Previously:
Ruins of Annúminas, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
"The raid was a failure."
"I disagree. It was quite successful."
"The army has reached the river. They will be at the Lake within two days, and at our gates shortly thereafter."
"We are ready for them. They do not know what will greet them upon their arrival."
"And the White Lady and the others?"
"All is proceeding as we hoped."
"Cover the stone! The King approaches. We do not need to risk discovery when our victory is at hand."
"What of the Elven Prince? He foiled our plans."
"Target him and his legion first. Once he is dead, she is ours."
Chapter 36:
Army Camp, Brandywine River, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
Éomer walked purposefully through the camp, a frown across his face as he passed row upon row of tents. He nodded to those he passed, Rohirrim whom he knew by name, and Elves and Men who knew of him in return. This was the first time he had rode out in a great host since the journey to the Black Gate years ago, and this felt so much different. He was one of the leaders of an alliance of Men, Elves and Dwarves, and for the first time in long memory, they were the most powerful force across the lands. He did not feel the trepidation and fear of the days of the Ring War. He felt confident and safe, the sheer number of soldiers gathered beneath their banners giving him comfort that whatever they encountered at Annúminas, they would have the advantage. As night approached, Aragorn ordered the march to halt and they camped along the shores of the Brandywine. Annúminas was another two days away, but he had more pressing concerns on his mind now.
He paused before a large tent, resisting the urge to barge in. He looked up at the evening sky, the stars seeming different from those above Rohan. A hundred thoughts danced in his head, but he calmed himself, before throwing open the flap of the tent and ducking in.
"Éowyn," he called.
"Brother!" she exclaimed, turning around and smirking at his appearance. "I was wondering when I would receive the grace of thy presence."
"I did not see thee at dinner," he said carefully, walking over and sitting down on one of the carpets arranged on the ground. He rested his arms on his knees, getting comfortable on the surprisingly soft ground below the tent. Elves packed light when they traveled, particularly during a military campaign, and Legolas was no different. His and Éowyn's tent was sparsely decorated, the only hint that it was the tent of the rulers of South Ithilien was its larger size compared to those of their troops.
"I ate with my riders tonight," she replied easily, going over to the small table and pouring him a mug of citrus water. She handed it to him and gracefully sat down across from him. "To celebrate our victory."
""Aye, curious that the first battle any of us hath seen was during thy patrol," he noted, sipping the water and frowning as he gulped it down and smacked his lips.
"The gods honour me," she said, smiling pleasantly. "It was…a relief…to be fighting once again, to draw in anger, rather than just for training. Long has it been."
"Still though, sister, do you not find it strange that thy Éored was the first to encounter any foe the entire time the army hath been in Arnor?" he asked.
"Someone had to be the first," she said, looking at him strangely. "Why does it seem strange to thee, brother?"
"Perhaps they waited for thee," he suggested, finishing his drink. "Took their chance when thy Éored was well ahead of the host."
"Why go to such bother?" she asked. "And mine wasn't the only patrol during this march. Thy own riders and the sons of Prince Imrahil have been about, as well. It was mere happenstance, Éomer."
"Would that it be so, sister," he said, nodding his head. "Be mindful, however. We have never been this far north, and these are lands that were once ruled by the scourges of Angmar."
"What concern of that is mine?" she asked, frowning at him now in confusion. "I care not who the enemy is, or where he may come from. Those who stand in opposition to our forces must be struck down. There is no more thought required than that."
"Aye, but recall that the tale of thy slaying of the Witch-King has reached far and wide across the lands. Here in Arnor, the ancient seat of his power, there may still be dark forces who remain loyal to his cause. If so, thy very presence here is a threat to them, and revenge would spur them to lure thee into a trap," he said.
"That is utter nonsense!" she scoffed. "And even were there any truth to thy theory, it changes nothing. I ride at the side of my Lord husband and his banner flies behind that of the White Tree. My fate shall rest with those of the host. Should the enemy wish to come for me, let them try."
Éomer nodded and rose to his feet. He helped Éowyn stand up and squeezed her hands. "Be careful, sister. When word came that the captain of the Orc raiding party went deep into the forest to face thee alone, I was most disturbed. Thy strength is with those around thee, not alone. We need not stand helpless this time. This time, it is the Army of the West that holds the advantage. Use that to keep thee safe."
"The situation was well in hand," she said, frowning as she pulled away from his hold. "The riders look to me as their leader and Queen. I cannot be seen to hide and cower behind them. I must always be first among them, lest they lose faith."
The tent flap opened and Legolas came in, smiling brightly when he saw his brother-in-law standing near his wife.
"Brother!" Legolas said pleasantly. "Welcome. Won't you sit and share a drink?"
"I was about to take my leave," Éomer said politely, gripping Legolas' arm in the warrior's salute and nodding his head. "We shall ride together tomorrow, and talk further."
"Until then!" Legolas said warmly.
Éowyn merely nodded as her brother looked at her for a moment, then left the tent. She crossed her arms over her front and rubbed them to warm herself as she turned away from Legolas and walked over to their bedroll.
"Why did he not stay?" Legolas asked, following after her and removing his long leather coat.
"King Éomer has duties to attend to, I expect," she replied, sitting down and pulling the furs over her legs.
