Idrial's Quest Chapter Seven Osgiliath, a lord of the rings fanfic

Idrial's Quest

By Lady Annalease

A/N: Thanks to WilliamJago and jellebie for reviews!

A/N 2: Okay, I'm back on track now. There won't be an update every day but, hopefully, more than one a week. Yay!

Chapter Seven - Osgiliath:

We pushed our steeds hard to reach Osgiliath in good time, but the journey itself was uneventful. As we neared the ruins of the once-proud capital of Gondor, I wondered what my mate must feel upon returning to his homeland. He spoke little enough during the journey. When we arrived upon the landing at Osgiliath, it was dark and eerily silent, but I could hear the stirring of the waters deep out in the river - the Orcs and their rafts drew near. We sent our steeds back with instructions to head for Lothlórien and safety and then we, slowly and carefully, began to make our way toward the river, as Mithrandir had bid us do.

"I have fought in this city before," Berethor suddenly spoke, "but the memory is dim…wraith-like." I found his choice of words intriguing. We lined up behind the pillars along the landing, exchanging nods with the Men waiting in ambush as we did, letting them know that we should fight with them.

"I fought here too, as an Outrider, under the final battle Lord Boromir led," Eaoden said softly. "The company that fought on the island was led by a man who became craven in the heat of battle and deserted, for which he was exiled. You know, my friend, you could perhaps be his brother, but…'tis of no consequence, I barely kept my own head in that battle."

"Quiet!" Hadhod hissed. "They are nearly across." Berethor grinned.

"They shall find us of superior quality," he almost growled. Eaoden let out a startled hiss.

"I know those words!" he proclaimed. "You WERE here before. YOU were the craven one, the man who deserted." I drew my blade, coming to stand beside Berethor - I would defend my mate. Berethor knocked my blade aside and approached Eaoden instead, clasping the Man's shoulders.

"Not this time, my friend," he said. The Rohirric warrior wavered for a moment, but then nodded, and clapped Berethor's shoulders back. I smiled and returned to my place - my husband had learnt much in his journey. In the next moment, the rafts landed and the Orcs leapt from their boats. We fought valiantly against them, aided by the soldiers that were still quartered in the city, however, they were mighty foes and many, compared to our few and tired warriors. We had not known it before, but the Men that were fighting with us were Faramir, brother to Boromir's, Rangers. When the leader of the Orcs, a foul one-eyed creature called Gothmog, attacked, it was Faramir himself who drew his blade and charged to meet him. Of course, we followed. It heartened the men to see their Lord in battle. Faramir was deadly with his bow, and his Rangers, hidden in the ruins, fired upon the enemy on his command. However, I shall boast and say that it was Thor's sword-arm that was the foul creature's bane. Gothmog had much strength, and almost did not succumb to our weapons, and, at the last moment, he ran from us. I had a feeling we would see him again, before the end, however that may have come. We and the Rangers yelled foul curses after him. After the battle, Faramir asked us to aid in putting down the Orcs that were still brawling with his men…'brush-fires' he called them. Among our enemies were Orc archers and infantry, along with massive armoured trolls - nothing we had not faced before. I have not said much about fighting techniques, they are more my mate's purview than mine, but I shall say this - while it is possible to stun most Man or Elf-sized enemies with a particularly powerful blow, you cannot stun a troll, nor can you slow one down with an attack that would cripple the speed of a usual enemy, and that is almost the greatest disadvantage to battling the creatures. Something else to tell you, these Orcs had some foul magic that almost proved our bane - it is a spell where any damage, whether physical or by spirit, inflicted on the user, is reflected back at the attacker. Also, the poison the Orcs use on their arrows was a similar woe to us - it paralyses the victim almost immediately, leaving them unable to use any sort of physical attack. Of course, when infected, my group then relied on me to rid them of this foul malady, which took up time I could have been on the offensive. We ran further into the city, putting out Faramir's 'brush-fires' as we went, and we soon sighted Gothmog once again, atop the ruins, directing his forces as they still battled with Faramir's men. We knew we would have to fight our way through the small battles to reach him. Faramir's warriors fought bravely and soon we had freed every last one of them, leaving only the foul one-eyed creature waiting for us atop the ruins. We yelled battle-cries, each in the fashion of our own kind, as we charged toward him. Gothmog was not a foolish creature though, he had kept a substantial personal guard back, and it was these Orcs we had to face before the damned creature was even before us. Faramir joined us once more when we were finally face-to-face with the creature.

