XXXIII - The Grey Company and The Dead

(Dwimorberg…. The Haunted mountain)

There is something both discomforting and perfect in the silence that overcomes the riders as they take the Dimholt Road. Riding at the head of their column, Aragorn felt a warmth in his chest knowing that his kin were taking this path with him, through the darkness to whatever waited for them beyond.

Legolas and Mirren flanked him, their elf-eyes watching the steeping cliffs wearily as they rose up on either side of them. Harsh jagged rock marred the landscape and they couldn't help but feel feel more and more trapped with every step the horses took forward. Still, their friendship meant more than the comfort they left behind. If this was the road Aragorn must take, then so be it, they would follow him into any darkness.

As expected, Gimli was the loudest traveller, he continued his usual mumbles in a low voice from his place in front of Legolas, yet even his grumblings felt out of place in the eery atmosphere of this place.

The Dunedain held the rear of their company firmly, Elladan and Elrohir riding together at the back of the troop so that they could survey everything before them as well as behind.

Their progress was steady, albeit quiet and the sun had risen almost to full height when Gimli finally had the nerve to start a conversation.

"What kind of army would linger in such a place?"

"One that is cursed." Legolas answered slowly, noticing the way Mirren tensed as she rode next to him. "Long ago the men of the mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor - to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled vanishing into the darkness of the mountain…"

The air seemed to grow colder around them as he talked and Hausfel neighed uncomfortably beneath the elleth, snorting impatiently as he shied closer to Arod and away from the jagged rocks.

"And so Isildur cursed them," Legolas continued, "Never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge... Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."

Even as Legolas spoke, the path finally widened in front of them, allowing the riders to congregate before a doorway carved into the mountainside.

Mirren didn't know whether to be pleased that it was just the way she had pictured it in her dreams, carved runes and all.

The way is shut.

Here, the living were not welcome. Despite this, the courage filled company dismounted, the horses shying away from the mountain pass immediately as the mountain seemed to exhale, pushing them away from the doorway with an icy breath.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away." Gimli voiced, naming the chill that gripped each of their hearts.

Mirren reached for her fathers bow, stored safely in Hausfels saddle and looped it over her neck once more.

"The way is shut." Legolas began reading the runes outloud. Voiced, Mirren thought the words sounded more severe than they had echoing in her head. "It was made by those who are dead… and the dead keep it…. The way is shut."

"Not the welcome I was hoping for..." Elrohir mused, breaking the tension a little with his carefree smiles.

A second rush of air heaved from the path and the horses shied completely. Bolting even as their riders tried to hold them close.

"Brego!" Aragorn shouted after his mount, startled by its fear as he lead the other horses back along the roads they had travelled.

"We can only go on foot."Mirren told them anyway, "The horses will no doubt find us if we make it through the Mountain..."

Steeling his courage, Aragorn nodded, facing the doorway head on. "I do not fear death."

Before they could protest the ranger was enveloped by the darkness of the door way.

Legolas and Mirren stepped forward together; entering the mountain hand in hand and unafraid.

"Well," Gimli huffed, looking around to Elrohir and Elladan who were gazing at the dwarf mischievously, "This is unheard of, two elves will go underground where a dwarf dare not. Oh oh!" He grumbled, catching Elrohir's eye, "I'd never hear the end if it!"

Running, the dwarf and the rest of the company entered the Paths of the Death. The land of Rohan fell from behind them as they walked to loneliest path that anyone alive could tread.

If it was possible, Mirren would have said the darkness made it harder to breathe. Even knowing that her friends walked in front and behind, fear still clawed in the darkest corners of her heart and only thoughts of love and friendship kept her grounded.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any darker, Aragorn fumbled for something against the wall and Mirren let out an audible sigh as he lit a torch to show them the way. Her relief did not last long though as she began to see shapes in the darkness. Legolas tightening his grip on her hand relaxed her as she realised he, at least, could see them too.

