latest scouting report estimates their lead elements crossing the Anduin on the tenth of the month.”  Vorandur replied

Cirion grimaced at the news.  Even moving at twenty miles a day he would be easily sixty miles west of the Anduin by the twelfth. 

“Yes, it means they will have crossed in full numbers before we can engage them.” 

“Our plan to attack them when they had only landed several thousand is now abandoned.”  Cirion muttered half to himself.  That plan had promise, his ten thousand to make swift work of seven thousand crudely armed easterners having just crossed the river.  Then the odds might look better against the remainder of the Balchoth after the first group was defeated.

Now the odds were longer.  They would be outnumbered at least two to one, maybe more.  Even worse, by his estimate now they would engage on the twelfth, a full three days before they could expect the Eotheod. 

“We must hold out, general.  The Eotheod cannot arrive to the Balchoth picking over our corpses on the battlefield, then turning and swarming over the horsemen who will be alone in this land.”

Vorandur knew what this meant.  Surrounded perhaps, facing a battle of attrition against an enemy of superior number with little regard for their own casualties.

“We must tell the men the truth.  That we face a dire battle.”

“We must also give them hope, general.  The possibility that the Eotheod may come to our aid.  A further reason to fight on, survive.”

Vorandur nodded affirmatively.  On the eve of battle, not many days hence, this would be revealed to the men.  In the meantime, tactics would be revised and drilled, supply and rations adjusted for a siege.  Men would have time to prepare themselves in their hearts that their minds would be settled and firm on that fateful day. 

Vorandur knew that would make them stick together in grim, solid purpose.