The candlelight swayed in the hall, bending long shadows across the stone walls as the wind sighed through the high windows. Ryan's words hung heavy in the air, a solemn toll of truth that shattered the quiet pride of his officers. The echo of it forced them all to face what they had dared not admit ,they were not yet strong enough to stand against the hillfolk.
Ryan's gaze passed over the silent faces before him. His voice was calm, but each word carried the weight of command.
"If you have thoughts or suggestions, speak them now. We decide our path together."
Silence returned, deep and taut as a drawn bowstring.
At last, Idhrion spoke first, his tone firm:
"Whatever the odds, my lord, we cannot wait for death to find us. I suggest we recruit another company — establish a second camp elsewhere. A reserve force. When war comes, they can strike or reinforce at will. It will give us mobility and keep us from being trapped."
Erken, usually a man of few plans but much strength, rumbled his own idea:
"Today's fight showed me our soldiers still lack the steel of real battle. Let me take them into the wild, to hunt orcs and raiders. Only real blood and steel will make them warriors!"
"I agree," said Alaina, nodding. "The new recruits have trained enough with words and drills. They must learn war in truth, not theory. The sooner they feel the field, the fewer we'll lose when the true war comes."
"So do I," said Arion.
"I concur," echoed Elger.
Then Ailin, who had remained quiet, spoke gently but clearly:
"We must also stockpile food and medicines. Steel alone won't save us. Hunger and fever can do what no army can."
When all had spoken, Ryan inclined his head, deep in thought. Every gaze in the hall fixed upon him, waiting for his verdict.
At length, he rose to his feet. The flame behind him cast his shadow tall upon the wall. His voice filled the hall, calm yet edged like a blade.
"You have all spoken wisely. Here is my decision."
"First — we will follow Idhrion's counsel. Recruit more soldiers and form a reserve. We cannot place all our fate in this fortress or in these thousand men. A second camp will serve as shield and spear both ,a hidden hand to strike when needed."
"Second — effective immediately, real combat training begins. The Heavy Infantry and both Archer Companies will rotate every five days, venturing into the wild to hunt dark creatures. The first fortnight, you choose your prey. After that, I will assign each of you an orc outpost as your final test."
"Third — we'll build signal towers to the north. One squad per post, changed daily. If enemies are sighted, they will light the beacons ,no delays."
"Fourth — I'll send word to the House of Dulod. We need weapons, armor, and stores of grain. Let their forges burn day and night."
"Fifth — begin digging the moat. Minas-Elion must become a fortress no siege can break."
He let the words hang a moment, then his gaze swept across his captains.
"For our rising kingdom — for the dawn that has not yet come — we give everything!"
The room thundered as every officer rose, striking their chests in salute. Their voices rang as one:
"For the kingdom!"
…
At dawn the next day, before the fog had lifted, the men of Minas-Elion assembled on the training grounds.
A thousand suits of armor gleamed in ordered ranks. Spears, blades, and bows lay arrayed like the spine of a dragon, their metal catching the first crimson light of morning.
The soldiers stared at the weapons before them, eyes alight with hunger and pride.
Ryan stood upon the platform above them, his voice carrying across the courtyard like a battle horn:
"Warriors! You have trained for a month and proven yourselves worthy. Today, you earn your arms. From this day forth, each of you shall bear your own weapon — sword, spear, or bow — and the armor to defend your life and your honor."
He paused, letting his words settle.
"Some among you will serve as heavy infantry. Others as archers. Your place is earned, not granted. Yet remember ,you are not soldiers until you've faced death and stood unbroken. Now your trial begins."
"Out there," he pointed toward the mist-shrouded wilds beyond the walls, "your foes await — orcs, beasts, and the servants of darkness. Tell me, do you have the courage to meet them as true warriors?"
"YES!"
The shout rose like thunder, shaking the very walls.
"Good!" Ryan nodded, satisfied. "Officers, claim your arms. Tomorrow, your men march to the wilds!"
…
When the assembly broke, Ryan climbed the stone steps to the rampart. There, watching over the yard, stood Isabel and the Dulod guards. Her color had returned a little after rest, though the pallor of recovery still clung to her face.
As Ryan approached, she turned, her lips curving in a faint smile.
"My lord, I can only offer congratulations. You have built an army worthy of any kingdom."
"Not yet," Ryan replied quietly, eyes fixed on the men below. "This is only the beginning. I can feel it ,a storm gathering beyond the hills. War is coming, and it will test us all. I do not fear the enemy's blades — only the cost in lives it will demand."
"War?" Isabel's brow furrowed. "You mean the hillfolk?"
"Yes," he said simply. His gaze turned toward the distant horizon, where gray clouds gathered above the forest line.
"You know as well as I ,the hatred between our kind and theirs runs deep as the mountains. They will not let us rise in peace. The war will come, and it will come soon."
Isabel's eyes darkened with worry. Then she straightened her shoulders.
"Tell me, what can I do to help?"
Ryan shook his head.
"This is the Dúnedain's war,a burden we must carry ourselves. But there is something I need."
He handed her a roll of parchment, the ink still fresh.
"Here are the supplies we'll need — grain, herbs, arrows. Bring this from Dessen. I'll send the coin after you."
Isabel hesitated only a moment before nodding firmly. "I'll see it done."
"Thank you," Ryan said. "I'll send a heavy infantry company to escort you back to Dessen. The road is not safe."
Her eyes lingered on him a heartbeat longer , a shimmer of something deep and wordless flickering there, a mix of admiration, sorrow, and something perilously close to longing.
"I'll await your message, my lord."
…
Three days later, her wounds healed enough for travel, Isabel departed under the guard of fifty armored soldiers.
That same day, Idhrion took gold and left eastward, tasked with recruiting new men along the Bruinen River.
Erken's heavy infantry battalion thundered out the gate too, bound for the orc dens at the edge of the Troll-woods.
Alaina's archers divided into a dozen squads, fanning north to raise beacon towers across the frontier.
Arion and his second archer company stayed behind to defend the fortress and hasten the construction of those towers.
Within Minas-Elion, the craftsmen returned to their labor, redirecting a stream from the Troll-woods to feed a moat encircling the fortress walls.
And so the fortress thrummed with life, every hammer and voice working in rhythm toward the same end, the war that was no longer a question of if, but when.