9. On the March

It was late afternoon. 

His army was spread out below him, setting up tents and campfires.  The sounds of ten thousand voices rolled up the hillside where his field tent was situated. 

It was clad in white, the Steward’s colors, which made it visible to all the troops. 

Despite the noise of the army making encampment for the night, Cirion felt a  larger quiet about him.  They were in open land, grassland, empty land 

And that was at the root of the problem.  An empty land meant no farms, villages, towns or commerce.  Calenardhon could not contribute men to Gondor’s army.  It was a place where an army of ten thousand could march with only the grass and their own ears to hear the tread of their boots. 

And so to defend Gondor’s northern province, an army of soldiers from homes in Anorien, Minas Tirith and parts of the White Mountains must of needs march north to meet the enemy.

It was not sustainable, Cirion knew.  Empty lands were just lines on a map.  Without people, it was of little use to defend it.  Yet the magnitude of the threat was not of roving bands of brigands.  It was of such numbers that Gondor itself was threatened.  It had to be met or Gondor would be perceived as weak and others beside the Balchoth would soon be at their doorstep.

True enough but nonetheless these last few days he had questioned himself over and over. 

Should he have committed the South Army as well, bringing their full force to bear, but leaving the entire kingdom open to invasion from the south and southeast?  Was it galling but more pragmatic to simply retreat to Gondor’s core territories and provide a fierce, strong defense should the Balchoth not be content with just Calenardhon?  Was that better than risking annihilation of his North Army in its entirety?

And then there was Borondir.  Had he reached Eorl?  Would the Lord of the Eotheod respond?  Would it be in time?

The fact was he had no good choices and he knew it.  A hard thing to know as he looked out over the sea of men he commanded, men who trusted his leadership, that he would not lead them to doom.

For all his doubts, though, the path he had chosen was the only one that offered the promise of victory…if Eorl answered his call. 

Cirion signaled to an aide.  He would go amongst the men, see how they felt, sample the morale, and dine with them around a campfire.  If doom was their destiny then he would share it and all else with them.