I find it hilarious that of all of the characters, be it wizard, Redling, Rohirrim, Man, Elf or Dwarf, one of my reviewers wanted to know what happened to Hathalmyrn. That's adorable. He is kind of cute….in a derelict…decaying…zombie kind of way. Hmm…
The dragons. Oh, the dragons. They're gonna be so much fun. The battle of the Hornburg wraps up here, which also takes us to the end of The Two Towers. I'll be starting with Return of the King with the next chapter, so there's that. :) I hope everything at this climax was what you wanted it to be, and I look forward to your responses and reactions.
I've reached over 10,000 hits on the story, so yay for that! I also (As of right now) have 125 reviews. I'm so excited!
Chapter 29 – Worth Fighting For
"The fortress is taken. It is over."
"Bullshit!" Cried James, stepping forward. He was covered in black ichor from his fight with the Uruks and his lips were stained with it from taking a few bites from his enemies. Théoden King looked at the specter of the half-dragon with wide eyes.
"So far as my memory stretches, which is a time beyond any of you, this fortress has never fallen whilst there art men to defend it," A voice melted out of the shadows, causing unmanly shrieks from several of the warriors as Hathalmyrn appeared as if from nowhere. "I see no shortage of men here to defend this place. Many have died defending it."
"So I should take council from a wraith of the Dark Lord? Is that what Rohan has come to?" Théoden asked sharply. Hathalmyrn's shrouded head tilted slightly as he looked down at the King. He was taller than any in this room, and looked rather impressive as he drew himself up, his robes lifting as shadowy, black magic made everyone's lips tingle.
"Thou shouldst hold thy tongue, young king. I have walked these lands far longer than thee, indeed thou art but a mewling infant to me. Do not mistake my tameness under my new Master's reign for weakness, for it would be a mistake most unfortunate," the wraith hissed.
"Hathalmyrn! Down!" Harry snapped, reaching up and grabbing the Nazgûl by its robe and dragging it into a corner.
"So you will let the enemy batter down your door? You will let them enter your fortress and slaughter you here? What do you think happens after that?" Goldhorn was speaking now. He was sitting out his haunches, looking every bit the elegant ruler, his horned head held upright as he tapped his tail against the ground. "Do you think they will turn loose your womenfolk and your hatchlings? Your mates will be divvied as spoils of war, your daughters used for sport. If we must die, this is an unspectacular way to do it."
"There has been much death already. What can men do against such reckless hate?" Théoden asked.
"I understand your burden, King of Rohan. You are faced with an impossible choice. To save your country you must condemn more men to death. But it has been my experience of men that you are a flexible sort. Tragedies seem only to make you stronger. Your nesters can survive without their mates and your hatchlings will grow. Unless they are dead. Dead children do not rebuild a country," The dragon said. "I came on the call of our friend, the dragon-not-dragon, but I feel a kinship with you, King. I will fight to my last breath to see your country survive."
Aragorn stepped forward, his grey eyes sparkling with a strange majesty.
"Let us ride on them!" he said. "Let us ride out and meet them. Though death be at our doorstep let us not flee from it! We will not let the makers of evil come to us. Let us go to them, and deliver what justice we may before Mandos welcomes us to his Hall!" Aragorn exclaimed. Gimli yelled out a war call in the Dwarf language, startling several people.
"I have a little death to deal to them before I go to my resting place!" Gimli growled.
"What say you, Théoden King? Will the horse-lords ride with the Redlings and the warriors of the East for one last, glorious time?" Phelan stepped forward, his long silver hair in a rebellious cloud around his head. Gismblog was standing nearby, his lightly built black sword held loosely in his hands. Prince Amir had a bloody gash across going from his forehead and down his brow, mercifully skipping his eye before going down his cheek. He stepped forward, raising the ceremonial snake-handled dagger.
"We have fought as brothers," the Prince said. "Will we die this way as well?"