"Did he quarrel with thee?" he asked, sliding in next to her and lying down.
"Nay," she said, shaking her head as she cuddled against his chest and he brought the furs up to her shoulders. "He is merely being stubborn and bossy, as always. It is no matter."
"Well then, this is thy day, my love, thy victory. What does my Lady wish as fair tribute for such a triumph?" he asked playfully, hugging her close.
"Mmm, it was thy arrow that killed the captain of the Orcs, my Lord," she said, kissing his neck lightly. "It is a victory to be shared, then, is it not?"
"Nay, Éowyn," he said. "I merely arrived at the end to witness thy success."
"Then I shall take my plunder," she said, laughing as she sat up.
He smiled up at her as their eyes met, a playful smirk on her lips. She slowly undressed, the cold night air held at bay outside their tent. Raising her shift over her head, she ran her hands through her hair, then down across her breasts and along her sides. Leaning over, she kissed him warmly, her tongue playing with his before she moved lower.
His clothes were undone with knowing skill and patient ease. When her husband was finally bared before her, she gave him a wicked grin before she took him into her mouth, one hand stroking him, guiding his length to the back of her throat.
"Oh Éowyn!" he sighed, his eyes glazing over as he watched her bob her head upon him, settling between his spread legs. He tried to raise up and she pushed him back down, a strong hand on his firm stomach.
"Lay still!" she ordered, the command ringing in his mind as her eyes looked up at him pointedly. He groaned and lay back, a gasp leaving his lips as he held her stare, the sight of her lips stretched around him making him delirious.
"Éowyn! Melmenya, aye…" he babbled, feeling the heat of her mouth sweep over him, the grip of her hand and mouth tightening. Watching her closely, he finally gave in and allowed her his release, thrusting his hips and grunting in pleasure as she held still and received him.
"What I love," she said lightly, lifting off and licking her lips salaciously. "Is that thy stamina knows no bounds, my Lord."
He smiled at her as she gave him a long, slow sweep of her tongue, then sat up and straddled him, her hand moving him between her legs and pushing him inside.
"Oh Legolas!" she cried, throwing her head back and moaning out loud as she eased herself down on to him. His hands moved up to cup her breasts as she began a slow rhythm, eyes closed, her hands bracing herself against his chest.
She was lost in a moment, a world where only he existed with her. They were not in Arnor, or even anywhere on Arda. They were floating, the two of them, together as one, his hard, thick arousal buried inside of her, filling her so perfectly. A string of moans and gasps left her lips in a constant testimony to his prowess, her hips insistent as she rode him, a delicious heat spreading through her from every thrust of his hips and caress of his fingers. Her mind seemed to lighten, their loving erasing all thought of battle, of the Orcs she'd fought, the dark speech of their captain, the strange dreams and visions she couldn't quite recall. She flew over the edge once, then quickly built up again and went over a second time, shouting his name again and again as she drowned in rapture. Her arms and legs lost their strength, and he pulled her down, his strong arms wrapping around her back, the warmth of him surrounding her in love and strength and safety.
"Legolas, Legolas," she murmured, her lips pressed against his neck, her heart beating madly against his chest.
He whispered to her in Sindarin, his voice soothing and relaxing her, all the while his hips thrust into her mercilessly, pounding her with the friction and force that she craved. His hands moved down to the curve of her arse, and with several deep strokes he pressed her down, filling her completely. They both cried out together as he released inside of her, the feeling of him spurting setting her off one last time.
He smiled and held her shaking body against his, running one hand through her hair, the other pulling the furs over them and stroking her back. Eventually she calmed, placing light kisses along his skin, easing off of him and lying against his side, her leg wrapped across his thighs.
"Was that fitting tribute, Lady Witch-Slayer?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.
"For now, my Lord," she said archly, grinning against his skin. "The night is still young."
He laughed as her hand drifted down to lightly stroke him.
Brandywine River near Lake Evendim, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
"Gimli," Aragorn said, staring at the rushing waters of the Brandywine. "The shore is thine."
"Aye, my King," Gimil grunted. "Now allow Durin's folk to lead the way to thy ancient capital."
Gimli pulled on the reins of his goat and turned the beast around. He galloped through the lines, calling out in his people's tongue to those in the rear of the army. The ranks parted, giving them a wide channel to come forward. One-by-one, large wheeled carts were brought to the fore, the Dwarves calling to each other, overseeing the operation as Gimli watched over his kin.
Éomer and Éowyn traded amused looks as they watched the Dwarves at work. The Men and Elves were perplexed as to what madness was afoot as the Dwarves drove two large stakes into the ground at the river's shore. Lashing one of the carts to the stakes with stout rope, they then sent the large cart into the rushing water.
"What are they…" Erchirion began, frowning in confusion.
A crew of six Dwarves came forward, wielding large axes. They scrambled aboard the partially sunken cart and made precise cuts before jumping back to shore. As the army watched on, the wagon creaked and shuddered in the water before it seemed to split in two, or more accurately, doubled in length, one half rising into the air before splashing down, forming a long pier that now floated on the surface of the water.
"Next!" Gimli shouted, urging his people to work quickly.
"Incredible," Legolas said, smiling at the sight as a second cart was wheeled out to the water and tied to large metal hooks on the first, before the same axe-wielding crew repeated the same process, jumping back and moving to help wheel the third cart forward.