"The time of the Orc has come," were Gothmog's only words as he came to meet us. The battle was arduous and most of my time was spent on supportive spells rather than offensive attacks, keeping my party off the ground. It was soon apparent that we must focus all our attacks on Gothmog himself, rather than his guards, if we were ever to win the soon-tedious battle. It was Faramir's arrows and hidden archers, and my Thor's strong sword-arm and unerring leadership that saw us the day, though a difficult and bloody battle it was. However, Hadhod and his war-hammer was also something both great and terrible to behold. As well, Eaoden's clever cantrip of being able to dispel any positive effects the enemy laid upon themselves came to be increasingly helpful. I had not thought Men often trained in the magics, but Eaoden's knowledge of the spirit-realm was quite impressive…for an adan. He might even have made a fair healer, with proper training, of course.

After Gothmog ran from us once more, Faramir called a retreat; although we had prevailed in our battles, the rest of the city was all but lost. As the battle against the foul Gothmog had progressed, I had begun to become increasingly uneasy; as a hand-maiden to the Lady of the Lothlórien, I had been granted some small gift in foresight, which usually came in the form of true-dreaming. While at Helm's Deep, I had had a dream of being lifted high over a city of men by a great unseen force, then dropped from that height. The dream had terrified me and, believing it to be true, I had spoken to Mithrandir of it. He revealed to me what he knew of events to come - I would be captured by a Fell Beast, but I would foil it and would be left to my own devices in the middle of the occupied Osgiliath - hardly a fair prospect. However, Mithrandir said that the event, far from being much to do with me, would be the final making or breaking of my mate. How I worried for Thor after that! Mithrandir said he could not see the outcome of the event, and all he could do was warn me to be on my guard when we neared what used to be the plaza of the once-great city. I fear I had all but forgotten his warning by the time we actually arrived there. Rest assured, it came back to me with alacrity; as the last of us ran through the great wooden doors a Fell Beast landed atop them. My heart beat triple-time as I beheld the awesome and wholly evil creature.

"Get her!" I heard the Nazgûl hiss. I brought my sword up automatically, and slashed at the beast's legs as it flew at me, though I found myself else petrified with fear.

"I would not get so near if I were you!" I cried, putting on far, far more bravado than I actually felt. The next thing I knew, I felt the crushing pressure of the Fell Beast's claws about my chest and the ground was swept out from under me. This I know - Elves were not made to fly. I was verily terrified and could barely breathe. I heard Berethor screaming for me on the ground, but I could not muster enough coherence to answer him. Ironically, it was the speech of the Nazgûl that brought me back to myself.

"We have you, witch!" it hissed. Its foul voice pained my ears and I suddenly realised I was still holding my sword.

"Not for long!" I yelled back, raised my blade, and struck at the Fell Beast's underside. The creature screamed in pain, but its grip loosened and I found myself free-falling toward the very island we had spoken of earlier, from a great height.

Again, I know not first-hand what happened to my fellows while I was away from them, but I shall tell you what I have gathered from others' accounts. Eaoden urged Berethor to fall back with Faramir's men, saying I could take care of myself; I do not blame him for his sentiments, mine might have been the same had it been anyone other than Berethor captured - the safety of the many must come before the safety of the few. In any case, it was a pointless debate, as Berethor would not leave me. He remembered that Boromir had once spoken of sewers below the city of Osgiliath and thought that they may provide him with access to the island - he thought true. Eaoden was reluctant to accompany him on his fool's errand, but the Rohirric warrior finally relented and they headed for the rooves so they could find the entrance into the sewers without encountering the Orcish hoards.

I landed in what appeared to be some sort of amphitheatre and, as I walked about it, I could sense that the Nazgûl was still near. Then I heard Mithrandir's voice resound in my mind:

'The moment has come, Idrial,' he said, 'let them find you. Have courage, Handmaiden.'

"I know you lurk here," I spoke boldly. "Come and face me!" I saw the massive wings of the Fell Beast first, then its head and, finally, the helmed visage of the Black Rider. I had to lock my muscles to stop myself fleeing in terror.

"We come for you, she-Elf!" it hissed at me as it sent its Orc minions to face me. I sent a prayer for Thor and his companions' safety to the Valar as I raised my blade and prepared to fight…very much alone.

