[Author's Note: This is just a small ficlet so a bigger story I've been brewing for quite some time. I'm hoping I might get some feeedback on what people think and I am always more than happy to recieve suggestions and critique based on the writing style and the characters and the plot as well. If you guys love the story and have some ideas as to where you'd like to see it go I'd be happy to hear it! Hope you all enjoy!
This is an alternate ending style story to Return Of The King where the alliance has failed against Sauron's forces at the Black Gate and Frodo and Sam were not fortunate enough to make it to Mt. Doom to destroy the ring before they were found out. This is definitely not a happy story at the moment, I'm a big fan of angst and torture so if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea then feel free to pass over this story! This story will mostly follow Aragorn but as it develops, other time lines might start to take place. Now, on to the story! ]
Pride of the Dunedain
Acrid smoke filled his lungs, tasting of blood and sulfur, while he drew himself up as much as he could and squared his shoulders. He held the air for a moment, eyes closed gently, all sound muted while he steadied his hands. All around him armor creaked, metal ground against metal and feet shuffled; grunts of amusement and snickering passed between foul lips while they stood waiting for his grand appeal. They knew what had been lost and this was only being allowed for show, so they could laugh more merrily at the expense of mankind. Mock them for their efforts. He knew this. They all knew this but the men waited on bated breath, holding onto what they had left of their hope.
Finally, he released his breath and his eyes opened, the steely grey of their depths matching the darkness of the clouds now spreading to cover whatever had remained of the sunlight. His eyes met some of those nearest the front, seeing the edge to their gazes and the weariness that lingered there after the battle had turned so sour. Some part of him was still trying to accept that this was their fate; that they'd hung on for so long only to have freedom torn through their fingers, leaving bleeding gaping wounds in flesh and heart. In the distance smoke continued to billow from the top of the Mountain, pouring blackness into the air to be stained crimson and gold by the fires burning within the volcano and in the rocky plains around its base.
He stared into the faces of the men defeated in their combat who had been left to live as prisoners, slaves or just until the end of this spectacle and yet he could see the flames of defiance still lingering. The hope and pride of men covered in the blood of their brothers still throbbed with life in what was left of the army he'd brought with him to this forsaken land. Their armor had shone and sparkled, the White Tree and the Seven Stars now splashed with blood and gore but still proudly worn on the chest of each of the fellows here. This spectacle may be just that for the foul beings that now stood guard over men, but in the end he was reminded of only one thing; they still lived, and their pride with them. Men were not so easy to break as these creatures believed, and he would prove it to them.
Finally, he drew breath once more, his chin rising to address the crowd before him with his head held high and his shoulders strong. "Warriors of men, my brothers, it is with a heavy heart I speak to you all now. But do not despair, the battle is lost, the day is coming to an end but we still yet live. And with us hope. I grieve for those we've lost and those we will still yet lose, but not for our defeat, for we have not been defeated. I look upon each of you and I see the fire that burns within, fires that can still be kindled, brought to inferno. This is but a battle, not the war. The war will continue to rage here, within us and beyond in the lands of our kin who are strong and ready to fight this evil.
The enemy believes this to be their final victory, that they may break the will of men here and go unchallenged. I know that will not be so, for as long as I draw breath I will fight, body and soul against the darkness that wishes to swallow this land and turn it black. And if I can do this, I know that you, brave men of Middle Earth, will persevere also. Sauron believes men to be weak, to bend to his will and break at the hands of his soldiers and beasts, to allow our heads to fall in defeat. He believes the weight of his reign will be too much for the shoulders of mankind."
Aragorn paused for a moment, looking amongst the men in front of him, meager dozens surviving once the black gates had opened and the filth had spilled forth. The Ring had fallen into the hands of its Master, the bitter truth stinging in Aragorn's heart at the thought of the two Halflings that had perished. The Dark Lord had been restored to his full power; his army pulsing across the dead earth of the battle field towards the gleaming army of men. They'd been hopelessly outnumbered in the end but fighting to the very last with everything that could possibly be mustered for themselves and their kin, for the homes of their families. Few had survived to be captured and Aragorn knew he'd been singled out and taken prisoner, though not easily. When he had finally been forced down with his weapon thrown beyond his grasp, the enemy had to climb over their fallen to reach him, dragging corpses aside in order to dig the captured King out. He'd had a grim smile on his face then, and now his lips curled once more, though the grim edge to it was gone.