"Let the Lords ride forth together! You have the sword of Boromir of Gondor on your side, and it is eager for justice!" The steward's heir called. There was a cheer from some of the men standing nearby, and resolve could be seen gathering in Théoden's eyes. Talun had sought out Boromir when they had retreated into the Keep, and she threaded her fingers through his. She held tightly to his arm and looked over to the King.
"For death and glory," he said, his voice soft. Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder.
"For Rohan. For your people!" he said, pumping a fist into the air.
"Yes. Yes! Let the horn of helm Hammerhand sound on the Deep one last time!" he said, signaling to one of the soldiers of Rohan. "Gather up your mounts and all that will ride with me. Let this be the hour that we draw swords together!"
There was a loud roar of approval as those with rideable animals retrieved them from their resting places. Horses and wolves stood together, feeling their master's deep agitation.
"The sun will be up soon," Gimli commented, twirling his axe. There was a large paw on his shoulder suddenly, and he looked up into the crimson eyes of the dragon King.
"Our people have been at odds, and I know the tongues of Dwarves have cursed our very names. But it would be an honor for me if you would allow me to carry you and your elven friend into battle. I can assure you I am a much smoother ride than any horse," he said genially. Gimli looked into the triangular face, his dark eyes glittering like beetles.
"We must talk, Master dragon, if we survive this night. Until that time, I have learned that allies come in most unexpected places. I cannot speak for my pointy-eared, prancing friend, but I will ride with you," Gimli replied. Legolas' eyes sparkled like starlight as he reached out and reverently touched one of the gilt-edged wings of the dragon king.
"Much more stylish than a horse, I'll admit," he said. The two sprang atop the dragon, who adjusted his wings accordingly. Stormsnout, one of his favored yellow dragons, pranced up beside them, ruffling his stiff yellow feathers.
"A dwarf, an elf and a dragon. I sense a fabulous joke in there somewhere," the dragon purred, his crackling voice full of nervous mirth. Legolas reached out and patted the bright head of the dragon, laughing lightly when static tickled his fingers and made his hair stand up on end.
Aragorn, Amir and Théoden stood at the head, their swords drawn as they sat astride their horses. Boromir was riding a Redling wolf beside of Talun, with Phelan and Gismblog just behind them. The wizards converged behind them in a line of magical might. Alatar and Pollando rode at each end of their force, with Lucius, Harry and a dragon-riding Hathalmyrn between them. The dragon that had volunteered for Hathalmyrn was one of the twinkling blue dragons, a frosty female by the name of Tundra. Frost formed on the ground where she stood, and Hathalmyrn reveled in the cold of her presence. His icy pale blade was drawn, and they looked a well match as he'd drawn on his blue cloak again.
"Not starting without me, eh?" Sirius rode forward on an intimidating black wolf he'd been given. Its rider had perished, yet it wanted to see battle. Its pale green eyes regarded them haughtily.
"How's Orion?" Harry asked.
"Out cold with several stitches. Draca said if he survives the next few hours he should be able to recover," Sirius said grimly. Harry nodded. "So I've come to wreak havoc on those ill-begotten gobs of ass-spackle," he growled. Lucius nudged his horse aside and Sirius took a place between Harry and Lucius.
James floated along languidly on his self-charmed broom, his sword held in his hand and magic arcing across his body.
"James, are you all right?" Harry asked. A few eyes turned in their direction as James' face twisted into a grin, showing his sharp teeth.
"I'm battle eager and rabid with pent-up magic," he replied lowly, his voice gravelly. Lucius sneered.
"I believe the rabid part," he muttered.
They could hear the Uruks trying to break down the gate. It had held very well so far, being the last and strongest of the defenses against outside influence. But now Théoden stood in front of it, looking back at the forces on hoof, paw and foot that were ready to defend Rohan to their last breath.