The first beast my companions came upon as they ran was none others than a Black Rider itself. I do not know if the terrifying visage of these creatures inspires as much fear in them as it does in Elves, in myself, but I do know the battle must have seemed almost hopeless to them. However, what else could they do but fight? He did not know it then, but it was Berethor's still possessed self that drew the terrible creatures to them. However, Mithrandir said it was also that which allowed them to defeat the beast, though I know not entirely how. Eaoden now admits that it was probably Thor's sword, and his repeated cries to hold true, despite the crippling fear of the beast, that allowed them to overcome it. At the last moment, the beast flew off before it could be slain. As my companions continued on over the rooftops, they were attacked by another Rider, and another, and another. When my mate first told me of this, I thought him to be embellishing - no one could survive so many encounters with the Fell Beasts - but when I looked into his eyes all I saw was sincerity and a lingering terror of that event. They slew not one Rider, however, for they are cowardly creatures at heart, and flee when the end comes swift upon them.

My companions soon found what they sought - a way down into the sewers. I am thankful I was not with them, as the stench might have proved ill for me. Morwen complained of it much to me afterward and cursed the fact she was travelling with a company of males, who seem not to care about such things. The sewers beneath Osgiliath were nothing short of a maze when they were first constructed, and after years of the city being in disrepair, they had only become worse, cave-ins and flooding had blocked off some entrances, while the crumbling walls had allowed many creatures inside…mostly trolls, who seem to enjoy deep, dark holes.

While my companions traipsed through the sewers of Osgiliath, I was still trapped in the arena on the island. Still alone. The Nazgûl sent stronger and stronger foes against me each time, as I had so easily overcome the ones before. None of them were, however, a match for my magics. The worst enemy I faced was exhaustion - summoning spirits takes much energy. Though I missed my party, my mate most out of them, it certainly did occur to me that it was somewhat easier fighting only for myself.

Many interesting artefacts of yore had washed up in the sewers beneath Osgiliath, and my companions returned to me with a fair haul. Their trip through the sewers was only brief, and they soon found their way to the surface and the island upon which I had fallen. They came first upon what used to be a beach, and was now waste-land, like the rest of the city, and a single raft upon its shores.

"Get to Idrial," Morwen ordered Berethor, brooking no argument; "we shall hold the beach." Thor nodded gratefully to her.

"Capture that raft," was his final order, "we shall need it to leave this place." It was well Berethor came upon me at that particular moment, for the Nazgûl had called one of its kin and they had both descended on me. Even at my best, such foes would have been beyond me, and tired and wounded as I was, I was little more than play for them. Thor saved my life…once again. What it was that allowed him to overcome two Nazgûl, I know not, but that was what he accomplished, almost single-handedly. However, I knew that that would be the least of his struggles on the island and in the arena - the Witch-King of Angmar approached. Thor was oblivious to this threat for a few moments; he looked introspective:

"I feel I have been here before," he murmured, then turned to me. "What vile sorcery has been done to me?" he demanded. I hated that I had had to lie to him one last time, lie to my mate…but it had been necessary.

"Soon you shall know all," I promised, "the Witch-King comes!" The Witch-King of Angmar astride his mighty Fell Beast was indeed a terrible sight to behold. He reigned in his steed before us and stared at Thor; if he had had a face, it would have borne a grin filled with malice.

"I come to claim you Gondorian," the Witch-King hissed. "You fought here with Boromir. He was driven away. You were chosen." It seemed the foul creature had saved me from explanations. Berethor stared, entranced almost, at the morgul blade as it was waved dangerously before us.

"A morgul blade," he commented absently. Then his countenance became troubled: "Wait - I have seen this before!" he exclaimed. "I was struck by it! Here, on this island!" The Witch-King emitted a frightful hissing-coughing sound - I realised that he was laughing.

"Your mind has journeyed in shadow," he hissed once more at Berethor. "We awaited you here, Gondorian - full of power - to throw open the gates of Mithas Tirith and sow terror! Now, fulfil the will of Sauron; submit to the power of the Nazgûl! BOW TO ME!" Berethor struck at the Witch-King in fury - my mate does not like to do things other than under his own will - but the creature showed no notice of Thor's attacks. I thought us both dead in that instant.

"I cannot harm him," Berethor admitted, sounding hopeless, and dropping his sword, seemingly in defeat.

