((Here it is, fanboys and fangirls. It's a bit miraculous that I found time to get this written, even with exams coming up. But what can I say? I love you all that much. :D
This was a very sad chapter to write. Lots and lots of death. Anyways, please read and review. I still don't own LotR or HP.
P.S. 77 days 'til O.o.t.P. and 85 days 'til D.H.! SQUEE!))
Theoden gazed out at the horde of evil creatures spread out before Minas Tirith and his heart fell. The entire force which had assaulted Helm's Deep would barely count as a tenth of this army.
Merry likewise gasped as he saw the army. What was I thinking, coming along? he said to himself. But he felt Dernhelm's hand squeeze his shoulder. "Courage, young Hobbit." the man whispered. "Have courage for your friends." He glanced over and saw Boromir looking at him and smiling encouragingly. He nodded to the man and loosened his sword in its sheath. Even if he did die, he resolved, he would make the Orcs fear the name of the Shire.
All eyes now turned to Theoden whose head was bowed. Many fully expected him to turn and ride back to Edoras in shame, but then his head raised and on his face was a look of determination. "Eomer," he cried, "take your Eored down the left flank! Boromir, follow the King's banner down the center! Theodred, take your company right after you pass the walls. Forth, and fear not darkness! Arise! Arise, Riders of Rohan! Spears shall be shaken! Shields shall be splintered! A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"
"Whatever happens," whispered Dernhelm to Merry, "stay with me. I'll look after you." Merry nodded.
"Ride now!" cried Theoden. "Ride now! Ride for ruin! And the world's ending! Death!"
"DEATH!" repeated the Riders after him.
"Death!" Theoden cried again.
"DEATH!"
"DEATH!" the King cried a third time.
"DEATH!" roared the Riders.
Merry, despite his need to stay hidden drew his sword and joined the battle cry.
As the horns sounded again, Theoden shouted, "Forth Eorlingas!"
All at once, the horses broke into a charge. But ever Theoden rode before them, looking to the terrified Orcs like one of the great and terrible Kings of Old. Arrows flew from the horde, and a few found their marks, but nothing could stop the tidal wave of Horsemen that bore down upon them.
"Fire at will!" Gothmog screamed frantically, but many of the Orcs simply broke and ran. With a sound like a thunderstorm, the line of Horsemen slammed into the Orcs. The evil creatures fell by the hundreds, some trampled by hooves and others pierced and hewn with spears and swords. Theoden laughed and swung his sword like a man half his age, decapitating an enraged Gothmog with one strike. Merry, too, caught in the heat of battle grinned savagely as he slashed at any Orcs who attacked Dermhelm's unprotected side. A short ways away, he saw Boromir, not smiling, but nonetheless slaying Orcs with great skill.
Denethor now stood at the top of the pyre, Faramir at his feet. He raised his arms slowly and closed his eyes. "Set a fire in our flesh." he commanded. The Citadel Guards looked at each other nervously, but none could disobey the mad Steward, for to do so would break their sacred oaths. As the torches neared the wood, the doors suddenly slammed open and a voice cried out "EXPELIARMUS!" A stream of magic flew from Draco's wand and knocked the torch from the hand of one of the nearest guard. The others drew up in surprise and Denethor turned towards the intruders with a look of pure rage on his face.
"Get down off of there you idiot!" Draco yelled.
Denethor sneered and grabbed a torch from one of the stunned guards. " You may triumph in the field of battle for a day, boy," he hissed, "but against the power that has risen in the east, there is no victory." With these grim words, he tossed the torch down on the oil-soaked wood which instantly ignited.
Pippin gasped and Draco charged the horse forward, aiming his wand and crying "Impedimenta!"
Denethor flew off the pyre with a cry of surprise and crashed into his attendants. Pippin, seeing the fire moving in on Faramir, leapt from the horse and landed next to him. He braced his hands underneath the fallen Captain and with a great heave, rolled him off the pyre just as it was completely consumed by flames.
"NOOOO!" screamed a wild voice. Denethor almost seemed to fly at Pippin and grabbed him by the throat. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY SON FROM ME!" he bellowed.
"Avada Kedavra!" Denethor didn't even have time to cry out before the jet of green light struck him and he fell back onto the burning pyre, dead. The flames quickly consumed his body and Pippin had to fight not to retch at the smell of burning flesh.
Draco sighed and slumped in his saddle, the weight of the last several hours, finally catching up with him.
Pippin looked up at the sound of hooves and saw Gandalf atop Shadowfax, standing in the door of the Mausoleum. He looked grimly at the pyre and said, "So passes Denethor, Son of Ecthelion...Lord and Steward of Gondor."
The Army of Rohan, despite being so vastly outnumbered, had completely driven the Orcs from around the walls. Sauron's proud army were now fleeing back towards Osgiliath.
