Gerithor and Eldahir continued, stealthily making their way towards Arnakhor's position. They could hear the distant clash of steel and the cries of the wounded and dying away towards the center of the city. Gerithor tried to tune the sounds out and focused on the objective.
"I think my father and Sarina went that way," he whispered as he pointed toward a bridge.
"Aye, you're probably right. Leastways that's the only way that makes sense." Eldahir looked around uncertainly.
Gerithor signaled to him and they both went over the bridge quickly, barely making a sound as they ran across. They both quickly jumped behind a fence as a small contingent of Black Numenorean soldiers ran past, then continued on.
They came to one of the watchtowers on the walls of the city.
"Let's go up there and see if we can figure out where Arnakhor is camped," Gerithor said as he entered the tower and began to ascend the stairs. Eldahir followed, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to make sure they weren't being followed.
The reached the top, and Gerithor leaned on the parapet and looked out over the city. Near the center of the city he could see fire and smoke, and hundreds of soldiers fighting. He scanned the rest of the city, looking for any sign of the enemy's headquarters. His eyes landed on a black and red tent that was pitched just outside the city. Around it stood around two dozen iron armored men with black cloaks.
"See there? That has to be where he is," Gerithor said and pointed to the tent. Eldahir raised an eyebrow as he gazed upon it.
"How do you expect us to get through all those guards? They look tough." He turned to Gerithor inquisitively.
   "I have no doubt my father will have no trouble dealing with-" he stopped mid sentence as he saw two shadowy figures sneaking from building to building, looking  around every now and then.
   "There Sarina! And your father!" Eldahir grabbed his friend's arm. "We've got to help them! They can't deal with all those guards on their own!"
   Gerithor smirked. "You've clearly never seen my father at his best. But you're right, we need to go and help them." He began to descend the stairs. He froze.
   He could hear voices at the bottom of the stairs and the sound of boots against the stone floor.
   "Back to the top!" He whispered hoarsely and practically shoved Eldahir up the stairs. They both reached the top and stayed motionless, listening intently to the voices.
   "Aye, the city is practically ours already!" One of the voices, a deep, regal sounding voice said.
   "Why they want us up here is beyond me. It's far away from the battle." A second voice muttered.
   A third voice, younger sounding, chimed in. "Maybe they want us to guard Lord Arnakhor!"
   The other two voices laughed as they got louder and closer.
   "That sod is hiding in the safest part of the city! He doesn't need more guards." The first voice said. They were nearing the top of the stairs, Gerithor could tell. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to attack. He glanced at Eldahir and nodded. Eldahir tensed and prepared to strike as well.
   Just then the frontmost of the Black Numenoreans reached the top of the stairs, squinting at the sudden brightness. Gerithor drew his sword and slashed the man across the chest with blinding speed, and immediately followed the slash with a powerful kick. The man fell back into his comrades. The other two men looked surprised to say the least. One of them had greying hair and a thin beard, the other had dark hair and looked no older than Gerithor.
   The younger one looked terrified and shrunk back. The older one drew a greatsword and swung at Gerithor. Gerithor nimbly dodged the swing and Eldahir went around to attack the younger soldier. Gerithor attacked his opponent with overwhelming force, and the man fell back, tripping down the stairs. Gerithor sprang after him, sword pointed downward, and stabbed the man in the chest. Then he turned to Eldahir.
Eldahir had disarmed his opponent and had his sword to the young man's neck, but was trembling. His enemy was trembling in fear as well, and cowered against the wall. Eldahir slowly lowered his sword.
Gerithor ran toward them and put his sword to the young man's throat. The Black Numenorean looked even more terrified than before. Eldahir fell down to one knee, breathing deeply and trembling.
"Don't kill him Gerithor!" Eldahir said, his voice quivering. Gerithor turned to face his friend.
"Why not?" The surprise was clear in his voice.
"Look at him Gerithor! He's younger than us! He's just as scared as we are!" He pointed to the young man, whose eyes were wide with surprise. Gerithor turned and looked at the Black Numenorean, and his heart was moved with pity.
"What's your name lad?" Gerithor looked at the young man.
He looked up, fear still in his eyes.
"We won't hurt you." Gerithor attempted a smile.
"I'm... I'm Raldis." The man looked over at his sword. Gerithor noticed and kicked it away.
"Alright Raldis, I'm Gerithor. I'll let you go on one condition." He narrowed his eyes at Raldis.
"Anything! I just want to leave." Raldis was still trembling, but seemed to have calmed down slightly.
"Promise to run as far north as you can. Harm no one, and never again march with the forces of Angmar."
The man looked slightly relieved. "I swear it," he put a hand to his heart. "On my honor. I didn't know we'd be attacking other men, I was told we'd be raiding troll caves."
Eldahir had recovered too and offered a hand to Raldis. The young man took it and hoisted himself to his feet. He threw his iron helmet to the ground.
"I had been told the Dunedain are cruel men. It's good to know that isn't true." Raldis smiled and saluted to the two young Rangers. Eldahir saluted back and returned the smile, and Gerithor simply nodded. The Black Numenorean turned and ran down the stairs.
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   Meanwhile, the main battle was still raging. The Mithlond elves had fallen back to the keep along with the surviving Dunedain. They had barricaded the door and were shooting arrows at the enemy from the windows.
   Halbarad stood in the main hall of the keep, pacing back and forth and trying to tune out the cries of dying men. He knew it was hopeless. He knew there was no chance of them surviving. But the enemy had not asked for surrender, and Halbarad knew the Black Numenoreans would not accept it. They would give no quarter.
   No, they would have to hold out inside the keep.