"Never to rest.." She murmured, just low enough so she thought only he could hear, but Gimli called ahead at the sound of her voice.

"What is it? What do you see? " He asked; watching as the two elves in front of him looked around themselves slowly as if they were surrounded by enemies.

"I see shapes of men and of horses..." Legolas breathed half in wonder and half in fear.

"Where?" Gimli asked quickly, swiveling around himself as if he could fight an invisible foe.

"They are all around." Mirren answered softly, "The men of the mountain."

"I see…Pale banners like shreds of cloud." Legolas observed, missing completely the wide look of concern that stretched across Aragorn's face at their mutterings.

Slowly, he led them on.

"…Spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist." The woodland Prince continued, his eyes flashing blue through the darkness. "The dead are following…. They have been summoned."

Overcome by the pale green mist army, Gimli's answering voice was only an echo to the elleth as he replied to his friend.

"The dead? Summoned? I knew that! Huh. Huh…. Very good. Very good. Legolas!"

Ghostly hands writhed around Legolas, Mirren and then Aragorn and finally Gimli. The elleth couldn't help but think they were ethereal. Eyes wide as they clawed harmlessly at her shoulders, she watched as Gimli tried to blow them away.

His huffing and puffing was useless and it echoed around the company.

As the last to join them, Elladan stepped back, letting out a strangled breath. When Mirren snapped her eyes back towards him he lowered his voice, advising sharply.

"Do not look down."

Pausing, none of the company could avoid looking to their feet. Thousands of skulls carpeted the floor on which they were now walking. The dunedain and elven footfalls were silent upon them but as Gimli gingerly began to take his heavy steps, the skulls crunched harshly against his metal boots.

"I can see light ahead!" Mirren called, catching a glimpse of soft light beyond Aragon's shoulder. Although they said nothing in response, Mirren could tell that Halbarad and his kin relaxed a little as they all ran forward.

Emerging into a great cannon, Aragorn held his torch aloft, brightening the great open space so that all could see.

A sheer cliff dropped into the heart of the mountain on their right, but carved to into the mountainside opposite seemed to be a ghostly city, containing large pillared buildings occupied by none but the cursed dead.

Spinning where he stood as The Grey Company surrounded him, Aragorn jolted suddenly to a stop when a fell voice echoed around the chamber.

"Who enters my domain?" The King of the Dead called loudly.

Tensing, Mirren could feel a vice like grip on her heart once more. All was cold, as if all the life of the world had been ripped from her.

"One who will have your allegiance. " Aragorn replied strongly, turning fearlessly to meet the gaze of the ghostly King.

His face was bones, decayed and withered ultimately by his crimes as well as time.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass." He hissed.

The way Is shut, Mirren thought. How had she let them come here? How could they expect criminals and traitors to honour their pledges?

"You will suffer me!" The last heir of Gondor cried.

Mirren could only wince as the King of the Dead laughed menacingly in reply. As he did, a whole Kingdom of buildings appeared around them, as if the Grey company had wondered unknowingly into the heart of a city. Green and ghostly soldiers emerged slowly from all about them. They were uncountable in number rising above them as well as beside, until a deadly army surrounded them completely chanting for their deaths in a language no longer uttered by man.

"The way is shut!" The king repeated, looking through Mirren as if she was the ghost and not him.

As he stared blankly her heart felt frozen and she found that she could not even reach for her knives for some semblance of protection.

" It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it." He continued, his blanketed white gaze falling past her - over Halbarad who had unsheathed his sword - and back once more to Aragorn who seemed an equal to him in the dark.

Stepping closer to his foe, the King judged Estel, their last hope, face to face as his army closed in around them. "The way is shut!" He repeated, "Now you must die!"

Boldly, Legolas reached for his bow and fired into the King's head. As always, his aim was true, but the arrow clattered on the ground, meters behind the Kings ghostly form.

The King of the Dead smiled.

"I summon you to fulfil your oath!" Aragorn demanded, recatching his attention, losing no faith nor hope, even in the face of an unkillable army.