"Fight them to the river!" shouted Eomer to his company.
"Make safe the city!" Theodred ordered his troops.
Suddenly, from far off, came a loud trumpeting sound. This was no horn, nor any other sound made by Man or Orc. Through the fog around Osgiliath came the source of the sound. The beasts were taller than a siege tower. They had leathery grey skin, huge floppy ears, and long snake-like trunks. Sweeping down from either side of their mouths came two long, curved ivory tusks. Atop their backs sat tall structures, holding dozens of men with spears and bows. Driving them were tall men, all bald and wearing little besides loin cloths and elaborate body paint. These terrible monsters were the Mumakil of Harad.
The Men of Rohan gasped and quaked in fear at the sight of the monsters, but Theoden charged forward and shouted, "Reform the line! Take them head-on! CHARGE!" Emboldened by the courage of their King, the men followed. As soon as the horse-men came within range, the Mumakil swung their mighty tusks, sometimes taking dozens at a time. The Rohirrim responded by firing their bows at the creatures, but the arrows were barely pin-pricks to them.
Eomer saw this and tried a different strategy. He checked his horse and stood stock-still while two Mumakil bore down on him. At the very last possible moment, he tossed his spear up, not at the monster, but at its driver. The man toppled down, still attached to the reins, prompting the beast to veer to the side and into the other one, killing them both.
Dernhelm, too, had a strategy. "Take the reins!" he said to Merry. The Hobbit blinked in surprise, but did as he was told. "Take us left!" Dermhelm cried. Merry did so, before he saw that this led them straight through the legs of one of the beasts. He closed his eyes and prayed that the strange man he rode with knew what he was doing. Dernhelm grabbed the sword out of the hands of a nearby Orc and used both it and his own to cut the hamstrings of the Mumakil as they galloped beneath it. The monster let out a pained trumpet and fell in a heap, knocking both Merry and Dermhelm from their horse.
Dermhelm, climbing to his feet, looked frantically around for Merry, but then saw something else that made his heart leap into his throat. Theoden was nearby, slashing wildly at the Orcs surrounding him. He uttered a battle cry and charged into the mass, slaying the Orcs with reckless abandon. Theoden blinked, feeling for a second that something about the way the young warrior fought seemed familiar, before being drawn back into battle.
Merry awoke with something of a headache. He had hit his head when he fell and the body of one of the men who had been on the Mumakil they killed had fallen on top of him. He rolled the body off with a grunt and stood to his feet. Where has Dernhelm gotten off to? he wondered, but a hoarse cry drew his attention and he had to bring his sword up to fend off the Orc who had chosen him as its next victim. He quickly dispatched the enemy, but there was another right behind it.
"Rally to me!" Theoden cried to his men. "To me!"
Suddenly, he found himself being lifted up in the air, along with his horse and he was shaken violently before being tossed roughly back onto the ground. He gasped in pain as his horse spasmed and rolled on top of him. His vision was tinged with red, but he could still see the terrible shape of the fell beast and its Nazgul rider looming above him.
"Feast on his flesh." the Witch King hissed. The beast raised its head to oblige its master's order, but two men jumped in front of it with their swords drawn. "I will kill you if you touch him!" Dernhelm cried. Prince Theodred said nothing, but his face held a look which would terrify any mortal creature.
"Fools! Do not come between the Nazgul and his prey!" the Witch King growled at the same time as his mount lunged at Theodred. The Prince jumped to the side and, with one mighty stroke, hewed the beast's head from its snake-like neck. The body toppled over like a puppet with its strings cut and the Witch King fell from its back. But the next moment, he was back on his feet. He turned to the two men, and brandished both a long pale sword and a massive spiked flail.
Dernhelm's face paled, but he picked up a fallen soldier's shield and tightened his grip on his own sword. Theodred crossed around to flank the Witch King, bringing his sword up into a defensive position.
With a terrible cry, the Witch King swung the flail and the battle began. Dernhelm dodged the blow which would have shattered his skull and then brought his sword up to parry another strike. The Witch King spun and swung the flail again and Dernhelm brought his shield up, but it shattered under the power of the strike and the Soldier fell, holding his arm awkwardly. Theodred roared in rage and charged recklessly, but his attacks were easily parried by the Nazgul. With an almost casual air, he knocked Theodred's sword from his hand and swung his flail, catching the young Prince in the chest and sending him flying back several feet. When he landed, he did not get up again.
Lozgrub, Second in Command of the Orc Army, licked his lips as the scent of battle came to his nostrils. He could see those vile Men of Harad and their giant beasts slaying the Horsemen with reckless abandon. No doubt they would get all the Great Eye's thanks and the Orcs would be relegated to cleaning up the battlefield.