"They are building a crossing," Éowyn exclaimed in wonder. "But how is this possible?"
"The carts are in fact large barges bent together much like a catapult," Aragorn said. "I know not how they managed this feat, but once they cut the ropes binding them together, they are able to lengthen each section, and tie them all together."
"Forming a bridge without having to use piers or delaying our advance," Éomer said. "Wondrous, truly."
"Well, then?" Gimli called once the last section was tied to the opposite side of the river. "Go on!"
Legolas laughed and led his riders forward. Though the bridge was hardly as stable as a true crossing, it served its purpose and the horses were at ease. It was a trickier task moving the war machines across the river, but the Dwarves managed it, and soon the host had reorganized on the opposite shore, with Annúminas another day's ride away.
"They can walk, and some can even ride, but they are still so weak," one of the nurses said, shaking her head in pity.
"The King wishes that they come forth to see the retaking of the old capital," another replied. "They are to stay far back, and assist with loading of the catapults, if they can."
"I would have rather we stayed in Fornost," a third shook her head.
"We will be needed to tend to the wounded, should there be any," the first scolded her, frowning pointedly. "Lady Éowyn and the other healers shall need our help."
The nurses circulated amongst the traveling sick, trying to cool their fever and give them plenty to drink. They all were walking and riding with vacant expressions on their faces, as though parts of their senses were somehow missing. Still, at the mention of Annúminas and the coming arrival, their spirits seemed to lift, and some of them even smiled.
Ruins of Annúminas, Arnor, Fourth Age, Nínui, 2
The old capital of the Northern Kingdom of Men sat on the shores of Lake Evendim, a large body of water that would take days to circle. Originally envisioned as the centre of all trade and activity in Arnor, it was larger than Fornost, and a good day's ride north from what was now known as The Shire. At its height, it was grander than even Minas Tirith today, the largest and most imposing city of Men ever seen, a symbol of the glory of Númenor come to Middle-Earth. War, first with Sauron, then from within Arnor itself, and finally with Angmar had led to its Fall and abandonment. The city had laid in ruins for over two thousand years.
Or so they thought.
The raiding party encountered by Éowyn was the first signal that perhaps there was a tribe of Orcs roaming the lands. Aragorn became more concerned when they saw the smoke. Grey plumes were spotted by the Elves, coming from over the hills where the city stood. When the army finally arrived at the plains around the ancient capital, they saw that it had not only been rebuilt, but had been changed considerably.
The walls, such as they were, were blackened as though covered with ash. Though the city appeared in disrepair, it was in better condition than Fornost, and no obvious breaches were visible. Orcs roamed the battlements, with fires lit on the towers. The great Gate was closed, but the front of the city was teeming with enemy forces. Wainriders in their black chariots were circling about, with patrols of wargs following in their wake. Towering Trolls and Ogres, some with Orcs mounted on their backs, wandered here and there, as if waiting for some command. Large black banners were hung from the battlements, with crude and strange symbols painted upon them.
"Do you see them?" Aragorn said grimly, staring at the city.
"Easterlings," Legolas said, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before them.
"Allied with Orcs, by the Gods," Éomer scoffed, shaking his head.
"My King," Prince Imrahil said. "If it were but a rabble of Orcs, then I would follow my King's order and attack. However, are we not honour bound to parley with the Easterlings? If only so that it may be said that we did?"
Aragorn was silent for a while, considering his options. Finally he nodded and turned to give his orders.
"We will go and see who dares to trespass on this city of Men," he declared.
They came forward, Aragorn and Éomer, the Kings of Gondor and Rohan, with Prince Imrahil and Legolas and the standard bearers. Éowyn sent their Royal Guard forward to cover them with their bows, the Elven archers under her command able to offer greater range and accuracy than any of the other factions.
A great shout came up when the host was spotted by the enemy. They turned to face them, but did not advance. The great Gate opened, and Legolas could see row upon row of Orcs in full armour waiting inside. From their midst, a group of Easterlings on horseback came forward, riding past the gathered soldiers and going to meet them.
The two parties stopped within shouting distance of each other, their horses snorting and anxious.
"This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of Gondor," Prince Imrahil declared. "He leads the Host of the West to reunite the kingdoms of Men. Thy forces are trespassing upon the King's lands. Remove thyselves immediately."
The lead Easterling smiled, his lips curling into a sneer.
"Remove thyselves immediately or thee shall be removed," Imrahil stated firmly.
"Men have not ruled these lands for thousands of years," the Easterling replied with a sharp accent. "At least, not Men of Arnor, or Gondor. We do not recognize thy King, nor do we accept such claim to these lands. Go back to thy homes, and pray to thy Gods that we remain only here, and that our ambitions do not reach beyond these lands."
"The same way that thy former Master had ambitions?" Aragorn asked, holding the Easterling's furious stare. "His reach was great, and yet he was destroyed in the end, by a Halfling, if memory serves. Would that someone offered him the chance to relent before he took matters too far. This is thy opportunity. Take it."
"The heir of Isildur," the Easterling snapped after an angry pause. "Thy House has not gained any manners over the centuries, I see. These shall be thy Gladden Fields. So be it."
