The Strangers in Middle Earth

I do not own the rights to Lord of the Rings

Chapter Ten

The Fall of Denethor

Rickard and my uncle stood hiding behind a crumbling section of the wall near the river. They could hear the sound of the Orc's in their boats rowing towards the shore. Hundreds of men were waiting for them in silence, praying that they would survive the battle. They had been ordered to remain silent. The plan was to ambush the Orc's and push them back into the river.

'How many do you reckon we're facing?' Rickard asked his father in a whisper.

'Too many. We'll be overwhelmed.'

'That's positive.'

CRASH!

They heard the Orc boats hit the shore and the ramps on the boats fronts went down so the Orc's inside could charge straight into the battle. Hundreds of armoured footsteps running forwards filled the air as the Orc's advanced. They ran straight past my uncle and cousin. The Orc's were different from the Uruk-hai we faced at Helm's Deep. They were smaller, less muscular but they were more numerous and just as savage. Their equipment was shoddy, badly built and rusting. Their armour cobbled together and decorated with bones. The sound of a sword swinging filled the air and then the battle began. My uncle closed the visor on his helmet and charged forwards.

'SAINT GEORGE!' They both roared.

With one swing he sliced an Orc in half from the shoulder to the groin. Black blood squirted from the beast covering my uncle's armour in gore. An Orc armed with a spiked club charged my uncle but was impaled on his sword.

Rickard stayed close to his father in the early part of the battle, cutting open an Orc's throat and then stabbing another through its ribs. An Orc with an axe swung at my cousin but it was dodged and the Orc was kicked in the knee breaking the joint. The Orc fell to the ground and my cousin finished it off with a foot to the head. More and more Orc boats landed disgorging more and more of Sauron's soldiers. Through weight of numbers the Orc's pushed the sons of Gondor back away from the river and my uncle and cousin were separated.

...

My uncle stood in a line with twenty Gondorian soldiers in a wide street. The line was only one rank deep but it was the best defence they could organise. Streaming towards them was a tidal wave of Orc's. It was still dark but the sun would rise soon. The Orc's crashed in the Gondorian line and chaos broke out. Men were thrown to the ground and impaled on spears while my uncle stood and hacked Orc's in half. One Orc swung an axe at him But my uncle blocked it with his sword and then sliced the Orc across its chest. Then he swung his sword down slicing an Orc straight down to its stomach. With great effort he heaved his sword out in time to slice off an Orc's head.

'Retreat!' one of the Gondorian soldiers shouted.

'NO!' my uncle shouted and the remaining eight soldiers stopped. 'I am seventy seven! If I can fight while you young men run than what does that say of Gondor?'

My uncle then charged straight into the heat of the battle slicing apart Orc after Orc. The Gondorian soldiers followed him holding back the Orc's but there was just too many.

Rickard, a few streets away, stood on top of a slope of rubble with a group of soldiers. Orc's were charging up towards them. The Gondorian's raised their shields and lowered their spears. The Orc's crashed into the Gondorian's and Rickard. My cousin blocked a sword blow with his shield and then stabbed the Orc that attacked him. Rickard then kicked another between its legs and stabbed down into its collar bone. With another swing of his blade Rickard killed another Orc and then one armed with a flail swung its weapon into Rickard's chest. Rickard was knocked to the ground and dropped his sword as he fell. The Orc then prepared to swing its weapon into my cousin's head. At the last moment Rickard rolled over, grabbed the first thing he could find to use as a weapon, and then stood up. He looked at his hand and saw that he had picked up a rock. It was ten inches long and had a blunt tip to it. As quickly as he could, Rickard slammed his shield into the Orc with the flail which sent the demon staggering backwards. Then Rickard jabbed the tip of the rock into the Orc's eye. The beast screamed in pain as it covered its bleeding eye. Finally Rickard got the Orc into a neck lock and snapped its neck. He looked for his sword but it had vanished amongst the tide of Orc. Rickard decided to pull back like the rest of the soldiers around him were doing. He reached the top of the rubble slope and he was about to run when out of the corner of his eye he saw something. He looked towards the bridge. The Orc's had repaired it. Thousands of Orc's were pouring over the bridge into the city.

'God help us,' Rickard said under his breath and then started running again.