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" The ghost snarled, stepping forward at last, moving to attack.

Retaliating quickly, Aragorn blocked the blow with ease. Anduril, Flame of the West, flashed brightly even in the darkness of the mountain. The remade sword's power strengthened its wielder and Aragorn did not flinch as the King fell back in surprise.

"That blade was broken!" He gasped.

Grabbing the King of the Dead by the throat, Aragorn stared him down.

"It has been remade!"

Pushing the King away, Estel turned, addressing all of the cursed dead as they stood blankly, watching his every move.

"Fight for us and regain your honour…" Aragorn offered, "What say you?"

Moving amongst them, he held the sword of Gondor high, proving his lineage and his right. Still the army was silent.

"What say you?"

This silence they each new as not a quiet of peace. Beside the elves, Gimli shuffled nervously.

"Acg! You waste your time Aragorn. They had no honour in life and they have none now in death."

"I am Isildur's heir." Aragorn proclaimed once more, "Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?"

Strangely, the king began to laugh.

Mirren sensed mocking, despair and age in its tone and shivered. All around the the ghosts faded.

"You have my word!" Aragorn pleaded, "Fight and I will release you from this living death!...What say you?"

As all of the army disappeared, Gimli shouted angrily, "Stand you traitors!"

But it was no use. The Dead Army was gone.

"We tried, Aragorn... We could do little else." Mirren comforted, looking about her still as if they might yet still reappear.

"Let's go, my friends." Elrohir called, "while the possibility is still open to us…"

Even as the ellon of Imladris spoke, a cracking sound echoed around the chamber.

The buildings in front of them began to tumble and fall as if they were the first stones of an avalanche. Before the Company could comprehend their imminent burial, hundreds of thousands of human skulls started falling down from the Kingdom towards them.

"Out!" Aragorn yelled over the sound of all the crashing and falling bones. "Get out!"

Soon the number of skulls climbed around them, causing the company to slide towards the great mountain cravas. Mirren saw some of the older Dunedain fall and her heart cried that she could not help them as she tried fruitlessly to pull herself from the growing piles of rotted corpses.

"Legolas! Run!" Aragorn yelled as he watched the ellon pause to help her. With a firm hand he grabbed them both and pushed them towards the exit. Gripping Andruil as he strided over the trap himself.

Mirren only allowed herself to shake off the fear that had griped her heart when she could breathe the free air again. Clawing her way towards the light, they emerged to a soft dawn.

Instantly, the mood of the group changed from adrenaline to despair as they surveyed the scene in front if them.

Hundreds of ships were strewn across the Anduin River. Black, like the armour of the Corsairs who manned them.

Thinking hopelessly that he had failed, Aragorn sunk to his knees, letting thoughts of hope and a new dawn for man slip through his fingers onto the mountain slope before him. Tears in his eyes he bowed his head and cried out in pain.

Arwen's brothers approached him slowly; their faces and hair dusted with dirt and sweat, neither caring as they placed a hand each on his shoulders out of respect and love… and also the love of a sister.

With no heart to speak the Dunedain and the remainders of the fellowship that followed him collapsed themselves around him. Panting whilst they sorted through their thoughts. What next? The fate of the race of men? What of Gondor?

Mirren saw it burning. Her visions bought to life. The death of mankind and a dark age for Middle Earth… Hopelessly, she wept.

As her breathing steadied, she rose from her knees and held tightly to Legolas leaning into his side to offer and receive support.

Only when something sounded behind them like a gentle breeze through a wood did the company of fighters turn.

Surprisingly, before them all stood the King of the Dead. Steadily he stared Aragorn down, neglecting the hopeful gazes of the ranger's companions. Only when he spoke did Mirren realise that their pain was not yet complete and also not yet over….

His words were from a dream, filled with darkness and hope in equal measure…

"…We fight!"

A/N: Yay another weekly update for you to enjoy! Love as always, J x