The city slowly quieted as final preparations were completed. The necessary supplies had been gathered, divided, and packed. The men were all armed and drawn up into companies. Now they fell to the harder task of waiting. A thin layer of smoke from the cooking fires rose above the walls to hang motionless in the darkling sky. The flaming color in the west faded to purple and the first stars appeared. Looking down, they could see other groups of people here and there along the parapets, straining their eyes into the dusk for a glimpse of the Elves. One by one these other watchers descended to their beds, leaving only the guards.
Isildur seemed determined to wait all night if he had to. Ohtar waited with him, but at last he settled into an embrasure, wrapped his cloak around him, and fell asleep. His last sight was of Isildur standing above him, tall against the stars, peering into the west.
It seemed only a moment later that Isildur clutched Ohtar's shoulder.
"The Elves are come," he said softly. Ohtar sprang up quickly, shaking off his dreams, and looked to the west. The moon, now waxing to first quarter, was setting beyond the River, turning it to glittering diamonds. For a moment he could see nothing. But then, far away at the edge of sight and still very small, he found one diamond that did not twinkle, but shone with a cool pure light. Behind it he could just begin to make out the outline of a ship, black against silver. It was beating up the River toward them, the gentle night wind just filling the sail.
"Your eyes are better than mine, Sire," he said. "Is it indeed Cirdan at last?"
"It is an Elven ship, I am sure. A cog, I believe — one of their lighter, faster ships. Odd that it should be in the van instead of Cirdan's flagship. Still, it would move more easily against the current. Perhaps they have outrun the rest of the fleet."
At that moment a cry went up from the parapet below them. The lookouts too had now spied the ship. They heard a quick debate, then running feet, taking the word to the Lord of the city. A bell rang in a distant tower. The ship neared the far shore and tacked toward the city. They could hear faint shouting down at the quays now, and a jouncing lantern showed running legs coming up the lane from the River.
Isildur still peered into the west. "Where are the rest?" he muttered through tight lips. "Where are the others?" Then he whirled and rushed headlong down the winding stairs. Ohtar stumbled breathless after him.
They met Barathor near the gate leading a mounted party and bearing a blazing torch. Behind him in the dark were several other prominent citizens looking rumpled and sleepy, along with a score of soldiers. The gate creaked as it was opened.
"There you are, Sire," Barathor called when Isildur pelted out of an alley into the broad street. "I have brought horses for you and your esquire."
Clambering up, they set off at once down the road to the River. By the time they reached the quays the ship was much closer, heeling slightly in the gentle night breeze as it beat in to the shore. A crowd was already gathering at the head of the dock. An awe fell over them, and they stood silently watching. All could now see the long white pennon floating from the masthead. The ship was white, low and long, but broad amidships. The stern rose high and arched over the after part of the deck, ending in a carved swan's head. White wings sheltered the figures that stood there. The stem rose high and ended in a large oval lantern, like a cage of mithril silver. From it shone the strange cool white light that illumined now the faces of the watching throng.
The sail rattled down and several figures moved forward and quickly secured it along the yard. The ship ghosted silently toward the dock as if out of a dream, and indeed for most of those watching the Elves were as creatures out of legend. They knew they existed in far-off lands, but never had Elves sailed up Anduin since before the city was built over a thousand years ago. Pale figures could be seen moving about the deck, readying lines and mats for docking, but no sound could be heard save the gentle lapping at the cutwater.
Suddenly then the ship loomed large before them and soft gray lines looped through the night to land at their feet. The nearest men looked down at them for a few seconds, but then a seaman's rough voice rang out. "Are you frozen, lads? Haul and make fast. Belay those lines!" The spell was broken. The lines were secured and eager hands on both ends drew the ship against the dock. The ship was beautiful and magical, but it grated reassuringly real against the stones before a mat was adjusted. A plank was swung across to the shore and a tall figure in a long grey cloak strode across. He was fair and golden-haired. His mail was of mithril silver that caught the moon's light and set it dancing about his feet. Isildur stepped forth.
"Welcome to Gondor, Gildor Inglorion. Elen síla lúmenn omentilmo." The Elf clasped both the king's arms in affection and stood smiling at him. Tall as Isildur was, Gildor towered over him.
"Hail Isildur Elf-friend," he said. His voice was soft, like the sighing of leaves at twilight. "I rejoice in our meeting. Long and perilous have been our ways since we parted in the thunder of the Falls of Rauros."
"Glad indeed are we to see you also, my friend. But where is Cirdan and the rest of your fleet?"
Gildor smiled, glancing at the anxious faces all about him. "Do not fear, good people of Gondor. I was sent ahead to bring you word that all is well. The Elves of Lindon will be at Osgiliath for the Council at the appointed hour. Cirdan's Fleet is nigh."
These words were heard by many standing near, and a cry of joy went up from the Pelargrim. "Cirdan is nigh! The Elves are here! We are saved!" The word spread swiftly through the people now hurrying from the gate. Soon the glad cries could be heard at the gate, then from the walls, and soon the whole city was awake. Bells pealed from many towers. Gildor looked around in some surprise at the evident relief of the people. His smile faded as he saw the concern on every face.
"We have gathered far fewer men than we had hoped," Isildur explained, "and the Corsairs are abroad again. The Lord of this city has pledged his aid, but he will not leave the Gate of the South ajar to the pirates of Umbar. He will not ride with us until Cirdan's ships are guarding the River."
"We saw no sign of a Corsair fleet, neither at sea nor when we crossed the bay," said Gildor, "and the White Fleet should arrive today." Then all were glad, and the Elves were ushered into the city in a joyous parade. They accompanied Isildur to his camp where they sat long around a campfire, exchanging news of their respective journeys. Isildur told them of the difficulties and disappointments he had encountered on his journey around the Ered Nimrais. He spoke bitterly of the betrayal of the Eredrim.
Gildor shook his head. "These are evil times, when friends will not come to the aid of friends. I encountered much the same when I went to see the Dwarves in their great delvings at Hadhodrond, that they call in their own tongue Khazad-dûm. Those halls are great indeed, and filled with Dwarves of many kindreds. We had hoped that ten thousand would join us in our cause. They listened to my plea, and they met long and argued this way and that. At the last they decided that the war with Sauron was not their war, and they refused us. Of all the Dwarves only a handful of Durin's line seemed inclined to join us."
"That is a great disappointment," said Isildur, "for the Dwarves are fierce warriors and will not quail in a battle. But I am not surprised. They often remain aloof and keep their own counsels. Still, the ancient line of Durin has always been friendliest to Elves and Men." Isildur stifled a yawn.