On the third evening of the Siege of Tusgar, fewer than a thousand Elves still stood upon the walls. Legolas no longer knew how many Orcs had fallen by his hand. He had worn through bows, broken strings, and loosed more arrows than he could count. He knew only that his arms throbbed with pain, his spirit was weary, and his strength was nearly spent.
Boom!
With a thunderous crash the gates split open, a jagged breach torn wide. Legolas knew the wall could no longer be held. To bleed further here was folly. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his voice in Elvish:
"Retreat! Fall back into the city!"
The Silvan warriors obeyed their prince, abandoning the shattered wall. They fell back into the winding streets, forming barricades in alleys and courts. Archers climbed to roofs and broken ramparts, readying their shafts.
The wall collapsed in a roar of stone, and through the breach stormed more than a dozen monstrous war-beasts clad in iron. Behind them surged the black tide, Orcs in countless throngs.
"Loose!"
Legolas cried out, and his bowmen answered. Arrows sang into the horde, piercing Orcs and trolls alike.
"Kill!"
Spearmen and swordsmen of the Elves charged without hesitation, meeting the flood in the narrow streets. They fought among the houses and walls, striking from shadows, vanishing into alleys, harrying the foe at every step, seeking to slow the relentless advance.
Upon the broken battlements stood the Witch-king of Angmar, gazing coldly upon the struggle within the city. His voice rasped like iron dragged on stone:
"Burn it! Fire! Reduce all to ash!"
Flames leapt high. The rising smoke mingled with the river-fog of the Anduin until the night was veiled in a dim and choking shroud. The western quarter blazed red as dawn, houses falling into ruin, Elves forced to yield before the firestorm. This was no mercy—it was scorn, a desire to strip away not only stone but hope itself.
By nightfall, Legolas had but a thousand Elves left alive. He joined with Andric's two thousand defenders of Eowenría, and from the east were drawn Silvan warriors who had held there. Thus a few thousand remained to form the last shield of Tusgar.
At the Sun and Moon Bridges north and south, he set one thousand Elves to each. Andric held the Moon Bridge with two thousand bowmen, barring the way to the King's Palace.
In the eastern quarter the folk of the city gathered upon the riverbanks, watching the glow of fire across the water. Families clung together, weeping, as their city burned.
The soldiers upon the bridges, knowing the Orcs could not yet cross, seized the brief respite to rest. The people brought them food in plenty, and some even stood watch, bidding the weary warriors to sleep a little while. Many young men begged to be given arms and to fight, but Andric forbade it.
"This war is too cruel," he told them. "You are untrained; to throw you in now would be to cast you to death for nothing. If you truly desire to serve, then when we have all fallen, take up our weapons and fight on. Then, no matter the end, you shall be sons of Eowenría, warriors of our people."
On the fourth morning of the siege, rain fell in torrents, drenching the fires and quenching the blaze.
At the bridges, the Silvan warriors stood ready in their deep-green mail, their blades and spears gleaming wet.
Legolas stood upon the North Star-Bridge, speaking to his Silvan kinsmen:
"Today we fight for our allies. We may bleed, we may fall, but we shall not take one step back. I will stand with you, slaying until the last drop of blood is spilled, until the dawn of victory breaks upon us."
At the other Bridge stood Domhere, lord of the city. No longer clad as scholar or magistrate, he now bore armor and sword, his eyes set with grim resolve. He turned to the Silvan warriors who stood behind him:
"Warriors of the Woodland Realm, I thank you for shedding blood for Eowenría. I am not an Elf, and I have no right to command you. But darkness comes, and no race shall be spared. Today I stand with you shoulder to shoulder. Will you not stand with me, to greet the coming foe with your lives and with your fire? They may strip us of breath, but never of our faith in the Light, nor of our hope in justice!
"All wounds and all deaths today shall be remembered in song and story, written into the chronicles of the ages. Let us fight for freedom!"
The Elves answered not with words but with steel. Blades were unsheathed as one, spears struck the earth with heavy rhythm, and the sound rolled like thunder.
Upon the Moon Bridge Andric knelt with his two thousand bowmen, facing the High King's Tower. No stirring words were spoken, no shouts raised. They looked up at the Star of Eowenríel, hidden still beneath the shroud of bats. Yet in their hearts they imagined its glow, warm as sunrise. Each man prayed silently for victory.
Only one more day. Only through this day. May tomorrow come…
The war-horns of the Orcs bellowed from the ruins of the western city.
Through the downpour, the enemy gathered once more. From every broken street, from every blackened ruin, they came together like floodwaters—Orcs, trolls, and beasts in endless number.
Within three great wagons, the Nazgûl hid themselves from the storm. For in Middle-earth, among the Valar, Ulmo the Lord of Waters had laid his power within all springs and streams. Thus even rain bore his trace. And though the Ringwraiths could not be truly slain while the One remained, the rain weakened them, dulled their strength, blurred their senses. So in wagons they cowered, waiting for the skies to clear.
From within one wagon the Witch-king's command rasped:
"Forward! Kill them all—leave none alive!"
The Orcs surged. Trolls roared. War-beasts bellowed.
"For Eowenría!" cried the Men.
"For the King!" shouted the Elves.
"Kill!" thundered all together.
The last battle was joined.
These bridges were the final line. If they fell, all Tusgar would fall, and the dark tide would claim victory.
But if they held for a single day and night, then for the armies of Men and Elves, it would be counted as triumph.
Here they had no stone-throwers, no great crossbows. Only swords and spears, bows and shields, and the strength of their bodies. With these they stood against the flood, and steel rang as both sides clashed upon the fortress-mouths of the three bridges, in battle most desperate.