   Just then one of the Dunedain that was shooting from the windows gave a cry.
   "The elves are here!"
   Halbarad ran up the stairs and to the window. What he saw filled him with joy.
   Over five hundred Mirkwood Elves were marching down a nearby hill, hastening toward the city. The Black Numenoreans had seen them too, and were shouting orders and organizing their forces to face the Elven host. They left some facing the keep to protect their flanks, but not many.
   Halbarad saw an opportunity.
   "Men, elves! Form up on the hall floor! We'll strike their flank once they make contact with the Mirkwood host!"
   His small force hastily assembled in the main hall. They prepared themselves. Halbarad watched out the window, waiting.
   The Elven force drew bows and fired a volley at the enemy. Many of the enemy fell as the arrows rained down upon them. As soon as they had fired, the elves drew swords and shields and charged.
   The Black Numenoreans let out a cry as they charged as well. The elves were deathly silent as they advanced.
   The two forces collided with fury, and many on both sides lost their lives in the initial charge. Halbarad knew that now was the time.
   "Open the gate! Defend the north!!!" He and his men let out a cry and charged through the keep's now open doors. The Black Numenoreans who were facing the keep looked shocked, and braced themselves. But nothing could stay the fury of the Dunedain. The Mithlond elves charged in behind them, adding to the power of the attack. Surrounded on both sides, the Black Numenoreans began to lose. They stood strong, but the Elves were too powerful. They cut through the Black Numenoreans until there were only a small number left.
At that moment a black clad elf stepped from the Elven forces.
   "Surrender!" Caledorn shouted at the two dozen Black Numenoreans who were still alive. They had formed into a square and were fighting back to back. The one that appeared to be the captain spoke.
   "What are the terms?" He looked at Caledorn arrogantly.
   "The terms are whatever I want them to be," Caledorn said with mock arrogance, flourishing his recovered dagger dramatically. "And I want them to be... Complete and total surrender. You drop your weapons and give yourselves over to my esteemed Dunedain friends." At this he motioned towards Halbarad.
   The Black Numenorean captain spat on the ground. "What kind of terms are those?!? You might as well kill us, that's what the Dunedain will do."
   Caledorn moved with blinding speed. He did a flip and landed behind the man and put his knife to the man's throat. "That can be arranged," he said menacingly.
    The man growled and threw his sword to the ground. All of his men grudgingly followed suit. The Battle of Fornost was nearly won.
===============================
   Meanwhile, Gerithor and Eldahir had descended the tower and crept out the door cautiously, looking around as they left. They quickly ran in the direction of Arnakhor's tent, knowing they had to hurry to reach Sarina and Gerimond in time.
   They swiftly ran through the empty city streets, making their way closer and closer. They rounded the final corner, and as Gerithor processed what he saw he realized they were too late. In front of the tent stood Gerimond, locked in battle with Arnakhor. Two of Arnakhor's bodyguards had disarmed Sarina and were holding her. The rest were standing between Gerimond and them. Gerithor shook with rage and without thinking charged headlong at the guards with a shout.
   "Gerithor!" Eldahir yelled, but it was too late. In a blind rage Gerithor hacked at the guards, oblivious to the danger. He wasn't willing to lose anyone else. He cut one of the guards down and moved on to another. He heard a cry behind him and turned around just in time to see one of the guards fall, with Eldahir's sword in his gut. Eldahir moved next to his friend and they fought side by side, cutting down the guards and working their way slowly toward Gerimond and Arnakhor.
  They had killed all but one of the guards when Gerithor processed several things at once. He saw four archers move into position on a wall behind Gerimond. He heard their captain yell "Fire" as they let loose their arrows. He saw all four arrows hit his father in the back. It was all in slow motion. Gerithor cried out and ran the last guard through with his sword, knocking the body out of the way as he ran toward his father.
   Gerimond stumbled forward, but kept fighting. Two more arrows hit him in the back, and he fell to his knees. He swung once more at Arnakhor, who easily blocked and countered with a thrust, impaling Gerimond on his sword.  He threw Gerimond to the ground and turned to see Gerithor and Eldahir charging toward him. Knowing now that the battle was lost, he sprinted away and mounted a nearby black horse. The horse reared and he galloped away, through the ruined city gates into the North.
   Gerithor ran to his father and held him in his arms. Gerimond's eyes fluttered open, and he coughed.
   "Gerithor?" He looked at his son and coughed up blood.
   "I'm sorry father, I tried to save you..." Gerithor said, tears streaming down his face.
   "It's not your fault son..." Another cough. "You've made me prouder than I thought possible. Your mother would be proud too-" at this he began to cough violently. "Take this," he said and pulled his Grey Company brooch from his cloak. "I won't be needing it anymore." He attempted to smile but coughed up more blood instead.
   "No father, you'll be all right, it'll all be alright." Gerithor choked on the words as his father coughed more.
   "This is goodbye Gerithor. You are the Lastborn of the Dunedain, and the best son a father could've had. I love you son. I-" Gerimond's eyes clouded over, and he looked lifelessly up at the sky as his last breath passed out of his lungs.
   "No, father! It's going to be alright, I'll get you to a healer! It's-" he choked back a sob. "Goodbye father." He began to cry softly and put his head in his hands.
   Eldahir and Sarina watched, both of their eyes filled with tears. Sarina began to move towards Gerithor but Eldahir gently grabbed her arm, shaking his head at her.
   Gerithor sat there for several minutes, completely broken. At last he looked up, and his face was filled with rage. He wordlessly stood up, and before Eldahir or Sarina could stop him, he ran through the city gates in the direction Arnakhor had fled.