"I bring with me Éomer, son of Éomund, King of Rohan," Aragorn said calmly. "His people have a great quarrel with the Orcs that traipsed across the Riddermark. When we are finished with thee and the Northern Kingdom is restored, we may choose to go to the Eastlands, and pay thy kin a visit."
Éomer smiled at that.
"Bring forth thy army. We shall be most eager to receive them," the Easterling said, nodding his head, his eyes full of malice. "To the Elves amidst thy host, we say once only that they shall be spared if they choose to withdraw now. The time of the Eldar is over. They may pass over the hills to the Havens and be gone from this place, rather than involve themselves in the petty disputes of the false King of Gondor."
Legolas looked at the Easterling curiously, his blue eyes searching the other's hard stare.
"100 years is but a blink to an Elf," he said finally. "This battle shall be over soon, and thy reign shall fall just as quickly. We have time yet here to see to that."
The Easterling spat and pulled the reins of his dark stallion. The enemy turned and fell back to the city, and Aragorn and his companions returned to their army.
"They must be remnants of Sauron's forces," Imrahil said. "Garrisoned here to march on Rohan after the White Hand failed."
"It matters not who they are or why they are here," Éomer said. "They stand before us and we shall run them through."
"Gimli and his kin shall require time to prepare their machines. Set the watch and prepare thy forces. We council shortly and attack in the afternoon."
Gimli walked up and down the line, inspecting each of the catapults and war machines pointed towards the city walls.
"Be careful of thy range," he said as he walked past each crew. "Too long is still of use to us. Too short is of no use at all."
The crews all answered their Lord positively and with enthusiasm. In the time since they'd set up, they gathered boulders for the catapults and loaded the arrows and spears in the trebuchets. The explosive powder that Gimli had brought with them was ignored for now, the danger of using it at such a distance unknown and not worth the risk. Once he was done his pass, he gave a warrior's salute to his troops and received it in return. Hefting his axe, he headed for the front lines with his escort, preparing to charge with his companions, as in the days of the Ring War.
"My King," Elfhelm called, bringing his horse alongside that of Éomer in the front of the Rohirrim. "The east pass is clear. There is an unguarded plain to the Brandywine."
"And on the west?" Éomer asked.
"Passing along the hills would provide shelter, but we could be closed off by a pursuit. Flying to the east allows us to rally. Any chasing force would be at a disadvantage as the plain is vast and wide," Elfhelm advised.
"Very well. Inform the Marshals and the horn bearers. We shall use four blasts," Eomer ordered.
"Four blasts. Aye, my King," Elfhelm said, bowing his head and turning to go and pass the message along the lines.
Éomer frowned as he looked to the city in the distance. The dark shapes of the enemy army had grown, with more and more Orcs and Easterlings coming out to mass in front of the Gate. From the time he was a young lad, Éomer had been drilled in strategy, in addition to training to fight. As he would one day rise to be a Marshal of the Mark, he needed to be wise as well as strong. King Théoden himself told him that no leader entered a battle without two vital pieces of information – how he would achieve his victory, and how he would escape if a retreat was required. It was a lesson that Éomer carried with him all his life. Clearly they would win if they were able to take Annúminas from the Easterlings. Though he knew he would not need to retreat, given the strength of the allied forces, he still dispatched Elfhelm to scout the flanks so they knew in which direction to rally their forces if needed. The east pass would serve. They could reach the Brandywine faster than their enemies could pursue. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for battle. A retreat option would not be necessary, but it gave him comfort to know he had planned for one, just as his Uncle had taught him.
"Ride well," Legolas said, leaning over and kissing his wife soundly.
"Be strong," Éowyn replied, kissing him back, licking his lips teasingly. "We shall celebrate our triumph within the walls of Annúminas tonight."
"I shudder to think what condition we shall find it in," he said, shaking his head. "Surely the enemy has defaced its once pristine beauty."
"All the more reason for us to celebrate my Lord, to begin the cleansing," she replied easily.
He smiled at her and they each mounted their horses, nodding to each other before heading off to their respective legions. Legolas had decided that they would not use their mental link during the battle. This was the first siege they had taken together, and neither of them needed the distraction. Though it would be helpful to be able to talk to each other over the width of the battlefield, he did not want Éowyn to lose her focus even for a second. They would need all of their concentration to turn thought to instinct, strategy to execution. With a silent prayer to the Valar to keep his wife safe, he steeled himself and made eye contact with each of his riders.
Éowyn closed her eyes, relying on Windfola to bring her to the head of her Éored. She could hear and feel her own breath, slowly blocking out all around her. Her lips pursed in a thin line, her mind buzzed with vivid images of all that was to come. She saw herself as an irresistible force, leading her riders against the foe, recording kill after kill, the banner of her colony flying behind her. Orcs and Easterlings fell lifeless before her, some even cowering in fear before she struck them dead. When the battle was over and victory won, she would walk into the city, the generals of the host bowing in respect to her. Prince Erchirion and his brothers would honour her with praise, and secretly weep in the darkness of night that they could not be the ones to lie with her in celebration of the victory. Her brother would boast of her skill. King Elessar would give her a heartfelt tribute of gratitude. She would take Legolas up to the highest tower and make love to him, screaming her pleasure for all the army to hear. Songs and poems would be written to her, the Slayer of the Witch-King who regained the Northern Kingdom for Men.
