After Faramir's failed counterattack, any thoughts Nemireth might have had of resting were no more than a distant memory. Time was not their ally. In fact, it had very rapidly become their enemy. She met once more with the captains of the city; Belegorn and Dior. Only two of the three could meet with her, as Eradan had ridden forth with Faramir and thus perished on the field of Pelennor. This time there was no room for persuasion and Nemireth did not broker hesitation nor argument; the lower city would be evacuated, the people placed temporarily in warehouses and whatever space could accommodate them on the upper level. For their part, neither captain seemed willing to resist the will of this foreign princess, itself worrying indication of just how little fight remained in this kingdom of men.

Next was a visit to where Karos trained the militia of Gondor, a motley collection of men of all ages; some younger, some much older. Their equipment was in much the same state as they; with some indistinguishable from the garrison and yet others carrying little more than a spear and a shield. Amongst them were men of the King's Guard, instructing in heavy Aeanorean accents or miming where the language barrier was too much to overcome. Watching over all of them was the senior Captain of her guard. There was a brief lull in activity as she approached, but the Princess swiftly waved them on. They went through motions familiar to the princess; step and stab, the first instructions passed on to new recruits in the legions of Aeanor.

She remembered those early days well. When she had cooked beneath the fierce Aeanor sun. When her arms had felt like they would detach at the shoulder. When the words of her sergeants could bring her to tears and often did. She snorted at the mere thought. How many of the men who had lined up with her in those days; who had drilled and sparred with her, now rode the Winds by her command?

"How goes the training?" She asked of Karos, trying to drive that thought from her mind but it lingered, like a nail driven into an old door.

"As well as can be expected for a few days. They are eager but frightened. There are a few old soldiers amongst their ranks but I would not place them on the walls."

She nodded, spying where an older man thrust his spear forward at his partner, the motion clumsy and painfully slow. There was no better instructor than Karos but with so little time… "We'll keep them on the upper level as the final reserve. Should it get that bad…" She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, "Keep up the training as long as you can."

"Of course, your highness."

With the streets now packed with people fleeing uphill, loaded with what meagre possessions they could carry, progress anywhere was slow though they tended to give her plenty of space. She was seeking Gandalf and she was lucky enough to find him close to the walls, watching out towards Osgiliath, as deep in thought as he ever was. Beneath them she could hear sawing and hammering as the gates were reinforced.

"I think we have done all we can," She stood alongside him with a deep breath, "All that's left now is the plunge."

He gave the slightest of nods without turning, "When the battle begins, I will need you and your men on the second level."

She looked to him with a frown, "Not at the walls or the gate?"

"I shall command the walls," He sighed as if the mere phrase were exhausting enough, "Your skills will be needed elsewhere. When the time is right, you may bring your men forth."

"What will the signal be?"

"There will be no signal. You must trust your instincts."

Nemireth looked to the heavens, cursing the cryptic nature of wizards but otherwise just sighing, "You will remain here then?"

"I feel I will be needed in the White Tower before long. Do as I have asked, trust in your courage and your strength. You have both in abundance."

"As do you," As the wizard turned to go, she hesitated, "And…good luck, Gandalf. I will see you when this is over."

He seemed surprised by that and there was a hint of a smile amongst that long, white beard, "Yes, yes you shall."

There was now little else to do but to wait.

The Dark Lord did not keep them waiting long.

It began with the blow of a horn. Deep from within Osgiliath, the blast may have been overlooked were it not joined in seconds by hundreds, if not thousands more that could have woken the very earth itself from beneath them.

Boom, boom, boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

The drums of the enemy began to beat.

This was it.

Nemireth had been supervising the drilling of the recruits, watching as they went through in hours what a soldier should have learned in weeks. Everything dissolved into feverish activity then as the militia were hurried upwards and the King's Guard assembled. Soldiers of Gondor poured through now empty streets, rushing for the walls and towers; archers and spear-carriers alike.

Boom, boom, boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

The Princess awaited the King's Guard to form, heart thumping against her chest before she lead both companies to her chosen spot, the same wide plaza she had visited the night before. It overlooked the entire lower city and the walls beyond and there placed there the four catapults she had been examining. To her surprise, one in particular was still swarming in redheaded carpenters.

"Princess, couldn't stay away?" Edenion was in the midst of it all, grinning broadly.

"A little late for some finishing touches, is it not?" She asked with a frown.

"This is our baby now, my lady," He patted the weapon affectionately, "We are now crafters and crew! We had to do our part for the city, after all."

"It's because he thought you might come back here," One of his brothers leant in and nudged the smaller man with guffaws and chuckles at the blushing carpenter.

Their frivolity was short-lived as, at least, the army of Mordor made itself known. It did not so much emerge from Osgiliath as flood, rank upon rank, legion upon legion of the enemy. Even Nemireth felt her breath falter at the sight. Any hope that they may face an army of similar size to the one at Helm's Deep seemed so foolishly optimistic now, like hoping to face a starling and instead finding a dragon in their path. There were so many moving towers, so many catapults of their own, trolls and wargs moved amongst the ranks. It were as if Sauron had emptied the very depths of Mordor and thrown it against the city of men.

Boom, boom, boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

She could sense the fear around her, that raw, numbing panic that came from a single, shared truth. They were all going to die in this city.