"They're wrong, my brothers, for the strength of men will endure, as it always has and one day the darkness will be overthrown once more. This we have seen in the writings of our fathers, the histories of our people. The shadows creep forth today, but keep the light in your hearts as it is in mine and show them that men are not so weak. We are not to be broken so easily, and if Sauron wants all of Middle Earth for himself, we will make him bleed for it!" This he spoke with a strength from deep within, his eyes bright as he looked from face to face and he could see the fire in his eyes mirrored as the men began to stir. Strength was finding them again, pulsing through the crowd of captives, making the orcs around them shift uneasily and grip their weapons more tightly. Some of the vile creatures still sneered, and Aragorn wondered if they'd realised their mistake in letting him speak to his men. If they'd believed he would betray his oaths as King and make his knights despair, the enemy truly was naive. And this gave him yet more hope. The enemy had already underestimated them.
His men stood steadfast now, not prepared to fight the current foe for they had no weapons and to do so would only cause slaughter. But their Captain had instilled in them their pride, reminded them of the determination of mankind. Despite the shackles some bore, the guards keeping them imprisoned and whatever other darkness lingered in their unsteady futures, they were not afraid. Aragorn could see this, and it brought yet another smile to his lips. "I am honored to have served you and I will continue to do so until I draw my final breath. Be not afraid, for you are Men of the Realm, and as such have a strength and honor that no evil can corrupt. Remember this in the coming darkness and have faith in your kin that the light shall return and shine brightly once more. Our heads are high, our backs not bowed and our knees not bent. Remember this, my brothers."
He brought a closed fist up to his heart, holding it to his chest as his eyes closed and he bowed his head to his men. A silent salute to their bravery and ambition; he did not doubt his words stuck in their hearts, that if the enemy was to pry their hopes from them it would be through strong jaws and steely gazes. The motion of his fist was matched, each man drawing his hand up to his chest and nodding their heads to their King, and they did not feel shame at their loss, only resolve in their ability to make the enemy fight for every inch they took in their corruption of this land. All knew their fate, that they would not see their families again, that they would die in a land made of dust, fire and blood. But they had faith now in the strength of Man, enough to die proudly without corrupting at the will of Evil.
The Uruk at his back came forward then, having let the King have his moment, and the men on the ground in front of the small platform all shifted uncomfortably. Aragorn was not bound but he would not fight the grip of the beast as it grasped his shoulder in a bruising fashion and pulled him back from the edge of the makeshift stage. Orcs swelled then, tightening the ring around the unarmed captives and while their Captain still had a moment up on the stage before they would pull him down and drag him away, he nodded at the men one last time with a steely resolve in his eyes. At this the moment of panic in the hearts of the captives receded and they shuffled closer to one another as the orcs began to herd them to where they would be held. Pens fit for dogs were now fitted to host men deeper within the plains of Mordor, among the sulfuric air and the ash that was raised from each footfall.
Aragorn was shoved towards the wooden steps down to the ground, grunts and sneers rasped out of the throats of the Uruk-hai that followed him towards the edge. Orcs were leering from the edge of the platform and as he stepped down, one came too close, attempting to swipe at him with a rusty blade. The Uruk behind him made to bark an order, an ugly sound leaving his throat but even before he had a chance to finish the command, Aragorn had unarmed the disgusting creature coming at him and buried the blade hilt deep in its chest. A surprised screech emitted from between its cracked lips before it collapsed in a heap on the scorched earth; a satisfied smirk quirked at the lips of Isildur's heir.
Within a moment, he'd been surrounded by orcs and Uruk's, some surging to get at him in their hatred while others pushed his head down and grasped his arms, wrenching them behind his back. Coarse rope wound around his wrists, his skin rubbing raw at the abrasive material being twisted tight and bound, taking the last of his physical freedom from him. The large Uruk men pushed him through the crowd of blood stained teeth and rusty armor, clashing against each other to get at him or to feast their eyes on the defeated king. Harsh words sounded all around him but Aragorn would only look ahead and ignore the taunts while the guards dragging him to wherever he was to be held fought off the rabble. As always the disdain between Uruk's as captains and the lowly twisted orcs as their cannon fodder was quite clear.