My uncle fought valiantly against the Orc's. His sword was black with Orc blood and his armour was splattered with it. He leaned against a statue of a soldier on a horse catching his breath. Twenty feet away from him a company of soldiers stood two ranks deep behind a barricade of stone, waiting for the Orc's to come. A few men armed with bows climbed into nearby buildings to fire on the enemy while the infantry formed a wall of shields.

'TROLL!' someone shouted.

My uncle looked up and saw a troll advancing on the barricade. The troll was twelve feet tall, muscular, covered with scaly, gray skin and carried a massive war hammer. It roared as it charged forwards and the men braced themselves. Behind the troll dozens of Orc's were rushing forwards. The archers launched their arrows at the troll but they did nothing to stop it. It smashed the barricade apart throwing five men through the air. The Orc's swarmed over the barricade, pinning men against walls and stabbing them, pushing them to the ground and hacking them to pieces. The troll looked at the building which the archers were in and then advanced on it, brandishing its hammer, and with one massive swing smashed apart the wall the archers were taking refuge behind, killing the poor men inside. My uncle advanced towards the troll and drew his sword. With a burst of speed my uncle charged the Troll and with a massive swing cut into its leg. The momentum of the sword sliced through the muscle and flesh and cracked the bone. The Troll roared and looked down at my uncle just as he pulled his sword out of the Trolls leg. Quickly, my Uncle attacked again, this time hacking at the beasts thigh. The Troll raised its weapon and swung down, cracking the pavement, but my uncle dodged it. An Orc swung its sword at my Uncle but the blow just bounced off of his armour. With a swipe my uncle killed the Orc and then attacked the Troll again. He knew that he had to get at its organs to kill it. He raised his sword, aimed its tip at the Trolls belly and stabbed straight into the Troll, cutting straight into the Trolls heart. The Troll fell dead and toppled backwards, flattening three Orc's.
When the Orc's saw the Troll fall dead they ran away but they would be back soon. My uncle turned around to see fifteen Gondorian soldiers in the street behind him.

'We're cut off!' one of them shouted.

'We're all going to die!' another shouted.

'SHUT UP!' my uncle yelled at them and they were silent. 'Which of you is in charge?' my uncle asked as he pushed up his visor.

They were silent and looked at each other for a few moments.

'None of us,' one answered. 'We're all just men-at-arms.'

'Well I'm in charge now,' my uncle told them. 'Do we know where the nearest group of men are?'

They shook their heads and my uncle sighed.

'Let's just head west and we're bound to meet up with the rest of the men,' my uncle ordered. 'Follow me.'

My uncle ran west with the men behind him. They ran through a ruined street where they saw dozens of Orc's ready for battle. My uncle raised his sword high and sliced into them.

Rickard swung his mace, caving in an Orc's skull. His next fight began when an Orc with a sledge hammer swung its weapon into the side of Rickard's helmet. The blow concussed my cousin as he staggered backwards. His helmet had been dented and the visor had broken, falling away from his helmet. All Rickard could see was a blur, he felt dizzy and he vomited a stream of foul smelling liquid onto the ground. Getting his senses back together Rickard turned in time to see the Orc with the hammer getting ready to finish him. My cousin was about to block the blow with his shield but he saw the tip of a sword burst out of the Orc's chest. The Orc fell dead revealing Faramir holding his sword.

'Thanks,' Rickard said to the son of Denathor.

'You're welcome.'

Rickard pulled off his now broken helmet and threw it on the ground. The side of his head hurt and he could feel blood flowing down the side of his head.

'Come with me!' Faramir shouted as more Orc's stormed towards them.

The two of them ran through the ruined streets and through an archway where they saw a group of archers waiting.

'Faramir!' the oldest of them shouted and then Faramir pulled Rickard out of the archers line of fire as they cut down the Orc's storming through the arch behind them.

'We can't hold them,' the older archer told Faramir. 'The city is lost.'

'RICKARD!'

My cousin saw my uncle hurrying towards him with twelve bloodied men behind him.

'Father; I think we might lose this battle.'

The two embraced each other for a second until a screech filled the air. It came from the sky. They looked up and they saw it. For the first time in history Englishmen looked upon the Ring Wraiths.

'NAZGUL!' someone shouted.

The screeches deafened the men, breaking their morale as if it were nought but twigs.