"Fell deeds have been awakened this night! We stand here at the edge of destruction and death, but we will not bow to it. Death will have to take us by forth! Raise the banners of Rohan! Raise the banners of the Redlings! Raise the banners of the Renegades of Rhûn! Now for wrath!" he called, and a roar met his ears. There was a slight hesitation outside at the sound, before a more desperate strike was laid to the gate. "Now for ruin!" he called again, and was once more greeted with a cheer. "Let the dawn rise red on this day!" he said, thrusting up his sword into the air. The horses were frothing with battle lust and so were the wolves, their snouts slavering at the fierce speech.
The gate broke open just as the horn of helm Hammerhand blew a deep resonating note, revealing several of the dark-faced Uruk-hai. They paused in surprise at the force waiting for them and the sound of the horn. The swords of the generals glittered in the last vestiges of torchlight, and the golden horns of the dragon king nearly glowed.
"Forth Eorlingas!"
"Forth Redlings!"
"Forth Renegades!"
"Forth, dragons!"
They charged.
"Théoden King has mounted a ride for death and glory," Gandalf said, standing at the top of the hill. Éomer rode up beside him, looking down as the wave of warriors rode from the keep, blades glittering and fire roaring.
"Death will not be dealt to the people of Rohan this night," Éomer said. A shorter figure on wolf-back came forward, a wicked-looking Orc blade in his hands.
"Well then what are we waiting for, boys? Do you need the king to send up an invitation?" he asked in his growling voice.
Gandalf raised his staff and Shadowfax reared, baying loudly and swinging his front legs. Eomer's horse, Firefoot, responded in turn as his master raised his sword high in the air. Several of the Rohirric riders put horns to their lips and blew loudly. Many of the Uruks turned, snarling at the newcomers and scrambling to get into a better defensive position before they could charge.
Stargush raised his own black blade as his mount threw back its head and howled. Several of the Redling riders with him put their own horns to their lips, letting loose eerie, spine-tingling sounds. Éomer turned sharply.
"Those are orc-horns!" he snarled. Stargush threw his hood back, revealing the uncommonly smooth face of a full orc.
"Many and varied are they that ride under the Redling banner!" he called with a sharp-toothed grin. "Come, horse-lord. Let us rally to your king!"
Éomer growled but raised his hand again. The horns sounded, the sounds mingling to be bright and dissonant at the same time. Gandalf marveled that it was probably the closest anyone could be to hearing the Music of Creation, with its rich clear opening chords and the dissonance of Melkor added in. The horns of the Rohirrim and the deep, melancholy, not-quite-orc-horns were uncommonly beautiful together. Éomer roared over the sound of the horns.
"To the king!"
Théoden looked up at the sound of the horn of the Rohirrim.
"Éomer!" he cried in disbelief. There was a cheer as they took advantage of the confusion of the Uruks who had turned. They did not know whether to keep facing the frenzied warriors pouring out of the keep or turn and fight the newcomers, and their hesitation was costing them.
The second horn had him considerably more confused. It sounded like an orc-horn, but not...quite. Gismblog shouted an explanation.
"That's Stargush and his company! And Visht with his! A great surprise and boon," the half-orc called cheerfully. There was a shout from Redling and Rohir as the group of twenty-one hundred descended the hill with Gandalf and Éomer at the lead.
"Is it just me or does that forest look an awful lot closer than it did last night?" Lucius asked, his wand blazing green with the killing curse to stop an Uruk in its tracks before it could land a blade on Sirius.
"I don't like forests. Too much crap happened to me inside of them. I happened to die in one," Harry said glibly, using a bludgeoning curse to break the wrist of the Uruk that tried to impale his horse. A neat Severing charm took off its head.
He looked up, wincing a bit as the rising sun dazzled him. But as much as it made his eyes blink, the Uruks were staring straight into it as the sun crested the hill. The charging reinforcements of Rohirrim and Redlings were lost in the dawn's rays, and came down on the Uruk army with a vengeance. Horses' hooves pounded many to the ground, and wolfs' paws slashed and gouged.