Her pulse sped up and a thrill of arousal warmed her as she opened her eyes and gave a firm stare to her riders. Turning towards the city, she smiled as she waited for the order to advance.
Faramir stroked his chin absentmindedly, waiting for the horns to sound the charge. He and his men were aligned directly behind the forces of Dol Amroth, exactly where he wanted to be. He would reach the fighting before Legolas and his legion, and even before the Rohirrim and their cavalry. With luck, he would have at least a dozen kills within minutes, and he could then circle the battlefield, finding the biggest Orc or the most dangerous Troll. It was important that he be discerning in his targets. It would be reckless to try and amass the most kills. Nay, he was here for the glory, which came in distinguishing oneself, rather than mindlessly battling amongst a mob. He would wait for the others to open up the enemy for him, and he would then strike forward to enter the city. When eowyn saw he was the first to breach the Gate, she would see him for who he truly was – a force of vengeance and death, true strength and power unleashed. He smiled as he thought ahead to the carousing that was to follow. Surely she would be drunk from both the battle and the wine and ale that would flow like rivers amongst the army. Her husband would be taking counsel with his kin, looking up at the stars or some other nonsense. Meanwhile, Lord Faramir of Emyn Arnen, Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, would take his wife as a trophy of victory.
"Be careful, Erchirion," Amrothos warned his brother. "Now is a time for caution, not to be reckless."
"When have I been known to be otherwise, brother?" Erchirion joked. "Fear not. I shall leave only the weakest of the enemy to get past my men, such that thy task shall be all the easier."
Amrothos exchanged a wry glance with Elphir, then shook his head and clasped hands with both of his brothers before riding off to see to his men.
Erchirion glanced back and looked over the great host. This was easily the largest army he had ever been a part of. It was breathtaking to see, really, Elves, Men and Dwarves united as one. He imagined this must have been what the Last Alliance may have been like, but somehow he felt this may be even more powerful, more epic in both its scope and strength. His eyes wandered to his cousin. Faramir looked stoic and focused, as always. The Steward had been acting strangely as of late, so unlike him, but Erchirion welcomed it. If he were to take liberties with Lady Éowyn, it would be most entertaining, and if, as Erchirion expected, the White Lady refused his advances, Erchirion would be conveniently ready to give her comfort.
He grinned as he turned back to face forward, putting his helm on over his flowing hair. The victor was allowed his plunder. She had agreed to that herself. He was looking forward to seeing her honour that promise.
Aragorn frowned, watching as the Swan Knights began their slow march towards Annúminas. A large army such as theirs needed room to maneuver, and so he had ordered large gaps between the ranks, and each of the generals was to break formation as quickly as possible. They would rely on the Rohirrim to stifle the Wainriders and the archers to ensure they were not outflanked or overrun through their gaps. Legolas had spoken to all of them about the strategies of the Orcs during the Battle of the Five Armies, and they had seen similarly brutish advances at Helm's Deep and during the Pelennor Fields. Orcs and Easterlings relied on sheer strength and numerical superiority. This was the first time that they would not only be facing a larger army, but defending a city under siege. Aragorn was constantly thinking of different scenarios, hoping to be ready for anything they would encounter, but he could not fathom how the enemy could possibly resist them. He hoped for as few casualties as possible, but he could not imagine a way they would lose.
"Legolas," he called, summoning his old friend to his side. The Elven Prince appeared quickly, the two of them watching Faramir and the soldiers of Gondor march off behind the forces of Dol Amroth.
"Estel," Legolas called.
"There is something wrong," Aragorn said, a frown still creasing his brow. "I feel as though we are missing something very crucial. Do you sense anything?"
"There is a darkness, an evil that lies before us," Legolas said, nodding his head. "It was at it was at Helm's Deep and the Rammas Echor. I expect it shall always be so when we face former followers of the Dark Lord."
"Aye," Aragorn agreed, though his face still remained stern. "Still, there is something else, something that I cannot describe as of yet."
"We can think upon it after we have retaken the city," Legolas said in encouragement. "Good hunting, my King. Berio ven Eru."
"No ammen Araw," Aragorn answered, nodding to his friend and turning to watch as the host advanced towards the enemy.
"Forward!" Éowyn yelled, the glowing blue blade of Stormshatter appearing as a flame as she waved it to rally her legions. Though she rode with her Éored, the army of South Ithilien followed her directions. Legolas and his legion rode as one, cleaving through the enemy forces on their own, leaving the rest of their forces to be directed as she saw fit.
Her blood roared in her veins as Windfola galloped amidst the enemy, their cries drowned out by the shouts of the Host of the West. It was as though she was back at the Pelennor, charging forward with the Rohirrim, and yet this time she felt no fear, only pure joy and limitless power. This must be how Legolas felt, having seen so many battles in his time, how he must see, must know even before the first arrow was shot and the first blade drawn, that he had no equal amongst the foe, that victory was assured.
She swung hard and cut through the arm and torso of an Easterling soldier, turning about as Windfola carried her towards a line of Orcs locked in battle with a group of Dol Amroth foot soldiers. She swung left and right, sometimes felling enemies, others distracting them long enough to give her allies the advantage. The sheer number of mounted cavalry amongst the army overwhelmed the enemy, their slow and plodding forces unable to follow them all at once.
