Chapter Twenty-Five.
Night was approaching and a shiver trailed down Corlia's back as she felt the darkness slowly creeping closer. The atmosphere seemed to get thicker and the air became still; all knew that they were close now. Corlia was crouched near a group of men; her tail was still and her eyes were glued to the jogging messenger that approached Faramir several feet away.
"The enemy still hasn't been spotted, the night is growing dark and a lingering fog covers the river" Corlia overheard the messenger say making Faramir darkly look across at the river.
"I doubt it is a natural fog" Faramir lowly noted and Corlia inwardly nodded in agreement. Faramir went to glance at the messenger but instead noticed the overgrown wolf cautiously watching them. It was clear that Faramir was going to speak but a loud crash interrupted them leaving everyone, especially the men seated by the fire, spooked. The men rushed over to the cause and saw that one of their soldiers had been swiftly killed by an arrow. They all knew what this meant – they were coming by the river.
By now every Man of Gondor was in place; they hid behind broken buildings, large boulders and pillars as everyone waited for the enemy. Corlia had remained close to the river's edge, her form low as she hid in the depths of the shadows. She tried her best to look into the fog and see any kind of life but it was unnaturally thick making her glare instead – Sauron's powers were much too strong, stronger than they used to be perhaps… But even with his power they couldn't hide the soft sound of the boats paddling, even the Men of Gondor could hear them as they started signalling to one another. Corlia knew not to judge how many there were based on how many were padding; she knew that only a few did it to try and remain quiet. The overgrown wolf took this moment to glance at the men around her, admiration in her eyes. They did not give off the same vibe as the Riders of Rohan did but there was bravery in their eyes. All of them kept their nerves in check as they stopped signalling, gripping their weapons as they waited Faramir's signal. Corlia couldn't help but wonder how long all of these men had been here defending Osgiliath; they seemed too prepared. She could tell them apart though; the newest editions to Faramir's group held honour and excitement in their eyes but the older ones seemed worn and exhausted. She frowned as she took more noticed of them; it was as if their very lives had been taken away from them. She found little honour in their eyes, the only thing that dominantly stood out was loyalty towards their leader.
Light shuffling and tapping entered Corlia's ears, distracting her as she glanced at Faramir who got the attention of all. His hand gestures were quick and graceful; a silent way of communicating to all his men.
"They've been spotted – on his command we fight" the nearest man to the overgrown wolf lowly whispered, looking directly at her. She softly grumbled, thankful that someone had informed her on what Faramir's gestures meant. Corlia's nose wrinkled in disgust as she smelt them over the nearby burning fires; the enemy already knew they were positioned here so they left them alight, hoping that they would think that they had caught the Men of Gondor off guard. The men and Corlia held their breaths as they heard the 'thud' of the boats boarding land, the thumping of feet running following it. Corlia closed her eyes for a moment, her head tilting to the side as she forced herself not to shiver. No matter how many times she had battled there was still that pinch of fear, distress and sorrow deep in her heart.
Another who felt those emotions and many more was Gandalf the White who stood watching Osgiliath from his balcony, the silence between him and Pippin unnerving.
"They're there, aren't they?" Pippin quietly whispered, trying to look as far as Gandalf but his eyes were not made for looking afar. Gandalf felt his heart tighten, as if he had done wrong and was to be blamed, but the Valar had sent him back for a reason so Gandalf could not question his plan.
"Yes, they are there… They are engaging right as we speak. Corlia has succeeded in warning them but I fear for them, I truly do" Gandalf quietly spoke, a slight hum to his words. Gandalf glanced down at Pippin, saddened by the fact that he would soon witness a true battle. Although the small hobbit had been a part of the downfall of Saruman the march of the Ents was a much different battle to the one they would soon face. Pippin fearfully looked up, trying to understand Gandalf's emotions but as much as he tried he could not. With an inward frustrated sigh Pippin looked back into the distance, a fire brightly burning in Osgiliath.
"Will they be able to hold?" Pippin asked and Gandalf turned his eyes away from Pippin and back onto Osgiliath. It was unknown to all besides Gandalf how strong his sight truly was, some said it was stronger than the elves while others said it was merely as strong as the dwarves. Tears were welling up in his eyes but he held them back as a reminder of Pippin's accomplished task, the lighting of the beacon, was successful.