The giddiness of hope bolstered the defenders of the Hornburg, and the Uruk saw exactly what a little confidence boost could do. Those who were in a position to do so turned and ran for the inexplicably close forest.
"Don't go into the forest! Stay away from the trees! Let them go!" Éomer's voice called. The severely outmaneuvered remnant of the Uruk army disappeared into the forest, thinking that they had beaten a timely retreat. The Rohirric horses reared in horror as the trees suddenly began to move, creaking and groaning as the sound of agonized screams came from within. Even the wolves began to yip and prance nervously.
The battle of Helm's Deep was won, but as the riders and soldiers began to look around at the dead and dying, they realized that the price of their victory was steep indeed.
Gimli sat astride the corpse of an Uruk, puffing happily on his pipe. Ah, sometimes it was the simple things in life that made one content…
"Final count: fourty-two," came the voice of Legolas, holding his Galadrim bow loosely in his hand as he smiled down at his vertically challenged friend.
"That's not bad for a pretty, nancy Elvish princess," Gimli said, nodding along. Legolas' lips curved into an elegant smile. "I myself am sitting pretty on forty-three."
Legolas' bow came up with an arrow nocked before Gimli could blink. He nearly choked on a mouthful of smoke before the arrow was pointed down and released, landing in the body of the Uruk he was sitting on.
"Forty-three," he replied.
"What in bloody blue blazes was that for? He was already dead!" Gimli sputtered. Legolas tilted his head.
"He was twitching," he said reasonably.
"He was twitching because he's got my axe buried in his nervous system!" he cried. He jerked the axe a couple times, making the Uruk's body twitch.
"Impressively macabre," Legolas replied.
He turned at the shout of approval from the Redling founder.
"Stargush you ugly son-of-a-bitch!" Gismblog cried happily, clapping his hand to the shoulder of a shorter man.
"You are fully orc…" Legolas said, his grip tightening on his bow. Stargush turned his face to the elf.
"Bleeding balls! You're an elf!" he said sarcastically. He was swathed in a cloak of the Redlings, his bright red eyes twinkling madly.
"You rode with my nephew to our aid," came the voice of Théoden. Stargush laughed roughly.
"Someone grab this man's dick and give him a few consolation yanks! He must be the smartest one here!" he exclaimed. Théoden frowned.
"Your help was appreciated, but your attitude is not," he said warningly. Stargush reached up and wiped sweat from his face.
"Give me a break, your majesty. I don't get all those nice fuzzy feelings like the little half-bloods. I work my frustration out with sarcasm and wit. I find most opponents highly lacking in the wit department. Especially when I was in the Black Army. Those motherfuckers were dumb as bricks of shit!" he said, laughing uproariously.
Gismblog rolled his eyes. "Shut your foul mouth, Stargush, before you make them uncomfortable," he said amicably. Stargush waved a hand.
"Aw, I don't give four flying face fucks what they think! I've been around for four-thousand goddamn years and I'll be ass-fucked by a Nazgûl before I let any of these crusty little cum-stains tell me what I can or can't fucking say," Stargush said.
"Did someone say Nazgûl?" asked Hathalmyrn, coalescing into a solid shape after nearly melting from the shadows. Stargush looked at the phantom with wide eyes.
"Well fuck me with a fire poker and whack me in the todger with a battle-hammer," he growled. "That's a fucking Nazgûl if ever I've fucking seen one."
"Thou hast a foul tongue, slave," Hathalmyrn said, hissing like an offended cat.
"Slave? Oh you're one to talk you cum-guzzling shit rag! I'll use your robes to wipe my ass if you're not careful. At least I ain't got the Dark Lord's fiery cock wedged in my cornhole!" the orc barked.
"I feel we are digressing into intolerance and bigotry," Gismblog said, eyeing the Nazgûl warily. "Come, friend. I see a few of your company who were injured," he said, grasping Stargush by the elbow and leading him away.
