�What is it?� asked Aldamir, startled to see him looking so worried.
Lindir turned, and his face brightened. �Aldamir! Glad to see you back up. Are you better?�
Aldamir nodded. �Much better. But what is wrong?�
Lindir gestured into the darkness with his hand. �There is hardly any wind at all, and with the progress we are making now, even with the rowers working as hard as they can, we will hardly make it to Minas Tirith in time. Perhaps not for days.�
A frown creased Aldamir�s brow. This was indeed serious. �How far are we?�
�I don�t know.� Lindir shook his head. �But we�re not nearly far enough. It is forty-two leagues from Pelargir to Minas Tirith, but by my guess we have hardly covered nine or ten as of yet. We need a wind to speed us along.�
The two stood silent for a while, listening to the waves slap against the sides of the ship in the darkness. There were few on deck at the moment; most were below rowing. Those who could find no room to row beneath were stationed on deck as watchmen. Lanterns swung from various places on the ship, casting a warm but small circle of light onto the deck.
Looking northwards, Aldamir felt his heart grow hot with anger. A red glow hung sullenly beneath the sky, staining it red as if with blood. �Minas Tirith... it is burning...� he murmured.
Aldamir walked over to the railing and leaned against it, gazing down into the watery darkness below him. The velvety-black waves lapped against the ship�s sides, back and forth, back and forth....paddles dipped into the water, rowing, rowing..... what if it had all been in vain? The Paths of the Dead, the ride to Pelargir, capturing the fleet.... maybe it was all for nothing, and Mordor would win....darkness would cover the world so swiftly that not even the Elves could escape....
Sighing, he turned away and walked restlessly up and down the ship�s deck, waiting for a wind to spring up. If only it would.... it was their last hope. His feet, in their soft leather shoes, thudded almost inaudibly against the wood as he paced.... a wind, there must be a wind... please....
The night was chilly, and he pulled his grey Elvish cloak tighter about him as he paced. His weapons still lay in the room where he had slept an hour before; he found himself wondering if he would ever wield them in victory again. Maybe only in defeat....would they be broken then, made useless? It seemed likely that soon he would be meeting his own end, and the hands of Mordor..... like Haldir.....
He clenched his hands as the painful memory welled up in him. No! Mordor must not encroach further on the lands of the free peoples of Middle-earth.... it was Mordor that must be destroyed.....Mordor must fall, dwindle to dust, become only a ghostly memory of the power it had....
But was that possible?
It was drawing close to midnight; clouds were drifting across the sky, intermittently letting a beam of moonlight shine out, which would disappear as soon as it had come. In these moments, Aldamir could see a some ships ahead of them and one beside them on the wide river, all struggling up the river, moving by rowing alone. Moonlight quivered on the water, silver streaks, like mithril glimmering in black rock, quick to vanish. The black sails of the fleet, hoisted in hope and hardly to be seen in the darkness, hung in limp folds, lifting every now and then in useless, weak rustlings, as if they too were despairing of a there ever being a wind.
Suddenly a small breeze brushed across Aldamir�s face, and he lifted his head, stiffening. What was that he smelled? Not something he had smelled before....it was sharp, sweet, fresh....
In a moment he was climbing the rigging to the mast�s top, that little place they called the crow�s nest, his heart quickening in wild hope. Once up there he wrapped one arm around the mast�s top and hung there, searching for that fresh little breath he had felt...where was it? He could not sense it, and his heart sank. It was gone, it hadn�t been anything....nothing....
No! There it was! It wasn�t nothing... it came from behind them, so very small, but a promise...
�S�r�!� he cried, falling into the Elven tongue and forgetting in his excitement that the men on the ship could not understand him. �S�rinen aur�!�
He heard Lindir beneath him, calling eagerly. �What? Is it true? Aldamir, can you feel it?�
�Come up here! There is a wind!�
Then finally the confused men below understood him, and they shouted in excitement. They ran about, securing the sails and peering eagerly into the darkness, though the breeze had gained but little strength yet. As it grew stronger, they too felt it, and cries went up from all the ships about them, behind and ahead of them. Aldamir and Lindir stood on the mast�s top, gripping the pole and letting the wind blow through their hair and refresh them.
�Now all we need is for it too grow strong enough,� said Lindir, closing his eyes and savoring the wind�s cool, fresh caress. �If it doesn�t, then I don�t know what will happen....�
But it did. It grew to a fine, strong wind, blowing from right behind them. It filled the sails so that they grew taught and billowed into that finely curved shape that speaks of a ship well under way. The men still rowed, but they need not have; the wind was enough as it sped them onwards up the river. Hope filled every man�s heart that night, so that spirits rose and they spoke confidently of coming in time and defeating Mordor utterly.
Aldamir, swinging down onto the deck, spent the rest of the night there, no longer pacing in suspenseful anxiety, but waiting hopefully for the sight of the White City, which would come the next day if the wind stayed as it did. He lost track of time, and did not care; he was waiting now for battle. Fetching his weapons, he donned the shirt of mail he had carried from Helm�s Deep, girt his sword by his side and bound his quiver full of arrows on his back. His cloak he wore still, but threw it back to keep it out of the way of his hands.
Laying his knife across his knee, he sharpened it, as Lindir beside him fitted a new string to his bow. When the blade was gleaming again in the torchlight, he slipped it into his sheath by his side. Then he took his quiver-knife, a long, grey-handled blade he kept fastened on his back by his arrows, and sharpened it as well. Finishing, he slipped it back into its scabbard and looked toward the sky.
The East was lightening slightly, and the sun struggled to pierce the darkness of Mordor. Then he knew that dawn was coming, and slowly he began to be able to make out the landscape around them. The surface of the Anduin turned from deep velvety blackness to grey; whiteness foamed around the ship�s prow as it rushed onwards before the wind.
Then dawn came with a sudden rush of pure air and wind, and in some strange way it drove back the cloud of Mordor, so that the sun shone out in blinding brightness and the waters of the Anduin turned to sparkling blue, with golden points of light dancing on the waves. Cries of joy went up from the ships; every man�s heart lifted with the banishment of the darkness.
And so, as the morning drew near to its third hour, they saw the white tower of Minas Tirith drawing near.....