They only dragged him a short distance before space cleared in front of him and he was looking into the face of a cruelly smiling Uruk, armor still splashed in blood and gore, weapon slung at his side while he held a dagger in his hand. Aragorn met his eyes squarely, gaze never faltering as he was pushed within arms reach of the beast, their heights nearly matched. A sudden shooting pain lanced up his leg from the crook of his knee, a pointed armored boot nearly crushing the tendons and unwillingly bending his knee forward. With a quiet grunt, Aragorn fell onto one knee, his armor scraping on stone while he tried to balance himself, a hand going to the ground to keep him from toppling.
He was quiet as he lifted his head and turned to look at the one who'd kicked him, his steel gaze landing on the creature with a spine shivering coldness the Uruk felt as it quivered down his being. The Uruk melted back half a step under his glare before the kneeling Captain turned his head back to the one standing in front, just in time to see the pommel of the dagger in the Uruk's hand come down. He didn't have time to duck as the world flashed white, a blinding cold erupted in his brain and then just as suddenly the world went dark. His body crumpled to the ground, unconscious and the dark soldiers around him erupted into cruel laughter while the larger Uruk-hai leaned down and gathered up what had been called humanity's hope in their foul hands.
Anduril was steady in his hand, rending the life from every enemy within blades reach as he spun to face foe after foe. They were only a shimmering island in a sea of surging storm waves, metal clashing as they met with the shore of men. In comparison their army was meager, but it was only a distraction, something to keep the Eye fixed so as to give the Halflings their chance at success. Aragorn was holding onto this hope, believed in the ability of such small beings to do such great things, things he'd already witnessed many times over. For a moment his line of sight was empty, the enemy faltering back from the King in fear and taking a collective moment to steady themselves. The blade in his hand was stained and mottled in crimson and black, the life essence of many of their comrades dripping from the tip. It was enough to make any of them consider before being the next to fall on his sword.
In the moments reprieve, Aragorn looked across the field, trying to get sight of his closest allies among the warring soldiers. A flash of light from the tip of a staff as it was swung down upon the enemy, long white hair whipping around the face of the elderly wizard, his expression sharp with his concentration. Not far beyond was the elf, duel blades in hand flashing in their precise and deadly speed, almost too fast for Aragorn's keen gaze to follow. The only evidence the blades even touched on flesh was the spurt of blood and crumpling of bodies around the Elven Prince. Again he was amazed at the will and ability of the Halflings as he spotted Merry and Pippin fighting back to back amongst men twice their size, holding their own and not giving an inch. A boisterous shout was heard off to his left and a smile twitched at Aragorn's lips even as he became focused on the enemy around him once more, fully aware of the dwarf mere meters from himself and the axe blade as it chopped with a ferocity yet to be matched.
Once more he surged into the sea of blackness, the Flame of the West guiding his hand, the blade only an extension of himself as their bond grew stronger with each stroke against the evil scores. He was confident in his men's ability to hold their own, though for how long they would be able to keep this up, he was unsure. A diversion was all they needed, and he could feel the Eye on him at this moment, its presence burning a hole in the back of his mind. As long as that is where it remained, there was still hope that Frodo could destroy the enemy's most powerful weapon. So he continued fighting, steady and unrelenting. An Uruk hunter came into his sight, their gazes locking and such was the intensity of the King's that the beast diverted its gaze for a fraction and that was all he needed. As the Uruk crumpled, beheaded, suddenly Aragorn hesitated. He felt the presence in the back of his mind disappear, it's probing gaze shifting away from him and a shiver ran down the spine of Gondor's Captain.