"Dammit, Hathalmyrn! I turn my back for two seconds and you're already over here screwing around!" Harry snapped. He flicked his wand, sending a magical jolt through the wraith's body. The wretched creature whimpered and cringed away from Harry's wrath.
"Master! What a shameful creature am I! Not worth the magic you spend to keep me alive!" he wailed. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the Nazgûl's cloak.
"Get your bony arse out of the direct light. You're scaring everyone!" Harry growled.
"Yes, Master."
"Look! Osgiliath burns!"
What a fine pickle they'd found themselves in, Sam thought to himself. That wretched little tosser Gollum had led them right into the arms of the Ithilien Rangers, headed by Faramir, the brother of Boromir. Faramir was convinced that his brother was dead because he had not returned to Gondor once their Fellowship was broken, and the two hobbits did not know enough about what had happened after Amon Hen to comfort the man.
They were on their way to Minas Tirith to take the ring to the Steward. Sam would have fought and died to save Frodo, but there were far too many skilled Men here for him to even consider it.
"Mordor has come," Faramir said mournfully, looking at the ruins that used to be the bright jewel of Gondor.
"The Ring will not save Gondor!" Frodo said, and Faramir turned to the Halfling. Frodo's blue eyes were intense as he glared at the second son of the steward. "It does nothing but destroy! It must be unmade!"
Faramir stared down the humble looking Halfling.
"With this ring I will save my people. With it the tide of this war will be turned," he said, before signaling for them to move onward.
"You must let me go, Faramir!" Frodo begged. But it was no avail. Frodo could almost see the influence of the ring taking Faramir as it had his brother. Isildur's Bane was working its foul magic again.
They found themselves in the middle of the siege as Faramir and his men entered the ruins of Osgiliath. Projectiles fell just short of them, and arrows were being hailed upon each side. Frodo and Sam were separated, each being held in a firm grip by the Rangers. Gollum was being led by sword-point. Faramir led them through the city, meeting up with some of the men already stationed there.
"Faramir! Orcs have taken the eastern shore. Their numbers are too great. By nightfall we will be overrun," the man said, his face marred with a frown.
Frodo inhaled sharply, feeling an icy stab of pain in his shoulder. Sam looked over, his face full of concern.
"Mr. Frodo?" he asked softly.
"It's calling to Him, Sam. His eye is almost on me," Frodo said, his voice going deep and guttural. Faramir stepped towards them, signaling to the man that had spoken to them.
"Madril, send them to my father," he said, looking mighty pleased with himself. The man motioned to the ones holding them, and they were pushed forward. "Tell him Faramir sends a mighty gift. A weapon that will change our fortunes in this war," he added, his face taking on a shadow of something unidentifiable but altogether bad.
"Do you want to know what happened to Boromir? Do you want to know why your brother hasn't come back?" Sam said, trying to twist out of his captor's grasp. He was held firm as Faramir's grey eyes locked with his. "Your brother was driven to near madness by the ring! He, too, was convinced that it could be a boon to Gondor, but he didn't know what he was getting into. He cornered Frodo! It is most likely his shame that prevents him from coming home! Shame, not that he could not retrieve such a foolish item, but shame that he let it manipulate him so!" Sam snapped.
Faramir looked at them both intensely, noticing a strange blankness coming to Frodo's face.
"Watch out!"
There was a crack of stone on stone, and their attention was drawn upwards as a boulder crashed into the remnants of a tall tower. Faramir's eyes, however, did not leave Frodo's. For a moment it was as if his entire iris disappeared, leaving only a deep, inky blackness in his eyes, before he blinked and the blue was restored.
"They're here. They've come." Frodo said to Faramir. Then, a hair-raising shriek sounded.
"Nazgûl!" Faramir cried. He grabbed Sam and Frodo by the arm, leading them further into the ruined city to hide them. Gollem was dragged along by another. He found the ruins of an alleyway to stash them in, and gave them both a fierce glare.
