Riding toward the circle of orcs, Denethor tightens his grip on his sword and reins. He will not back down now. Shades moving past him. Moments later, two guards ride in front of him. He knows they will reach the orcs first. He smiles sadly. They will do what they can to ensure he gets through safely. Even if it puts their lives in danger. And only if he gets through those lines will he have a chance to survive.
Hitting the line of orcs, he slashes and strikes as he moves. They try to push him back. Only this time, he stands his ground. He keeps pushing. He needs to reach the cavalry. But no matter his pushing, he makes no more ground. The orcs fight back hard. Regardless of this, he refuses to allow it to stop him; he presses on. No matter what comes in front of him. His guards move closer to him. Moments later, they form a small line and press on. And again the orcs fight back fiercely.
Suddenly his path is cut off. He fights but feels like he is being pushed back. And no matter what they do they cannot hold their line. They are pushed back. He refuses to lose focus on the battle. He slashes and stabs every orc. All in an attempt to stop the orcs from pushing themselves back.
The orcs stop their push. Again they circle him. He breathes loudly. The air feels harsh in his lungs. His hands sweat in the gloves. He looks around. Why do the orcs not attack now? All they do is stomping the ground with their boots and spears. All to lure him into attacking. He knows that. As well as that he knows he needs to make the best of the situation.
Taking a deep breath, he looks at his guards and heaves a sigh of relief. None of his guards have been killed. They came out of it alright. As he looks at the guards, he sees how one of them holds his side. He grinds his teeth for he spoke too soon. They did not come out of it alright but alive. Not that it surprises him much. He knows he should have expected it. But now he needs to ensure the guard gets back to the city; he needs the healers.
Narrowing his eyes, he looks at their location. He clenches his fists. He is back where he started. Taking a deep breath, he knows what he needs to do. Kicking his horse, he rides once more into the line of orcs. He pushes at their line only to be pushed back in the end once more. This cycle repeats itself multiple times. Much to his irritation. Still, he refuses to give up each time. He knows he has no other choice. If he gives up then he will surely die. By fighting, he has a small chance of surviving. A chance, he is willing to take.
At present, he is once more back where he started. Looking over the orcs, he sees how Imrahil is pushing at the line of orcs from the other side. He must have noticed his actions. Or want to rescue him. He smiles. Regardless of Imrahil's reason, he will make use of it. It might just be what allows him to push through the line of orcs and reach the cavalry.
Gripping the reins hard once more, he kicks his horse and rides directly into the direction of the cavalry. Hopefully, he can get through there easier. His guards are once more behind him. Moments later, he smashed right into the orcs. And this time, the progress is better in front of him. Only the back creates problems now. All the remaining orcs attack them from behind. He knows he cannot fault now so pushes harder. To survive he needs to reach the cavalry. Sooner rather than later.
Kicking his horse once again, he rides faster. They need the safety of the cavalry and soon. So he needs to move quicker. He does not know how much longer the wounded guard can keep up. And he refuses to leave the guard behind. Not if he sees a chance for them to reach safety. He slashes and stabs every orc which comes close to him.
The cavalry moves ever closer to him. He wants to smile but pushes it from his mind. Not until he has reached the cavalry will he allow himself to feel relief. It would be too dangerous for everyone where he to become relieved too quickly. The only thing, he focuses on is reaching the cavalry.
Moments later, he finally joins forces with the cavalry. And not a moment too late. The orcs who have been harassing them from behind decide to strike right now. He sees it in the corner of his eyes. He turns his horse around but stops in the middle of doing so. The cavalry surrounds him and his guards effectively blocking the orcs' path.
Immediately, a fight breaks out. He resumes his turn and joins the fighting. They push at the orcs with greater success than he has had due to their larger numbers. The orcs are driven back. A path cleared for them to reach the city walls.
Seeing the orcs regrouping, he turns around. An action which is mirrored by Imrahil. He pushes his horse hard to reach the walls soon. It appears for a moment as if no one keeps up with him. Something which is changed after a few minutes when Imrahil catches up with him and rides next to him. Together they lead the charge back to the city walls. A charge which does not last long. They reach the walls faster than he would have expected. Once there, he turns around and raises his sword without looking at the field.
"Form a line! Let no one through."
He glances at the cavalry and nods at Imrahil; they are following his orders. The city will be defended. Now that he is assured of that, he turns his attention back to the field. It is time for him to see what they will be facing. In front of him, the orcs are moving slowly towards them. He narrows his eyes. If they think they can lure them away from the city then they are sorely mistaken.
"Hold your line!"
Horses tramble on the ground. No other sound reached him from the horses. He keeps his eyes on the orcs confident the cavalry will remain in place. At the same time, he grips his reins tight and waits for the orcs to reach them. He knows it will be another hard fight for them but knows it is not something he can change.
A soft groan reaches his ears. His eyes widen momentarily before settling in a frown. He turns his head to the side. Next to him, a guard is holding his side with a grimace on his face. He bites his lips. Will his injured guard last long enough? He is not certain. Actually, he doubts it. Maybe it would be better were he to enter the city.
