But then Galadriel spoke, and her voice was like moonlight on rushing water. "It is not her white stones that make your city noble, Isildur, but her people. Long has the valor of the people of Gondor been a shield wall, defending the West against our enemies. We honor them."
And Elrond said, "And if our plans go not amiss, new towers may rise in Osgiliath and all will again call it Fairest of the Cities of Men."
"Such is my dream," replied Isildur, "though many might deem it foolish in these dark times."
"Nay, Sire," said Meneldil, "it is only foolish to despair. Surely with these good people as our allies we may dare to hope again. Do not Elvish eyes pierce the future? Is there not bright victory before us? Can you not see it, my lords?"
But Celeborn sighed. "Alas, no. Our eyes may see beyond those of mortal men, but the future can not be seen with certainty by any eyes, not even the Lidless Eye of the Enemy. Therein lies both our fear and our hope. We must build our own future with such tools as we possess."
Isildur looked up sharply at that and Galadriel caught his eye and nodded. "Aye," she said. "We have fulfilled our trust and have done as bid by Gil-galad. We come not empty-handed, though this is not the time nor place to speak of such things. For now we would rest from our journey and walk in your city. Farewell for now." And the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien descended from the Tower. But when Isildur rose to leave, Elrond bade him stay.
"Isildur, I would speak with you. You know the Lady referred to the Rings of Power. She herself bears Nenya, the Ring of Water, and wondrous indeed are the powers it bestows on its wearer. But few even of the Wise know this." And he pulled a fine gold chain from around his neck, and behold, it bore a gleaming ring of burnished gold with a single immense sapphire that shone with a clear blue light like a ring around the sun.
"This is Vilya," said Elrond. "The Ring of Air, and mightiest of the Three."
Isildur could only stare. The ring sparkled and glowed. Elrond dropped it again into his tunic.
"It was given to me for safekeeping by Gil-galad when he rode away to war. He bade me keep it until he called for it. But he also told me that he hoped he would not call for it while the war lasted, for it was very perilous."
"And so it is," agreed Isildur. "Sauron forged his One Ring especially to draw the Three Rings to him and to absorb their power into his. If it were to fall into his hands, he would be immeasurably stronger and all the good works made with Vilya's powers would fade and die."
Elrond nodded. "Aye. It was intended that the Three should be kept separately, far from Mordor, and would not be brought against him."
"Except in the most desperate need. And the need is upon us now. This must be the final battle against Sauron. If we fall, there is not strength enough in all of Middle-earth to mount another attack. The time has come to use our last weapons."
"I know," said Elrond. "And I believe that Galadriel is ready to risk using Nenya in our cause. But she fears for Vilya. As the mightiest, it will surely be drawn most strongly. We do not know the true power of Sauron's One Ring, but we are told that he might even be able to sense the presence of the Three at a distance, to know when they are approaching."
"Still, we have no choice but to make the attempt. And Vilya is Gil-galad's ring. He wore it long and built many wondrous and marvelous works with it. If he can wield it against Sauron, then Sauron would most likely be drawn forth from the Barad-dûr. Perhaps if he is distracted by Vilya's presence, we may yet…"
There was a sudden commotion on the stairs and a guard rushed out onto the balcony and fell on his knee before Isildur.
"Your pardon, Sire," he gasped. "An envoy has come from Pelargir. He seeks the most urgent audience with you, Sire. He says that Pelargir is under attack."
Isildur leaped forward in alarm. "Pelargir attacked? I'll see him in the Dome of Stars, at once, do you hear?"
"Aye, Sire." The guard ran to the stairs, but Isildur was there before him, leaping down the winding stairs like a goat. The others followed as best they could.
They reached the Great Hall just as the guard led in a haggard man in the livery of Barathor, though it was difficult to make out the colors, so covered was he with dust. His pale face was lined with exhaustion and he seemed ready to fall. Isildur bade him sit and called for wine to wet his throat, but the man shook his head.
"Isildur King," he gasped, "we are undone. Pelargir is besieged by a great host. The enemy is upon us. Fire and slaughter is at our gate. You must return before it is too late."
"The enemy, did you say? Did you mark their livery?"
"Aye, Sire. They wore scarlet and black and bore the banner of Herumor. It is the Corsairs right enough, Sire."
Isildur struck his fist against his own brow. "How can this be true? We left but five days ago, and the Elves were no more than a day or two away." He sprang to his feet and began pacing distractedly. "What can have happened? There was no sign of an attack. The picket ships were still on guard at Ethir Anduin."
"Sire," blurted out the messenger. "Forgive me, Sire, but there is no time to be lost. The attack was well under way when I left. The city may already have fallen."
Isildur glared at him then, his eyes hard. He was not accustomed to being ordered about by a soldier. But as he looked, the man swayed and would have fallen, had not Elrond caught him and helped him to a chair.
"Yes, you are right, of course." He called to some officers standing nearby. "You there! Find Lord Barathor and bid him come here at once. Elrond, summon if you will the Lord and Lady, and Gildor, too. Find Ohtar and have him bring all the chief captains. We must hold council at once. Make haste!"
The room was suddenly empty, save only Isildur and the messenger, slumped in his chair, his head down on the table. Isildur stood long, staring at his heaving back, thinking, calculating distances and marching speeds.
Barathor rushed unheralded into the hall with several of his officers. He was still straightening his clothes and he looked angry at the peremptory summons.
"What is it?" he bellowed. "What is the sudden hurry?" Then the messenger looked up at his lord and struggled to his feet. Barathor saw him and started.
"Arador? Is that you? What are you doing here?" Then seeing the look in Arador's eyes, his heart froze in his chest. "What is it, man? What has happened?"
Arador struggled to Barathor and fell to his knees before him. "Oh, my lord. Forgive this poor messenger. It was the Corsairs, my lord. They have burned the fleet. They are even now besieging Pelargir, if it still stands."
Barathor seemed to shrink. His face went white. "By all the Valar…" he began, then he collected himself. He bade Arador return to his seat. "Tell us what happened," he said.
Elrond came in with the Elven lords. They stopped when they saw the stricken faces of everyone in the hall.
"Two dawns past," Arador began, "a great fleet came up the River in the dark to our quays. We went forth to greet them, thinking them to be Cirdan and his Elves…" He looked quickly up at Isildur, then away. "As you had told us, Sire," he added.
"But then arrows flew and fires sprang up among our ships and then we saw that the ships were black and filled with our enemies. They fell on us with great slaughter. The horns were sounded to call the people back into the city, but many were cut down before they could gain the gate, for few bore arms. My lord Duitirith sent me after you to bring you back. I have ridden here without stopping, hoping to catch you up on the road."