Wolf of Númenor

Chapter 49: Battle of Isengard

After two more days of travelling through the plains, the army of Belfalas and Jon finally saw her, the great fortress of Isengard she was as the tomes described her.

A grand ring wall of stone, like towering cliffs, stood out from the shelter of the mountainside, from which it ran and then returned again. Only one entrance was made in it, a great arch delved in the southern wall. Here through the black rock, a long tunnel had been hewn, closed at either end with mighty doors of iron.

They were so wrought and poised upon their huge hinges, posts of steel driven into the living stone, that when unbarred, they could be moved with a light thrust of the arms, noiselessly. One who passed in and came at length out of the echoing tunnel beheld a plain, a great circle, somewhat hollowed like a vast shallow bowl: a mile it measured from rim to rim. It was filled with avenues and groves of fruitful trees, and at the centre stood the tower of Orthanc.

This magnificent tower was made up of four multi-sided stone welded pillars that rose from the centre of the Ring of Isengard like a small island, roughly half a mile from the edge.

Seeing it in all its glory, Jon saw there stood a tower of marvellous shape. It was fashioned by the builders of old, who smoothed the Ring of Isengard, and yet it seemed a thing not made by the craft of Men but riven from the bones of the earth in the ancient torment of the hills. A peak and isle of rock was black and gleaming hard: four mighty piers of many-sided stone were welded into one, but near the summit, they opened into gaping horns. Their pinnacles sharp as the points of spears, keen-edged as knives. Between them was a narrow space, and thereupon a floor of polished stone, written with strange signs, a man might stand five hundred feet above the plain. This was Orthanc.

It was a splendid fortress, the kind of fortress he hoped to build one day ... Perhaps he should go and live in Khazan-Dum for a while to learn from the dwarves since with the exception of Gondolin in the First Age and the sacred city of Tirion in the age of trees none had constructed things of such beauty since the Elder Days. Not even the High Men of Númenor could hope to overcome the unmatched skill of the Mountain Fathers in the fashioning of metals and stones.

"Beautiful... isn't it, Jon?" Glorfindel asked, looking at him curiously, and he nodded.

"Yes, I have greatly desired to gaze upon the fanged mount, and now my heart is filled with joy to know of its beauty," Jon said with a satisfied smile as he contemplated the majesty of the tower.

"And did you enjoy our time together, my love?" Írimë asked, and Jon merely smiled and laid a chaste kiss upon her hand.

"Of course, my Lady", Jon said, his violet eyes twinkled with a passion so much so Írimë turned scarlet.

Seeing the affection between them, Glorfindel, Celeborn and Galadriel smiled as they led the army of Belfalas.

The ride lasted a few more moments until the elves sighed in satisfaction, and Jon, curious, approached his beloved.

"What do your elf eyes see, Lalwen?"

"The others were able to arrive in time ... they have fortified the walls and garrisoned Orthanc", Írimë said with a dazzling smile.

Jon, for his part, was overjoyed that his companions had been led safely through the mountains and secured the fortress.

With renewed vigour, Jon sped towards Isengard; it seemed as if the wind was at his back and joy in his heart, he was followed by the great lords of the Noldor who were eager to garrison their soldiers.

It didn't take long for Jon to arrive at the outer gates above which hung the banners of King Elendil; standing upon the ramparts of the gate was a younger soldier clad in fine leathers and bearing a stout bow and a quiver of long arrows fletched with eagle feathers. Upon seeing his Lord, he pulled the lever of the gatehouse, and the iron gates groaned to life before swinging open, revealing the fertile plains of Isengard.