The battle had begun with great trepidation, this being the first skirmish for all of them in some years. Since the end of the Ring War, there had been isolated spottings of Orcs and Goblins across the lands, but never anything constituting a true battle, nothing even close to a siege such as this. The Swan Knights charged forward and were met by the expected volley of arrows from the city walls. Prince Imrahil and his sons fanned out at speed, and the arrows had fallen harmlessly for the most part. By the time the second volley was prepared from the city, the archers of Gondor and South Ithilien had come forth and were able to counter. With the enemy lines occupied with the Swan Knights and the footmen of Gondor, there was an easy line of sight for the Elves to pick off the enemy archers. Even still, Legolas ordered a volley from his legion which cleared the city wall and wrecked havoc in behind. It was such that by the time Éowyn brought her Éored forward, she did not fear any shot from above, and could press as forward as she dared.
She yelled out as she parried the blade of an Orc and thrust through with her sword, knocking him from his warg into the clutches of the other soldiers. Victory would come eventually, but she was in no hurry. The siege was proving most enjoyable.
"Send word to the captains. Prepare to open the Gate and send forth the remaining forces."
"Target the Elf Prince, then the White Lady."
"We must be quick, lest the King sense our presence and our power."
"He shall be powerless to stop it once it begins."
The shroud covering the palantir was removed and the Easterlings began chanting, a dark cloud filling the stone as their voices grew louder.
"Baruk Khazâd!" the Dwarf captain shouted.
"Khazâd ai-mênu!" the Dwarves replied, loading the catapults and preparing another volley.
Once the catapults were loaded, a sharp ringing sounded in their ears. The Dwarves all grimaced and cringed, turning away from their war machines and glancing about. They all looked on in shock as the sick soldiers who had been resting behind them all came marching forward, each of them holding a bright red gem in their outstretched hands. The light of the gems seemed to fill their eyes, drawing the attention of all around them. As the sick drew nearer, the Dwarves reached out, the gems seeming to speak to them, beckoning them ever closer. When they finally seized them, the sick stepped away, watching on as the Dwarves gathered around, transfixed. After several moments, the captains each stowed the gems in their belts and shouted out new orders. The other Dwarves scrambled to comply, moving to the catapults and pushing them backwards.
Aragorn thrust Andúril between the armour plates of an Orc, and pulled back. The large monster fell to his knees, and the King lopped off his head before moving across the battlefield. Though he had come forward on horseback, he preferred fighting on foot. Once the Rohirrim had chased off the Wainriders and Legolas' legion and the Swan Knights had headed off the wargs, he was able to lead his footmen into the breach and clear a swath towards the Gate. Even he had to admit this was far better than fighting at the Black Gate, or across the Pelennor Fields. He felt as though it was a matter of time before they were inside the city walls.
He heard a whisper on the wind, and he stopped, glancing about in shock to try and find the source. It had been years since he had heard a similar sound, or felt the same shock. All he saw around him was the carnage of battle. He glanced to the city walls, searching for some hint of what this strange sensation was.
"Estel!" Legolas called, coming to his side. The Elf dropped from Arod and his riders came around them, surrounding the King. Gondorian soldiers circled them further, forming a shield wall for the Elves to shoot over top of them.
"What is it?" Legolas asked, looking at Aragorn with concern. "I sense something from within the city, something dark and ancient."
"There is…it is…" Aragorn mumbled, staring at the walls of Annúminas in confusion.
They were both looking to the city when they heard the whistle of the air being torn behind them.
Faramir pressed forward, swinging his sword with expert skill as he advanced closer and closer to the Gate. His orders were to move in behind the Swan Knights and sweep up the enemy who might try and shoot through the gaps, but when the tide began to turn in their favour from the beginning, he left his position and made a sortie for the Gate. With the numbers of the host coming in behind him, he was confident that his cousins and their forces would be safe. He had to get into the city. If he was the first to throw down the banners from the walls above, Éowyn would see his triumph. He would be triumphant, standing tall above all others.
He turned his head when he heard a strange whistling in the air. Looking up at the sky, time seemed to stand still as large boulders came flying towards the field. Aragorn had placed the Dwarven catapults and war machines further back, making it impossible for the enemy to reach them. From the beginning of the siege, the Dwarves had bombarded the city. Though the walls still held strong, there was great damage done within, and even the top of one of the towers had crumbled. The sound of arrows and stone flying overhead had become familiar, but this volley was louder for some reason, and when Faramir looked up, he saw why. Instead of falling on to the walls or over top, the missiles were all landing well short, on to the field itself.
On to the host.
The land itself seemed to groan as the large boulders landed and rolled forward, taking out soldiers and riders alike. Faramir saw Dwarven cavalry mounted on goats thrown aside, Elven archers crushed beneath the massive rocks, and soldiers from Gondor impaled on the huge spears falling from the sky. The push and press of the army against the foe was broken, with allies and enemies alike scattering, trying desperately to avoid the bombardment. Some of the boulders rolled along the ground and broke against the walls, but had nowhere near enough strength to break the old stone. Faramir and his men were soon isolated from the main host, and he turned back towards the Gate, now wanting to get inside the city to escape the death falling from the sky behind him.