He is about to speak up when he hears shouting in the distance. He looks around to see what everyone is doing. The orcs have stopped. They stand as frozen. Some with big grins on their face. It is like everyone else. They all stop what they are doing. This does not mean anything good. Not that the shouting could signal anything good.
He turns his head in the direction of the shouting. There the harbor can be seen. The river is not visible to him. At least not clearly. But for the lack of clarity, he does not miss the flags in the distance. The flags are red. So bright, they cannot be missed. On it, he can see a black eye. He knows where these flags are attached to; ships. Ships which he can barely see. And which he does not want to see.
His eyes widen and he feels the blood leaving his face. The feeling of dread increases. What left him earlier of dread has now returned in a larger amount. He saw those ships earlier but he had hoped they would not be arriving here at this time. He had hoped they would arrive once he had dealt with Mordor. He is so wrong. So absolutely wrong. His worst fear has been realized.
He shakes his head in disbelief. They cannot beat the Corsairs. Not with the problems they already have. They already have problems dealing with the orcs and Haradrim. Especially the Haradrim vanguard. That is what had him worried until recently. Until those ships arrived. They were struggling to keep them at bay. Something which seems futile right now.
"Adar, please remember to not despair when the siege happens. As I told you, aid will come to Gondor. It might take some time for the aid to arrive but it will come. While you wait, keep the hope up for the people, warriors and yourself."
He shakes his head once more. Why did these words come to his mind once more? It are the same words which convinced him to join the fighting; words an older Faramir told him. But why do they come now? All the aid they could ask for has arrived. Gil has not made it in time. He is certain of it. No more aid will come.
What is the purpose of keeping the hope up? Faramir's words were clearly wrong. He should have known. It was only an imagination of the mind. He shakes his head. This means it is not something he needs to listen to. Not again.
Looking ahead, he sees how nothing has changed. Right now, he needs to figure out what to do with the situation. He considers it while keeping an eye on the orcs. They do not move. At least one worry is taken care of. But he still does not know what to do with the situation. There are only a few things which he deems possible. And none give him much hope for survival.
"Adar, please remember to not despair when the siege happens. As I told you, aid will come to Gondor. It might take some time for the aid to arrive but it will come. While you wait, keep the hope up for the people, warriors and yourself."
He shakes his head. He already determined these words were false. He must be imagining things. It is the only thing which seems likely. His thoughts continue to return to it. He struggles to push it away. After a long time, at least to him, he finally manages to push it away.
Smiling sadly, he acknowledges he will be dead before the end of the battle. Maybe even long before it but that is not important right now. How will he end it? There are but few options which come to his mind. They are dying in a retreat, dying in the city, or dying while fighting. He knows which one he prefers; dying while fighting. Turning to the side, he looks at his injured guard. There is no need to drag him into this. Mind made up, he addresses him.
"Return to the city with haste. Give the order for the city to be evacuated. Tell the healers to only take those who can be moved with them. All other wounded should not be left to fall to the mercy of the orcs. We will hold them off for as long as we can."
The guard nods and turns his horse around. He does not follow the guard with his eyes. He has other matters on his mind. Turning his attention back to the field, he sees movement in the distance. It does not take him long to discover who the movement belongs; the Rohirrim. They are mounting an attack on the ships. Or do they? He follows their direction and sees they are moving towards the harbor. Near the harbor, he sees the Haradrim. They have been driven back.
He smiles. So they have found a way to deal with the Rohirrim. Their bravery will not go unanswered. He will join them. Looking around, he sees the longing in the eyes of the cavalry. Smiling at them, he speaks up.
"Gather! We will join the Rohirrim. They will not fight alone this time. Halt the evacuations for the time being."
Trampling reached his ears. He waits for a moment to allow the cavalry to gather around him. But his patience runs out quickly. The orcs are also gathering. He will not allow them to stop him. Not again. No, he will join the Rohirrim. Or die trying.
The ships dock in the harbor. He narrows his eyes not liking what he sees. Well, he should have expected them to dock. Still, he had hoped they would need longer. Regardless of what is the case, he pushes his horse. The cavalry follows closely behind him. The ground shakes beneath them. Orcs look at them and form a line. Spears are lined up in their direction.
He narrows his eyes. It is an intimidating sight, he admits to himself, but he refuses to let it stop him. He pushes on while his heart batters against his chest. Suddenly, his guards pass him. Two on his left side and Beregond on the other side together with Imrahil. Knowing it is as safe as it can be, he takes a quick look at the harbor.
A standard is raised in the harbor. It is black with silver decorating. He recognizes the decorating immediately for what it is; a silver tree, seven stars, and a crown. He knows this standard; it is the standard of Elendil. Glancing at Imrahil, he sees how his eyes are wide. He can imagine a mouth hanging open even though it is not the case right now. He turns back to the harbor.