"Gandalf?" Pippin innocently asked, gaining the aged wizards attention. The Wizard coughed, smiling in encouragement towards him as he sucked the end of his pipe. The smoke that filled the air when Gandalf exhaled blurred his sight on Osgiliath but as it faded he couldn't help but noticed that most of the smoke truly was in the distance.
"They will hold… for a while."
Corlia and the beast within worked in harmony against the enemy but everyone knew they were outnumbered. She managed to glance across at Faramir several times, ensuring that he did not fall in this fight. Corlia feared that if he fell then the men would give up hope or go into panic. Through the burning fires and the smoke Corlia realised it was coming day; she doubted they could hold for much longer. Several men had already fallen to the enemy and no matter how many they killed their numbers kept on increasing. Loud shrilling cries entered the battlefield and Corlia flung herself to the ground, the sound sending her head spinning. The Nazgul were here, the Black Riders upon them. Faramir called out to his men and Corlia struggled to hear him but she knew it was time to retreat to the city… had she failed Gandalf in holding Osgiliath? The beast within loudly growled, not wanting to admit defeat, and Corlia found herself slipping out of control as the beast hauled itself into battle.
She didn't know when she regained control but she did only to see the retreating horses and riders ahead of her. She wildly shook her head, clearing her thoughts as she mustered the energy to chase after them. The wounds fiercely stung as she swerved from one side to the other avoiding arrows from behind and Nazgul from above. She noted the sun had already risen… how long had she lost control? Her eyes sharpened as she noticed one rider fall from his horse, his cry lost in the thundering noise of horses hooves galloping across the land. Corlia hastened her pace, her muscles burning from exhaustion as she reached the fallen rider. He moved, his arms flailing in the air like a new born baby – Corlia was unsure if he did it out of panic or to chase away the nightmares that plagued him. She paused in her fleeing knowing this could get her killed but her stern eyes gained the attention of the badly injured Man of Gondor who grabbed onto her fur with stuttering pleas. Corlia winced, the man weighing her down as he climbed aboard. 'Broken leg' Corlia noted as she got a glimpse of his deformed right leg. Unsteadily she picked up pace again, the man painfully clenching onto her dripping fur as she galloped towards the gates of Minas Tirith. The pair of them was way behind, her smaller legs unable to catch up to the horses ahead. If she had no rider then perhaps she would match their pace but with a rider she could not. Her eyes were slowly dying, the hopes of escape minimal.
The coming darkness was behind her, the mental thought of it snapping on her tail kept her legs moving forward. She was slowing though, her poor lungs wheezing aloud making her rider clench even harder in fear. Each stride was as painful as the one before, her clenching jaw softening to let quiet whimpers escape her lips. Corlia knew she was in serious trouble; every time she tripped it became harder and harder to recover. If she tripped one more time she doubted she could get back up, even without the man above.
"I see light… Gandalf… Gandalf has come" the rider above whispered with a trembling tone, his grip softening slightly. Corlia thought she had been imagining the light but no, his words were true. Shadowfax powerfully galloped across the land ahead, Gandalf's staff risen as shining white light erupted from it, shielding away the Nazgul from their pray. Joy filled Corlia's heart as the riders ahead passed them, Gandalf still heading in their direction. She didn't know if it made any difference to her current pace but Corlia lengthened her stride, her whimpers turning into grunts and growls of effort. She would not fall, she would not make this journey a waste of her time. If she was to die then she would die in the final battle against Sauron, not in-between. Her beastly ears pinned back, a look of determination on her face as she caught up to Gandalf. She didn't have time to look at his expression, she doubted the man who rode her did, but even if she could she doubted she'd understand it. The pair of them now headed to the gates, the Nazgul fleeing back to Osgiliath from Gandalf's wraith.
Every part of her body was suffering; it only worsened as she passed into the safety of Minas Tirith. Corlia tripped and fell, the half dazed rider above groaning out in pain as he fell with her. Her body shook and trembled but her eyes softened as she heard the gates of Minas Tirith shut behind her. She had completed her task… what was the penalty to it? She didn't dare ask as her mind grew dizzy and the people around her darkened.