As he moved forward, his eyes widened as the Gate opened, waves of Orcs pouring forth to the field, Easterling cavalry behind them.
Varion spurred his horse on, his division of Men and Elves close behind him. The strategy of battle was not to commit the entire host forward all at once. With the different allied armies, they could send forth the forces in waves, and only require reinforcements when needed. Legolas had ordered that he keep his division back, supporting the army with volleys from distance, and advance if they felt there was a need. Secretly, his Lord had ordered him to watch Lady Éowyn, and reinforce her Éored if required. He had carried out his duties faithfully, and had enjoyed it up until now. Lady Éowyn was a force on the field, and she and her riders were destroying the enemy.
When the boulders and arrows fell amidst the host, Varion knew something was amiss. He turned his division around and galloped towards the Dwarves. He thought that perhaps an enemy unit had stealthily outflanked them and routed the Dwarves, but he could not imagine Orcs and Easterlings able to vanquish a division of Dwarves.
"What are you all doing?!" Varion shouted as he reached them. He drew an arrow to his bow and pointed it at the nearest captain. "Stop immediately!"
The Dwarves all turned to him, staring at him blankly as though they were all under some spell. They stood rigid and straight, as though confused by his anger and his demands.
"Break them!" Varion ordered.
The Elves in his company moved quickly and cut the cords of the catapults and trebuchets. The large machines creaked and groaned under the weight of their payloads, but they would no longer fire.
The Men amongst his division were behaving strangely, moving slowly, as though their very limbs were leaden and encumbered. Varion lowered his bow and looked around him, perplexed as to the situation and the behaviour of his fellows.
"Varion," a Dwarf captain called, blinking and shaking his head furiously. "What? What are you doing here?"
Varion dismounted and grabbed the Dwarf by the shoulders. His eyes seemed to be in focus once more.
"Thy division was firing on our own allies," Varion said tightly. "What came over thee?"
"What? But that's impossible. We measured the distance to the foot!" the Dwarf answered, his eyes wide with shock. "Wait…the…ringing!"
He fumbled in his armour, reaching into his belt and taking out a dull red gem.
"The baubles from the Orc raiding party," Varion said.
"The Gate! The Gate!" the Dwarves shouted.
Varion looked up, his Elven sight seeing not only that the Gate was suddenly open, but that enemy reinforcements had advanced on to the field.
"To the King!" Erchirion cried, swinging his sword across the helm of an Orc before spurring his horse forward, galloping across the field to rally around Aragorn. In the chaos of the falling boulders and missiles, he'd kept his Swan Knights close by, though they were separated from his father and brothers. When the attack from behind finally stopped, he saw Legolas and King Éomer bringing their riders around King Elessar, and making their way east to the open plain. While Erchirion was not one for pulling back under any circumstances, the enemy forces had swelled with the addition of those reinforcements from inside the city, and even he had to admit that the host needed to regroup and reorganize.
The Swan Knights fell in behind the Rohirrim, and as he left the shadow of the city walls, he saw Lady Éowyn and her Éored come across his flank, covering his withdrawal and giving the enemy a slight pause under a flurry of arrows.
It was only after he had turned his knights around and fallen in behind his father and brothers that Erchirion even thought to look for his cousin and the soldiers from Emyn Arnen. He soon had to follow his father's lead back into the fray, but not before noting that Faramir was nowhere to be found.
Aragorn grit his teeth as he urged his horse forward. A hundred thoughts filled his mind, but he pushed them all aside. First, he needed to win this battle. Once that was done. Then he could focus on all the shocking turns that had befallen his straightforward siege. While the Orcs and Easterlings from inside the city had helped stem the tide of the allies, they were still disorganized and rudimentary, trying to overwhelm his forces by brute strength. Their numbers were, at best, now equal to those of the host, and with Éomer's quick thinking, they had pulled back to regroup, and now were able to pour forward with proper structure.
Aragorn sent the forces of South Ithilien and Dol Amroth along one flank, closest to the walls. He pushed Eomer and the Rohirrim wide to the other side, using the archers who had stayed back from the battle to support them. He brought the remaining Men of Gondor and Dwarves though the centre, and created the exact effect he wanted.
The forces coming through the Gate had to turn east to engage them now, rather than have the wider front of the city to spread out their advance. With Éomer on one side and Legolas on the other, it forced the enemy to narrow their formation, so that when Aragorn and Gimli delivered the punch up the middle, the flanks could swarm them and press in on the outsides.
There was still a far greater loss of life than the King had planned upon, and he still had no idea what had happened with the Dwarven war machines. However, as he saw Éomer and Legolas' riders cross before him, so devastating were their attacks, he took heart, and he could feel the morale of the host rising. They had been caught out, by what he still did not know, but they would not make that mistake again.
"They are within the walls! We must fall back now!"
"The Wainriders are ready at the back gate. Our escape route remains open."
"Careful with the stone. It remains ever crucial to our plans."
"Give the order. We have gained all we can from this. The Elf and the White Lady shall survive another day, but only just."