The standard is still there. It is no imagination. Could it be? Could Gil have reached them? He feels how hope begins to return. Worry and concern disappear. The standard is a sight for sore eyes. But until he sees who has actually raised the standard, he refuses to claim Gil has returned in front of others. Even though, he knows it can be no other. No one but Gil will have a strong enough claim to dare to use this standard. He knows what it means for the Gondorians. Just like they do as well as those who raised the standard.
Shaking his head, he raises his sword. Those orcs still need to be dealt with. This is what he needs to focus on. Moments later, he clashes with the orcs. He pushes through them with ease. They all stand around paralyzed as they slam into their line. An event he makes good use off. He strikes them and leaves carnage behind. No orc in his area survives.
Soon, he meets up with another part of the cavalry. He looks where they came from. A carnage greets them. Looking the men over, he notices a few are wounded. He rides towards them and nods to a worried-looking Amrothos. Amrothos turns his head. Immediately, another man attends to the wounded.
A few minutes later, he rides back into the fray. Next to him, the fighting has continued. He slashes and stabs every orc he can. He leaves none alive while aiming for an open area. He wants to see what is happening in the harbor. An only in an open area will he feel safe enough to do it. But until he does, he fights on.
Once he finally reaches an open area, he looks at the harbor. He can see how the ships empty. Leaving them are men of Gondor. He recognizes them easily and smiles. They are a welcome surprise. He did not expect them to arrive on time. Yes, other men from around Gondor have arrived but they nearly always came from nearby. These men come from further. None of them are on horses. These ships must have been a blessing given to them by whoever captured them.
He back to the arrivals. He is met with another surprise. Elves, a dwarf, and Dúnedain leave the ships. He did not expect any of them. One thing he knows; these Dúnedain do not come from Gondor. No, they come from the north. Their clothing gives them away. It is not of Gondorian origin but more ragged. Not something most people here in Gondor would want to be seen in. Even the peasants.
Could they have come with Gil? He looks hopefully back at the ships. Dúnedain are still leaving. His heart beats hard in his chest. He can barely wait to see if Gil is with him. He watches every Dúnedain both leaving the ship and in the harbor. And lastly, he finally spots Gil. He is at the front of the group. How could he have missed him? A smile spreads on his face. He now knows Faramir's words were no imagination. They were the truth. Gondor will survive and prevail. He feels how hope becomes fully restored in his heart.
A deafening sound comes from behind. He knows it for what it is; cheering. He does not need to consider where they come from. Nor does he need to look. They come from Minas Tirith. As well as from the cavalry. He raises his sword in the air joining in the cheering. He has his mind is made up about what he will do now.
"Fight! Hope has reached Gondor. Fight for hope!"
He pushes his horse to run as fast as possible. A scramble sounds behind him. He smiles; the cavalry is gathering around him. Arrows fly over his head towards orcs and Haradrim. Most likely coming from the city. He sees the orc and Haradrim falling to the ground. Moaning can be heard. No matter where the arrows actually come from, he appreciates them. It makes everything easier for him.
The cavalry leaves carnage behind them. No orc or Haradrim is left standing wherever they move. Before long, he meets up with the Rohirrim. The line blocking him was smaller than he expected. A young Rohirrim immediately comes to his side. No words are exchanged between them; they only look at each other. He nods and receives one in return. Whoever this young man is, he is clearly in charge after Theoden's death. Later, he will learn about the young man's identity. But right now, they need to deal with the problem before them.
Together they push further into the army of orcs. The cavalry and Rohirrim also meet up with them moments later. Joining their forces has been the right decision, he sees that now. Together they manage to kill more orcs than before when they were fighting alone. A few times, he sees how enemies are surrendering. He pays them no mind. Al, he does is notice how some Rohirrim leave the group and round them up. Whatever will happen to them is a matter for a later time.
As he rides, he thinks back to his words. He knows the meaning behind them; they are double. There is now hope for their survival for they have enough men to handle the remaining orcs and Haradrim. Also, hope or Estel is Gil's childhood name. A name he learned about by accident. And was summarily sworn to secrecy about. With Gil's return, hope has literally returned to Gondor. Not that many people will know this. But as he saw Gil among those disembarking, he knows the king has returned.
He glances at the harbor once more. His eyes widen at what he sees; the banner falls. Silence falls among his men. Fighting momentarily stops. The cheering from the city also stops. A heavy silence hangs in the air. He knows everyone is in shock; that is obvious. The silence actually feels choking to him. He can barely breathe. He had such hope they would survive. Now, it seems it might have been idle hope.
He takes a few deep breaths. He still feels a choking hold on his airways. He takes another deep breath. He needs to figure out what to do. At the same time, he wonders what has happened. His thoughts do not last long for within moments the banner is raised again. Why did it fall? Why was it raised again? He does not know but intends to find out later. Something else to do later. But right now, they need to deal with the Haradrim and those orcs who have managed to survive till now.
Looking at the young man, he receives a nod. Together, they ride towards the Haradrim and orcs. Gil leads a group into their back. The Haradrim and orcs are caught between a hammer and an anvil. It is a complete decimation. Only those who surrender survive. No other Haradrim or orc. The city is saved. He is certain of it now.