The eastern sky was just beginning to pale when Borondir woke with a start, shaking the sound and feel of battle from his mind.  A dream some would say, though the Steward’s banner surrounded by wild men felt real enough.  Then he’d smiled, recognizing that the fading stars meant the mists had left.  And something more, the cool west wind brought the scent of water.  The Anduin was near.  He’d gone to wake Eorl to appraise him of their location, but the young Lord was already up, tending to Felarof.

“My lord, the mists have left us.  We are less than an hour’s ride from the North Undeep.”

“The night scouts say none stand in our way.  We will need your eyes to take us on the best path of crossing.” Eorl had replied, grooming his great white horse, cleaning its ears. 

“I came just this way weeks ago heading north.”

“But it was just you.  Now seven thousand must cross and without delay.  Quickly now, meet with the wing commanders and first captains.  Set out their path.  I feel this morning a great need for haste.  Time is not our friend.”

Borondir had instinctively saluted and walked away briskly towards the commander’s encampment.  Quickly he’d outlined the plan then made way back to his horse.  He’d heard horns sounding as the eoreds woke and mustered.  Orders had been shouted, saddles creaked, weapons rasped as they slid into sheaths. 

He’d too felt the need for haste.  His heart had told him the dream had been no fantasy.  It foretold what was to come unless they were in time.  He’d mounted his horse and joined Eorl and Aragost.  The final act had begun.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leofric took his station as first captain, positioned ahead of five eoreds who would follow his command.  A restless tension was in the air.  They had crossed the Anduin and now waited in formation for Eorl to give the signal.  Leofric looked down the line from his position on the far-right wing.  Seven thousand helms glinted in the morning sun.  Chain mail caught the light in a dull sheen.  A pulsing wall of steel and hooves ready to be unleashed.

They had been riding for days.  Now, suddenly they had arrived.  What was a practice field drill or a distant goal, was now their purpose imminent upon them.  Leofric felt a shiver of excitement mixed with a tinge of uncertainty, not of fear, but for lack of past experience to guide him.  Brelof, his dark chestnut horse pawed the ground, blowing expectantly through his nose. 

Once again Leofric checked his weapons.  His sword slid easily out of the scabbard.  He hefted his lance then replaced it in its long sheath.  Stilling himself he straightened in the saddle, let his fingers idle through Brelof’s black mane and took a deep breath.  The signal.  They waited on the signal.    

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eorl waited impatiently, alone in front of the center wing. The river crossing had taken the better part of an hour on top of two hours prior ride.  He had positioned his fastest scouts in the front, to swiftly depart once they had crossed, their mission to find the trail that led to battle.  Now they returned in a flurry of hooves and flying grass, dismounted and dashed over to Eorl, breathless.

“Three leagues to the west.  A great battle.  The plains are littered with dead.”

 “What of Gondor?”  Eorl replied sharply.

 “The earth is trammeled and worn moving north.  Methinks Gondor has retreated with the Balchoth in pursuit.”

Aragost unfurled a map on a small folding camp table.  Eorl stared intently as Aragost pointed out features on the land. 

“The battle was several leagues from the Limlight.  Gondor will not retreat only to have the river to their backs.  They would have crossed last night and will defend their far shore to the last man.”

Borondir had quietly walked up and joined them.

“Aragost speaks truth.  Such tactics are as we have been trained.  But while we stand here the Balchoth are mustering to cross the Limlight.”

Eorl digested this information and counsel for a moment.  Then he mounted Felarof and looked east.  The entire eohere had made the crossing.  They were in formation, nearly two miles wide and eight riders deep.  The morning sun sparkled on seven thousand polished helms.  The horses were restless, sensing the anticipation in the men, the imminence of battle.

Their enemy was less than two hours ride away, on foot, unsuspecting.  He summoned his wing commanders along with Borondir and Aragost. 

“The Balchoth advance will be slowed by the labor of crossing the Limlight and what resistance Gondor will make on the far shore they defend.  The bulk of their army will be crowded along and behind the near shore eager to take their turn in the crossing.”

Eorl paused for a moment then shared in the wolfish smiles breaking out on the faces of his commanders.

“Yes, you see it as well.  We will charge through their ranks like a great scythe through winter wheat.  The right wing will cross the Limlight and make battle with any Balchoth who have crossed and engaged with Gondor.  The center wing will obliterate those Balchoth yet to cross into the mud.  The left wing will then pursue any still standing across the plains til none live.”

“And of the archers, Lord?”, asked the commander of the left wing.

“Let them loose their arrows where the enemy is most thickly clustered, then save a few shafts for the pursuit of the stragglers across the plain.  Now, join your men, issue your orders.”

The wing commanders galloped off.  Aragost and Borondir mounted their horses, joining Eorl who sat astride Felarof, the great white steed snorting with excitement

The sun was shining in a vault of deep blue.  A fair west wind rustled the grass.  It was a day meant for victory.

Eorl turned in the saddle and signaled to his hornsman to blow the march.  His wing commanders responded, then the first captains, their horns echoing over the plains. The great line began to move, gathering speed. The land trembled under the rolling thunder of thousands of hooves.   Eorl felt a great surge of pride in the men, their mission.  This would be the best of days.