Mildly put, he was in a bad mood. He and a small group were standing at the docks of Osgiliath, waiting for the perpetually late Corsairs of Umbar to arrive to reenforce them.
"Why we gotta wait here?" grumbled one of his underlings. "My belly aches for man flesh."
"Because the Master ordered us to!" snapped Lozgrub, despite the fact that those had been almost his exact thoughts a moment before.
"Look, here comes the scum now!" said another.
Sure enough, large cruel-looking ships with black sails were rounding a bend in the river and moving towards them. As they drew closer, Lozgrub shouted, "Late as usual, Pirate Scum! There's knife-work here that needs doing! Come on, ye sea-rats! Get off yer ships!"
Someone did, indeed jump off the closest ship, but it wasn't who Lozgrub was expecting. First came two men, one tall and bearded, wielding a great sword, and the other, shorter and younger and wielding a sword and a short wooden stick. Next came three Elves, two of them identical to one another with long raven hair, wielding long, curved swords, and the other, golden haired and wielding a bow. Finally, there stumbled down off the ship a Dwarf with wild red hair and a long beard and wielding a broad gold and silver axe.
"There's plenty for all of us." said the Dwarf fiercely, "May the best Dwarf win!"
Lozgrub and his soldiers roared with laughter. "Who be these fools?" the Orc crowed.
The man stood tall and pointed his sword at them. "I am the King of this City. I hereby demand that you cease your attack and return to your own lands or we will destroy you."
The Orcs laughter only intensified. "Destroy us?" Lozgrub cackled. "You and what army?"
The man smiled. "This army."
Out of the ships suddenly came thousands and thousands of pale ghostly figures. The laughter of the Orcs turned to screams of terror as the Army of the Dead descended upon them.
Merry stumbled across the battlefield, half blind. That last Orc had managed to club him in the head before he killed it and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to make his vision clear.
"You fool!" hissed a terrible voice which emanated from a dark blur directly in front of him. "No man can kill me!" He shook his head and the fog around his eyes lifted just enough for him to be able to see the Witch King holding Dernhelm up by his neck. "Die now, little warrior." the Nazgul mocked.
Merry had no idea what came over him next. With a cry of "The Shire!" he drove his sword into the Nazgul's leg. He cried out as his arm suddenly became numb, and his sword smoked and shriveled up like burnt paper, but the damage had been done. The Witch King fell to his knees with a cry of agony and dropped Dernhelm. Merry watch in amazement as the soldier who had borne him into the battle pulled off his helmet to reveal that he wasn't a 'he' at all. "I am no man." Eowyn said fiercely. She drew back her sword and plunged it straight into the Witch King's face. There was a sound like a thunderclap and the Nazgul let out one last wail before its helmet crumpled in on itself and its robes fell into a heap as if the body inside had been suddenly taken away.
"Averte Statum" Harry said, firing a spell at a fleeing Orc. All around him, the creatures of evil were running back towards Mordor. Harry was quite sure that, had they possessed tails, they would be tucked between their legs. The Army of the Dead had taken out the Mumakil within a matter of minutes and without their big guns, the Orcs and Men had apparently lost their courage. He could also see a ghostly green glow from within the walls of Minas Tirith and he knew that the city would soon be cleared of Mordor's filth as well.
Without a doubt, they had won.
Eowyn crawled over to Theoden as best she could with her broken arm. The King was staring up into the sky, and she thought him dead, but then he looked at her. At first, he looked confused, and then outraged, but finally his features softened.
"Eowyn." he croaked. "You disobeyed me."
"I am sorry, Uncle." she said, angrily fighting back tears, but he waved his weakly.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. You proved me wrong. Eowyn, I am very proud of you."
Tears now flowed freely from her eyes. She clasped his hand and laid her other hand on his head. "My eyes darken." he said after a moment more.
Her grip on his hand tightened, almost as if she thought she could keep him there by simply holding on to him. "No, I have to save you!"
He smiled. "You already did. I go now to my fathers, in whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed." He let out one last ragged breath and gasped, "Eowyn..." before his eyes grew wide and he stared off into the sky, gone forever from Middle Earth.
Eowyn sobbed and laid her head on his chest where, soon after, she fell into unconsciousness.
Draco, Gandalf and Pippin picked their way across the field of dead Orcs, heading towards a place where they could see six figures standing before a mass of assembled ghosts. Pippin cringed slightly when he saw the Army of the Dead, but Draco placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Release us." they heard the King of the Dead demand.
Aragorn looked at him hesitantly.
"Bad idea!" chimed in Gimli. "Very handy in tight spot, these lads...Despite their being dead."
The King gave the Dwarf a cold glare before turning back to Aragorn. "You gave us your word!" he snapped.
Aragorn sighed. "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace."