"Stay here. Keep out of sight," he said sharply. Then he turned to his men. "Take cover!"
Then they were alone. Gollum was cowering in the corner, curled up and whimpering. Frodo looked rather dazed, Sam was pacing back and forth in their alley. Frodo suddenly started walking, and Sam's head shot up.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Frodo walked out of the old alleyway they were in, walking calmly into the midst of the battling Men of Gondor. Sam ran towards him. "Where are you going?"
Frodo walked up the old stairs of the crumbling building, standing on what was the second floor. As he stood, the Nazgûl hovered there, sitting astride its fell beast. Frodo reached into his vest and retrieved the Ring, holding it up for a moment.
Adunaphel could not believe his luck. Here he was, just trying to piss off the Men of Gondor, and he finds the ultimate prize! His Master's ring was in the grasp of this tiny creature, and the little one seemed so keen on giving it up. He tightened his grip on the reins of his flying beast, and it inched forward, claws extended to grasp the little creature. Hmm…it was cute enough. Perhaps his master would let him keep the little thing as a pet after the ring was returned? It had such precious curly hair!
He gave a surprised shriek when another of the little creatures grabbed the first, and both took a tumble down the stairs. He started to come forward with his mount, when one of those insufferable Mortals fired on him with his bow. The arrow struck his beast, and it reared in pain, flying up and away. Damn it! Stupid creature!
He was going to be hated worse than Hathalmyrn when story of this got out!
Frodo landed hard at the bottom of the stairs, before flipping their position and drawing his sword. He grasped his assailant by the throat and held the blade close.
Sam struggled in his Master's grasp. Frodo's eyes were glazed with a black look, the iris gone and giving him the appearance of some kind of demon. He was even bearing his teeth at Sam.
"Frodo… It's me. It's your Sam. Don't you know your Sam?" he asked. Frodo blinked, and his eyes were blue again. He fell back, tears coming to his eyes as sobs shook his shoulders. He dropped Sting from his hand, putting his face into his other palm as he cried.
"I can't do this anymore, Sam," he cried brokenly.
"I know. It's all wrong. By rights, we shouldn't even be here," he said softly. He moved to his master and sat next to him, gingerly taking the hand that had held Sting to his throat and threading their fingers together. "But we are." He stroked the trembling hand gently. "It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo...The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?" Sam spoke softly. He reached over and pressed a kiss to Frodo's head.
"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Every darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out all the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you…that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folks in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something," Sam said, wrapping his arm around Frodo and giving him a one-armed hug.
"And what are we holding on to, Sam?" Frodo asked weakly, reveling in the gentle attention of his best friend. Sam withdrew his arm and stood, before reaching down with a lopsided smile and pulling Frodo to his feet.
"There's still some good left in this world, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. Then he bent down and retrieved Sting, before placing the hilt of the faithful old blade into Frodo's hand. Sam curled his hand over Frodo's, and for a moment they both held on to the Elvish blade.
"And it's worth fighting for!"
Well, guys. I know I haven't been keeping up with Frodo and Sam. It's really simple why: nothing really that they are going through is any different than it would have been before. They don't have James with them, or a group of Redlings helping them out. It's the same as from the book and movie, save for a few details. I did, once again, try to emphasize exactly how the Ring is affecting Frodo, and give Sam a little screen time. I loved his little speech. :3 I just wanted to do a little blurb of update with the other Hobbits. We're pretty much at the end of The Two Towers and are running in for the home stretch beginning with Return of the King. Blargle.
BTW, I haven't forgotten my other cameo. It's only a matter of time. }:]
So Helm's Deep has been won, and Stargush is a filthy-mouthed orc. *Shrug.* I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Lolz. Not gonna lie, it was refreshingly fun to write Stargush and use all sorts of offensive/shocking names that I'd never use in public!
You've read, now favorite or follow! or barring that, leave me a review to let me know what you thought!
