The Eye of His Dark Majesty

A Farmer's Son

The day wore on, and with each hour that passed, the land grew more ominous. The sun barely pierced the thick, overcast sky, casting everything in a dull, lifeless light. We rode in near silence, the rhythmic sound of hooves and the faint clinking of armor our only companions. By the time we reached a vast stretch of open land, the weariness had seeped into every bone, but none of us complained. We knew this would likely be our last night of rest before the battle to come.

Halbrand, ever composed and aware of the terrain, called for the halt. He surveyed the landscape ahead and said, "We're close. Just a day's ride, maybe less, and we'll reach the Southlands."

The soldiers began dismounting, their movements purposeful and swift. There was no celebratory mood in the camp tonight. No laughter or boasting, no songs to ease the tension as was common the eve before battle. The darkness of Middle-earth had stolen even that small solace. Everyone knew we couldn't risk drawing attention—especially not here. The threat of orcs, or worse, was ever-present, lurking in the shadows.

Tents were swiftly erected, blending into the gray landscape as night began to fall. I was given my own, positioned near the center of the camp, close enough to hear the constant murmurs of soldiers and the occasional barked orders. I could feel the weight of the coming battle pressing on me, but I knew I had to focus, had to be prepared.

As I slipped inside my tent to take a brief moment to gather myself, I removed my armor and slipped into my usual garments; a teal dress with white undertrim that seemed to hang on my frail figure. With my training, lack of sleep, and eating hard bread for days on end, it seemed my body had begun to thin. I didn't even notice, but now it concerned me. I was frail and had no muscle. If an orc half the size of me attacked I'd probably die from its weight alone. I tried to push those intrusive thoughts from my mind and I was more than ready to go to sleep but a guard approached the tent. "Lady Morena," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Commander Galadriel requests your presence at the war meeting."

I nodded, not entirely surprised, but still feeling the rush of nerves at the invitation. Quickly, I gathered myself and followed the guard through the maze of tents, my heart pounding with anticipation, and the exhaustion of today finally catching up to me.

The meeting was held in a larger tent near the front lines, where Elendil, Halbrand, the Queen, Galadriel, and several Númenórean generals had already gathered. The air inside was thick with tension, but also purpose. A map of the Southlands lay stretched across the table at the center, marked with various figures and symbols. All eyes were on the plan ahead.

Galadriel gave me a brief, encouraging nod as I entered, and I stepped to the edge of the group, listening intently as Elendil spoke first.

"Our scouts report movement in the Southlands, but it's unclear how large the enemy force is. We must assume the worst."

Halbrand leaned over the map, tracing a path with his finger. "If we approach from the east, we might have a chance to flank them, catch them by surprise. But the terrain is treacherous, and if we're spotted before we can secure the high ground, we'll be at a disadvantage."

The Queen listened, her expression thoughtful, then turned to one of the generals. "What are our numbers? Will we have enough to hold the line if the enemy outflanks us?"

The general's reply was grim. "We'll be outnumbered, no matter what. But if we can secure the river, it will limit their movement and give us a defensible position."

At first I pretended to study the map closely, as the others were doing. But that's when I noticed it. My mind was racing through everything I had learned about warfare and strategy. It was strange, being here among such seasoned warriors, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I could offer something of value.