"He is immune to your power," I answered, "for he created you. We Elves held back his power with our artefacts, so he could not make you one of his kind. But his fell power still exists within you, imbedded deep in your chest, within the tip of a morgul blade. We could not remove it from you without causing your death - you were not strong enough. This is what drove you forth in madness!" Thor looked at me in horror for a few moments, possibly remembering the cold feeling that permeated his chest on odd occasions, like the time in Moria he awoke from the dream. His face then became harsh and determined once more.

"Then I shall remove it!" he declared. He drew his dagger and, pulling away his breast-plate, thrust it shallowly into his breast until it hit the shard of the morgul blade still imbedded within his flesh. He dug it out and threw both it and the now tainted dagger to the floor. "I am free of you, creature!" he declared to the Witch-King, panting heavily. Rivulets of blood flowed from beneath his breast-plate, staining his armour and then puddling on the stones. "NOW FACE ME!" he commanded of the Witch-King. I knew not how he had survived such pain as to dig the shard from his chest, nor how he kept upright, sword in hand, with such a wound to his person. I was beyond astounded.

"You are strong enough now to survive that!" I spoke almost reverently. "I did not tell you of it, for I did not think we could dare." I took a deep breath and pulled my courage. From what I had witnessed, I now had no doubt that his enemy could not stand against the two of us, united. I grinned ferally. "Now, let us dare together - my husband!" I cried. He matched my grin.

"I welcome it - my wife!" he growled dangerously.

The Witch-King of Angmar was a terrible foe, and I cannot and will not say I did not fear him. On the contrary, I feared for our lives on many occasions in that battle. Neither of us was at our best, I was exhausted from fighting the Witch-King's minions earlier, and Berethor was still losing fairly copious amounts of blood from his chest-wound. In the end, however, as I had known we would be, we were victorious - we were Valar-touched, I believe.

"He falters!" I cried joyously. "Even The Witch-King of Angmar cannot withstand our power!" He laughed, though I could see his weariness in his bearing.

"Fools!" he declared. "I go to war! I leave you here to rot!" His words were brave, but his manner belied them - the Witch-King of Angmar fled from us.

The two of us walked, weary and wounded, arm in arm, down from the arena and onto the boat that our companions had held for us. Hadhod gave a mighty cheer. Elegost just grinned at us and gave a small bow. Morwen smiled at me - I knew then she had forgiven us. Eaoden managed a clap on the shoulder for Berethor - it seemed he had forgiven his leader. We went to the furthest corner of the raft and leaned against the makeshift rail, looking at the ruined and burning city as it passed us by. I sighed.

"Gondor has abandoned the city," I spoke, "the Orcs have won this fight." Thor nodded grimly, but covered my hand on the railing with his and squeezed reassuringly.

"But we shall win the war," he said, with complete conviction. Then he paused for a few moments before continuing, softly, only for my ears: "You have given me so much, meleth nín, I do not have the words to express my gratitude...or my love, so deep it goes. So let me say only this, now, so it no longer hangs over us - I forgive you for all you led me false about, for all the things you would not tell me. I see now why it was necessary, why you were hesitant - if I had taken such information back to the enemy, it would have been disastrous." I flushed faintly. It is not often I am humbled, and even less often by one who is less than a quarter of my years, though this was one occasion I was not ashamed of myself too.

"I…I am glad you understand," I replied. "It was not my choice, though I saw readily enough why I must abide by it. For what it is worth, I am sorry." I turned to him and pressed my lips against his, my arms about him; he caught me up once more and returned my kiss. I caught Morwen, with a grin upon her features, watching us from the corner of her eye - her hand was in the grip of Eaoden's.

As Mithrandir had asked us to do, if we survived the battle with the Witch-King, we went north, into the hills above Pelennor for a day or three. We waited and recovered there, watching the plains about Minas Tirith become a camp for all manor of evil. The Wizard had said he would send for us when we were needed, when he had turned the will of the Steward toward our aid…or had taken over command of the city, which was far more likely. The summons came late in the night of the second day and we hurried down to the city, by back-paths, and in through a little-known side gate that Mithrandir had reminded Berethor of for just this occasion. We looked about at the buildings of the White City as we made our way to find Mithrandir. Thor looked melancholy; when he caught me staring at him, he put up a weak smile.

"I am home," he murmured softly, "though I am not sure how I truly feel about it." Home - the word rang through me. Yes, home, for me too now…if we survived….

Translations:

Mithrandir - Gandalf lit. Grey Pilgrim

Adan - man, human

Meleth nín - my love