'There is no God,' Rickard said, even his spirits couldn't survive the Wraiths.

The three slaves to darkness dove out of the sky upon Fell Beasts. Flying reptiles with black scales, claws like swords, teeth like daggers. Their wings carried them over the city and upon each one sat a Wraith. Covered from head to foot in long, black robes they were the pure essence of terror and darkness. The swooped down, the Beasts grabbing men and throwing them into the air. Clutching men in the jaws and ripping them apart.

'FALL BACK!' Faramir shouted over the noise of the battle. 'Fall back to Minas Tirith!'

My uncle and cousin looked at each other before hurrying to where the horses were kept. Every soldier was racing to get out of the city. It was no longer a battle. It was a rout. Hundreds were cut down by the Orc's as they ran while many were thrown aside by their own men in the rush to get away. My uncle climbed onto his horse and waited until he saw Rickard climb onto his own before he kicked his horse into a gallop. Rickard was about to follow when he saw a soldier staggering close by. He was clutching the bloody stump on his wrist where his hand once was. Rickard rode towards the man and pulled him up behind him.

'Hang on,' Rickard barked as Orc's poured towards them and my cousin commanded his horse to move forwards.

With Orc's directly behind them they survivors of the battle, some on foot and some mounted, hurried away from the Orc infested city as fast as they could. Rickard looked back at the city and saw that the Orc's weren't following. He smiles a little as he thought that the worst was behind them. Then the screech came. Rickard looked up and saw the three Wraiths circling above them like carrion birds. Rickard felt the man behind him slouch so, with one hand, Rickard grabbed the man's arm and kept a hold of him as the Wraiths began their attack. They swooped down, picking up horse and rider and lifting them high into the air before dropping them. One of them came straight at Rickard but he managed to swerve out of the way in time. Others weren't so lucky. They were being torn apart with no cover to hide them.

My uncle was near the head of the surviving force. He kept his eyes focused on Minas Tirith ahead of them. Each second that past they were getting closer. Each second that past a soldier died because of the Wraiths. They were halfway across the space between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, called Pelannor Fields, when the gates opened and out came a white horse. Gandalf. He galloped towards them and then raised his staff above his head. A flash of pure, white, brilliant, heavenly light blasted from the head of his staff and a beam of white light shone towards the Wraiths. The light stopped them. It burned them. The Wraiths commanded their Fell Beasts to return to Mordor. From there on it was easy.

They rode through the Great Gates and into the courtyard behind where the wounded were taken to The Houses of Healing.

'Mithrandir,' Faramir said to Gandalf, who had Pippin with him. 'They broke through our defences. They've taken the bridge and the west bank.'

'And the Orc's now have a direct path to attack us here,' my uncle added. 'If the beacons are not lit soon we will be doomed.'

'The beacons have been lit,' Gandalf informed my uncle.

'Battalions of Orc's are crossing the river,' Faramir continued.

'It is as the Lord Denathor predicted,' one of Denathor's men announced. 'Long has he foreseen this doom.'

'And has done a pig's arse to stop it from happening!' Rickard shouted as he helped the wounded soldier off of his horse and passed him to another man to carry to a stretcher.
My uncle climbed off of his horse and walked to Rickard.

'Son,' he said to him, 'you must never speak of an important leader like that where all can hear you.'

'Everyone was thinking it, I just said it.'

'I know. But you're expected to act with dignity and respect for a host.'

'I'm sorry father.'

'Just don't do it again. The beacons have been lit. Now we need to hope that Rohan will help.'

'And we need to hope that we will last long enough for Rohan to arrive.'

'I was worried about that myself. Rickard, can we agree to do whatever it takes to prevent this city from falling?'

'Of course,' my cousin responded and a grin crept onto his face. 'What's the plan?'

'Something reckless.'

...

A little over an hour later my uncle stood with Rickard in the Tower of Ecthelion. They had been summoned there by Denathor because of my Uncle's experience in war and, as Rickard was officially my uncle's guard, he was there as well. However, my uncle suspected he had been summoned there as a display of the Stewards power. Sitting in his chair was Denathor while kneeling before him was Pippin. Standing a little further away was Faramir, still dressed in the uniform he wore in Osgiliath.

'Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor,' Pippin recited, 'in peace or war, in living or dying, from,' he paused for a moment, trying to remember the words he had to recite while Denathor looked down at him in amusement. 'From this hour henceforth, until my lord release me or,' Pippin halted as he considered what he was saying, 'or death takes me.'

'And I shall not forget it,' Denathor said as he rose from his chair, 'nor fail to reward that which is given.'

He then moved his hand close to Pippins face and the Hobbit kissed the ring on Denathor's finger.

'Fealty with love,' Denathor began as he walked to a table and chair nearby. 'Valour with honour. Disloyalty with vengeance,' the Steward then sat at his table and helped himself to the food on the table which was being served for him. 'I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defences,' he said to Faramir, 'defences that your brother long held intact.'

'What would you have me do?' Faramir asked his father.

'I will not yield the river in Pelannor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken.'

My uncle and cousin looked at each other in shock at what the Steward had just suggested.

'No offence My Lord,' my uncle said as he stepped forwards, 'but any attempt to retake Osgiliath would need thousands of men. You don't have that manpower.'

'The city is overrun,' Faramir assured his father.

'Much must be risked in war,' the Steward stated. 'Is there not a captain here who still has the courage to do his lords will?' he asked to all but the question was directed at Faramir.

'All of your captains have the courage to do your will,' my uncle said loudly so all in the room could hear him, he also walked confidently towards Denethor, 'when their lords will makes sense.'

'Mind your tong Englishman.'

Faramir, his face broken with sorrow then said.

'You wish now that our places had been exchanged? That I had died and Boromir had lived?'

'Yes. I wish that,' the Steward of Gondor said to Captain Faramir.

'Since you were robbed of Boromir,' Faramir began, trying to hold back tears, 'I will do what I can in his stead.'

Faramir then bowed and turned to leave when Rickard stepped in front of him.
'Wait here for a minute,' Rickard told the captain as my uncle stepped towards the Steward.

'Lord Denathor,' my uncle began, 'I have tried to be as diplomatic as I can but now I must speak bluntly. You will not order your son to lead a suicide mission into Osgiliath.'

Denathor chuckled at my uncle as he chewed on a bit of meat. 'You have no power to speak to me with any authority Englishman.'

'Listen to me Denathor. You are not fit to lead the defence of this city. I'm relieving you of command.'

Everyone's jaw dropped. The tension in the room was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. My cousin looked around him and saw that a few of the members of the Citadel Guard stood ready to draw their swords.

'By what right do you even think of doing this?' Denathor asked as he stood up, anger in every word.

'By the right to defend Christendom.'

'And how do you plan to succeed with this coup. One old man and a boy against the elite forces of Gondor. Not much of an army.'

'Father,' Rickard nervously said to my uncle, 'he has a point.'

'Captain Faramir,' my uncle said to the Gondorian while not taking his eyes off of Denathor, 'tell me where your loyalties lie. With your country or your father? Soldiers of Gondor,' he then looked at the Citadel Guard, 'do your oaths of loyalty make it fine for you to stand by while a madman will bring ruin to this land? If they do,' my uncle said and spread out his arms, 'you may run me through with your swords. Your conscience will remain unbroken, while your lives are cut down.'

Faramir looked between my uncle and the Steward. His decision would decide the fate of Middle Earth. Faramir walked towards the Steward slowly and then stood next to him. The Citadel Guard took their hands away from their sword and got ready to do something they thought they would never do.

'I'm sorry father,' he said to Denathor, 'but he's right. Guards,' Faramir said to the soldiers in the room, 'please escort my father to his chambers. He is feeling unwell.'

After a few seconds of hesitation they followed the orders of Faramir and took Denathor away. The Steward was silent. He was too shocked to do anything apart from remain silent. Everyone was silent for what felt like an eternity to Rickard. Eventually he broke the silence.

'Well, is anyone going to finish that meal?'

'Master Harris,' Faramir said to my uncle, 'what do you plan to do?'

'Call a council of war,' my uncle ordered. 'Every high ranking officer and nobleman in the city will meet here in one hour. We have much to do.'

'What would you have me tell them?'

'Tell them that the new commander of this city needs to see them.'

A munching sound drew the attention of Faramir and my uncle to the table where Rickard and Pippin were eating some of the food.

'What?' Rickard asked. 'You shouldn't waste food.'