The dark figures swept out of the chamber and were soon in the back courtyard and into the waiting carriage. The Wainriders flew from the city, taking the rear gate and thundering down an old path away from the battle in the front of the city. Carried along among the numerous chariots was a large chest carrying precious cargo – a stone covered in a thick shroud - as well as a group of prisoners, being the Steward of Gondor and some of his troops, all knocked unconscious, bound and gagged.
Éowyn frowned as she walked outside the city, her hauberk undone slightly to allow the crisp air to cool her heated skin. Her long blonde hair was still tied in a braid down her back. She had left her helm tied to Windfola's saddle and had come out here at a slow stroll, wanting to feel the ground crunch beneath her boots, wanting the extra time to clear her head.
The battle had been such a range of emotions. She had felt such a thrill, an addictive rush of delirious pleasure as she moved through the field, taking the lives of the enemy, showing no mercy. Her sword danced and the arrows sang all around her and she was part of what was the greatest force in Arda in her time, reclaiming the ancient city of Men, re-establishing the Northern Kingdom anew. She could practically see the rebuilt city before her, and the lives of countless citizens of Arnor beneath brilliant sunshine, and there would be tales of the Host of the West, and her role in all of it.
And with the speed of thought, all had changed.
She had seen death before, watched her kin stomped by Oliphaunts and run through by Orcs. It was no more gruesome than seeing the villages of the Westfold set afire during the Ring War, or families in Edoras left fatherless in the wake of Orc raids. She had seen good people thrown into poverty and ruin by Wormtongue's horrible politics and schemes. Yet all of that paled in comparison to seeing the massive boulders and spears fall upon her allies, watching helplessly as Dwarves, Elves and Men were killed by the weapons of their own creation. She had dodged and weaved and somehow made it to her brother's side, following him to the east and coming around. When King Elessar had ordered that she follow Legolas across one flank, she had roared for her Éored to follow her, and together, she and her husband had taken their vengeance. It all felt so hollow now though. The city was theirs, but she knew in her heart that the campaign wasn't over. It felt as though it had barely begun.
She reached the bank of Lake Evendim, where the corpses of the Orcs, Easterlings, Trolls, Ogres and wargs had been gathered. They were placed in large piles, some seeming to stretch to the sky itself. Gimli had ordered his Dwarves to cover them all in oil and kindling, and a great barge had been put into the water, with some of the bodies piled high upon it, and pushed out for the current to carry it away.
"Legolas," she whispered, coming to her husband's side. He turned and looked at her with sad eyes, his brow furrowed. She knew his thoughts were heavy, perhaps heavier than her own. He had seen so much in his long life, and yet he seemed more affected by this siege than he had at any time during the Ring War. She came into his open arms, lifting her head and kissing him softly, burrowing her head against his neck as she took deep breaths, the very scent of him seeming to renew her, washing away the filth of battle, and soothing her own tangled contemplations.
"Blessed the host is to have thee within its ranks, Lady Shieldmaiden," Legolas said quietly. "Fornost and Annúminas are once again cities of Men, and shall prosper thanks to thee and thy kin, Éowyn."
"Legolas, we are one," she reminded him. "I love you, with all that I am. Years ago thy love saved me, first from the dark hold of Wormtongue, then from the curse of the Witch-King. I stand here because of thee, my Lord, and if I am fated to live another month or another century, I have known no greater happiness than at thy side."
Legolas kissed the top of her head, hugging her close. As she closed her eyes and breathed him in once more, she did not see the worry and concern cloud his features, as though his thoughts were somewhere far away, and they troubled him greatly.
"Éowyn," her brother called, and she stepped back from Legolas, still holding on to his arm as they turned and walked closer to where the Kings of Rohan and Gondor stood together.
"We shall honour and bury the victorious dead," Aragorn said, looking around at his generals and the gathered soldiers who stood quietly by. "May their sacrifices be always remembered, and may we live our lives so that their loss shall never be in vain. The cities of Men are once again ours, and the Reunited Kingdom, for so long but a foolish wish, is now ever closer. Gondor shall ever remember and pay tribute to its allies who hath brought us to this blessed day. May all of thy realms and people prosper as we prosper, and may our bond of fellowship be everlasting."
"Let our foes and enemies, both seen and unseen, know by the light of these pyres that Men have returned to Arnor, and together with our allies, we shall drive out all darkness from this land, see it restored, and never allow it to fall so long as breath remains amongst our peoples. The Oath of Eorl and Cirion is as old as my nation is young, and let it be known that it has been honoured this day, as it shall be honoured for all the days of my House. Honoured we are to stand here with Gondor, and with Dwarves and Elves alike," Éomer declared.
The torches were lit and thrown on the pyres, the oil and kindling quickly catching flame so that large bonfires raged into the sky. Éowyn released Legolas so he could step forward. Éomer held the arrow, and Aragorn lit the special tip, and passed it to Legolas. Drawing his Galadhrim bow, Legolas loosed the flaming arrow, and all eyes watched as it arched into the sky, flew out over the water and landed squarely on the barge in the distance. The arrow caught the oil and the flames spread across the carcasses. When it finally hit the powder that Gimli had placed upon it, the barge exploded, obliterating its cargo.
Legolas returned to his wife's side. She took hold of his arm once more, clinging to him as though he was keeping her afloat.
The Kings of Gondor and Rohan stood still as regal statues, their generals all around them, as they watched the bodies of their enemies burn.