The King smiled and spread his arms as he and his army evaporated into clouds of smoke and then vanished altogether. The Companions then turned and, catching sight of the others, smiled. Gandalf noted the presence of Anduril in Aragorn's hand and bowed his head respectfully.
Harry and Draco's reactions were not so subdued. They both broke away from their groups at a run and met in a passionate embrace and kiss.
Elladan and Elrohir grinned at one another and Gandalf rolled his eyes and shook his head.
After giving them a moment, he cleared his throat. "When you are quite ready, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, there is much we could be doing by way of aiding injured soldiers.
The two broke their embrace and laughed self-consciously. "Sorry, Gandalf." said Harry sheepishly.
"I see nothing has changed in my absence." said Boromir, approaching with a group of Rohirrim. He and Aragorn laughed and hugged. "We meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor stand between us." said the Gondorian, quoting Aragorn's words to him back at the camp. Aragorn laughed and the others too greeted their old comrade. Soon, though, they were prodded again by Gandalf and they had to set about the less happy task of searching for survivors. Gondorian Soldiers and relatively uninjured Rohirrim were conscripted to serve as orderlies.
As they moved further away from the city, they came upon the bodies of more and more Men and horses. One sad discovery came as they found the body of Gamling, Theoden's trusted lieutenant. Around him were a great many dead Orcs, and they were glad to know that he had died doing what he loved. Suddenly, "Harry..." called a weak voice. Harry looked around and gasped when he saw who had spoken.
Theodred lay not far away, his armor bent and torn and his chest bleeding from several puncture wounds. He dashed over away from Draco to the fallen Prince and knelt by his side. Theodred smiled. "I am...glad...I got to see you...again..." he said with some effort. Harry didn't respond, but instead pulled the ruined armor off his chest. He was hardly a medical expert, but he could tell, thankfully, that the armor had saved the Prince from the worst of whatever had hit him. He looked around and saw two Gondorian Soldiers with a stretcher. "Over here!" he called. The men quickly ran over and just as quickly lifted Theodred up and set him on the stretcher. Harry walked away with them, clasping Theodred's hand and leaving Draco behind with a hurt expression on his face.
The worst part of the day came when an anguished cry echoed across the battlefield and they ran over to find Eomer holding Eowyn's limp body. Everyone looked shocked to see this, except Boromir who looked oddly ashamed.
Gandalf ran over and knelt down next to them. He placed a hand on her brow and closed his eyes. Quickly, his eyes shot open again. "Eomer, she lives! Quickly, Aragorn, Boromir, take her to the House of Healing!" They nodded and, without a word, gently picked the Shieldmaiden up and took her away with Eomer quickly following. "Peregrin Took!" called Gandalf and the Hobbit ran to his side, eager to be of assistance. "Find as much Kingsfoil as you can and bring it up into the city!" Gandalf ordered. Pippin nodded and ran off in search of the plant.
"Gandalf." said Draco in a grim voice. He and the Twins stood not far away next to the body of a great white stallion. Gandalf went over to them and his heart fell as he saw the body of Theoden, King of Rohan. He closed his eyes and said in a low voice, "Westu hál. Ferðu, Theoden, Ferðu." (Be-thou well. Go-thou, Theoden, go-thou.)
Pippin, meanwhile, had already found quite a bit of Kingsfoil, and was about to go back to the City when something caught his eye. He bent down and picked out of the grass a silver and green broach, shaped like a Mallorn leaf. "Merry..." he gasped and began scouring for any sign of his friend. Suddenly, he saw a pair of hairy feet sticking out from underneath the body of an Orc. He ran forward with a small cry and rolled the body off. Merry looked worse than Pippin had ever seen him. Both his eyes had been blackened and his nose looked broken. On top of that, he looked oddly pale. "Merry! Merry, wake up! It's me, Pippin!"
Merry's eyes opened slowly and he smiled when he saw Pippin's face. "I knew you'd find me." he said weakly. Pippin smiled back at him, despite the tears streaming down his face. Merry suddenly looked frightened. "Are...Are you going to leave me?"
Pippin shook his head. "No. I'm going to look after you."
He looked over his shoulder and called for help. The Twins seemed almost to appear out of nowhere and they gently scooped Merry up and took him to the city.
At long last, the sun began to set, heralding the end of one of the longest days anyone in Gondor could ever remember. Though the battle was won, hope was nowhere to be found. Not in the House of Healing where Aragorn and Gandalf toiled to save the lives of Eowyn, Faramir, Merry and countless others and where Harry sat by the bedside of Theodred as healers tried to patch up his wounds. Not in the Citadel where Pippin was having to tell Boromir of his father's madness and subsequent death. Not by the White Tree where Draco sat, feeling betrayed by the one he loved.
Not even in the Pass of Cirith Ungol where Samwise Gamgee, having defeated the great Spider, Shelob, cried over the seemingly dead body of Frodo Baggins.