His gaze cast upwards as chilling shrieks were heard across the battleground, the Nazgûl who'd been circling the field changing course abruptly and wheeling their horrible monsters back into the lands behind the Black Gate. Aragorn's lips fell open silently as he saw the winged beasts head towards Mount Doom, wings pumping in their haste to reach the volcano. Silently his heart cried out for the Hobbits who must have been discovered, praying with everything in him that they had time to complete their task, that there was still hope for Frodo and Sam. In his distraction, an orc sidled up behind the King, raising his blade and only in the last few moments did Aragorn remember himself, the tip of the blade cutting into his forearm as he wheeled and brought the creature down. He pushed his fears to the back of his mind while the enemy surged, their eyes filled with a sudden excitement that worried him. Perhaps they could sense what their Master had discovered, that the Ring was suddenly within grasp if they could but only reach it in time.
A bone rattling cry suddenly sounded from behind him, his body spinning to face the troll as it lumbered towards him, teeth gnashing and weapon swinging in its hand. Aragorn steadied himself and brought Anduril to his centre as the troll came forward, the earth lurching under its feet before it swung its weapon up and brought it down against his blade. With every fiber of his being, he fought the creature but as the fight continued between them, his muscles began to tire. As if the troll could sense this, he brought his weapon up high and smashed it down again, Aragorn's arms holding strong but his balance faltered, and it was enough.
The troll smashed him back, the air rushing out of his lungs as his body slammed into the now packed dirt of the field and his sword was cast far to his right and out of his reach. As the beast lumbered forward in triumph, Aragorn's eyes cast sideways and he could see the white hair and wizened face staring back at him with an expression akin to horror. Gandalf stood out of reach of the King but their eyes met just the same, a small imperceptible nod was all Aragorn could give him but it was all the sign that was needed. Gandalf thrust his staff into the air, the enemies around him cowering back in anticipation of what was to come. Aragorn looked back to the troll as its foot raised and was brought down on his chest, aiming to crush him but his armor was strong though it creaked under the pressure of the trolls weight. The King reached for his belt, managing to grasp the hilt of his dagger and drew it, stabbing at the trolls exposed foot. It roared at him but he knew even then that it was just a sting to the huge beast.
Looking up into the horrible face above him, he saw out of the corner of his eye the light that Gandalf had cast into the sky, its brilliance shining out against the clouds like a star. Then the troll reached down and its huge hand pushed into his chest as the foot was placed back on the ground. Aragorn grunted as fingers like iron bands wound around his torso and tightened, the air again being forced from his lungs. Its grip tightened further until he felt his ribs beginning to protest, gasping to draw air into his squeezed lungs when suddenly it's hold loosened a little but did not let him go. The creatures other hand came up and tore the dagger from his grasp before thrusting him back down into the dirt, holding him into the blood stained earth. As the beast above him stilled and air came back to Aragorn's lungs so that he could hear beyond the sound of his own heart thundering in his ears, he became aware of another sound.
It was like thunder, a monstrous rumbling at first and as it came closer, the sounds of grating blades and screeches joined in. Looking around him, the King began to recognise the sound for what it truly was, the orcs around him all thrusting their blades above their heads and beating their armor or gnashing their blades while howling. The war cry went up all around him, the horrible sound of victory deafening as the troll holding him to the ground joined in, its chest rumbling deeply. A bitter taste suddenly rose in the back of his throat, his heart clenching at what he now knew to be truth. Frodo had failed, and undoubtedly the two Hobbits were beyond their help. The army of the Dark Lord stood triumphant even while the soldiers of men still breathed and drew sword. But they all knew it now to be a futile attempt, that there would be no shining light on the battlefield today, that the war had come to an end and that man had failed.
Aragorn's eyes rolled skyward, away from the terrible sight of the surging masses around him and towards the darkening clouds and for a brief moment he mourned. A movement in the clouds caught his attention though and suddenly he remembered himself, a small twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth even as his heart wished to break. He held steadfast then, swallowing the bitterness and replacing it with a sliver of hope as he burned the sight of the retreating eagles into the back of his mind. The battle was lost this day surely, but the enemy had failed to truly crush the will of man; those remaining who could lead against the evil tainting this land now flying to safety in the strong talons of the mighty eagles. He thought back on the conversation he'd had with the White Wizard, an arrangement they'd made to ensure that if this battle went awry, all hope would not be lost.