She took a deep breath, "Stay strong!" She found herself shouting, "Stay strong for your city!"

Yet the force of the enemy did not seem to end. She had to wonder if the force that awaited in Osgiliath stretched all the way back to the Black Gate itself. Even if Rohan did come now, even if her own army had been present, what could they do against such numbers?

Boom, boom, boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

"Ready catapults!" She called, her voice filling the empty terror of the plaza.

"Catapults ready!" Each captain of their station sounded off in turn, ending with Edenion, who was no longer grinning.

The enemy chanted and cheered. It felt like their voices carried all the way to the heavens.

"Abandon your posts!" She heard a voice carry down from the top of the city. She turned frantically to find its source, as did every other soldier, "Flee! Flee for your lives!"

That panic that had been contained burst forth, the soldiers of Gondor who stood nearby ran for the street, three of the four catapult crews broke off in pursuit. Only the carpenters stayed where they were.

Boom, boom, boom!

Boom, boom, boom!

"Hold your ground!" Nemireth pushed one back one fleeing soldier after another, all but throwing them back. The King's Guard remained in position, but their anxiety at their ally's flight was evident in their faces, "Stay where you are!" She just made it to the gates, baring the flight of Gondor's soldiers, voice loud and fierce, "In the name of all you hold dear in this world, stand your ground!"

The crews were the first to return, rushing back to their stations and followed by the soldiers, who drew themselves up to their full heights, weapons ready in hand.

"Hurry men! To the walls! Defend the walls!" She briefly caught sight of a flash of white riding through the city with routing men of Gondor following him as lion cubs followed their mother. Gandalf's voice seemed to carry through every street, every corner. In that brief moment, Nemireth felt a spark of hope, the first she had truly known since Osgiliath.

"Let us show them what men can do!" She called, "Loose!"

The catapults fired, great arms arching overhead with a groaning of wood and rope, launching massive boulders straight into the ranks of the enemy where they carved great bloody paths through their numbers. Nemireth could not help but feel a sick satisfaction at seeing their formations began to fragment as they were torn apart.

"That's it!" Nemireth strode up and down amongst the crews, keeping her voice loud and clear, "They have no answer to you! Keep at it!"

And they did not, the catapults of Mordor were barely able to clear the wall and though they were doing considerable damage to the lower level, the catapults of the defenders were unharmed. If the walls could hold, if they could keep the gate, then maybe, just maybe they could survive this day!

Her ears were filled with a chilling, high-pitched shriek.

Ice ran through her veins as horrific black creatures dived out of the cloud high above them. Every cry felt like her mind was being ripped apart. She tried to think but no thought lasted long against that sound. The fellbeasts swooped in amongst the towers of Minas Tirith with blackened wings thumping with each beat. She could the shattering and splintering of wood and stone from above and looked up to see timbers rain down onto the streets below. The crews and soldiers alike scattered for cover, some throwing off their helmets with hands covering their ears, screaming in agony at the torture that Mordor had brought upon them.

Nemireth stood where she was.

It was not through courage, for she was sure she had never felt so terrified as she did in that moment, but her legs were leaden and feet rooted to the ground beneath her. She could only watch as one of the beasts dove for her. The cold disconnect between mind and heart was surreal, like she was watching through the eyes of another. The creature drew close with wicked talons spread. This was how she died…

All she felt was a numbness.

Something connected with her shoulder and sent her sprawling. She felt the fellbeast's claws grasp at the air above her with an audible hiss such was their sharpness. The power of the passing beast pinned her to the ground, unable to move until it had passed.

Karos lay beside her, a look of fear she had never seen in the elder Captain's eyes as he gasped for air.

Sense returned to her as suddenly as a hammer striking a nail and she clambered to her feet. There was a fresh pain in her ribs but she ignored it as best she could. She called as loudly as she could between shallow, quick breaths and wincing.

"Back to your stations! Everyone, back to your posts!" She moved amongst the debris left by the attack, hauling men up as she went, "Courage! Show courage now!"

"Come on, boys!" Edenion ran for his catapult, his relations following in his wake, "Jump to it!" The crews trailed out after him, ashen faced, chanting and praying aloud.

She looked for a messenger, a frightened boy in Gondor armour, "Find Captain Belegorn! Tell him I need archers up on the plaza now!"

"Yes, my lady!" He took off into the streets while there came more terrible screaming from above, not fellbeasts but men as they plummeted to the ground below. Nemireth tried to block them out but all she could hear was their fading cries cut abruptly as they bounced off roofs and street alike.

"Keep at it!" She had to shout over the chaos. The sweat was running along the arms and down the foreheads of the crews as they worked their machines. Resetting the long arms, hauling the rounded stones into the slings and then jumping clear as they were loosed before repeating the process. All the while they kept glancing to the sky, flinching and winching with every beat of those terrible wings. But they did not run, "Keep at it!"

"Nemireth!" The warning came from Karos as a beast swooped overhead, hitting not their plaza but the catapult a level above. The engine fell against the wall and sent a shower of wreckage down upon them. The Princess dove for cover, the ground shaking as she felt the patter of pebbles against her helmet and back. There came the crunching and crashing and screaming as masonry fell upon wood and man alike.

She took a deep breath and pulled herself up; coughing as she sucked in the dust that shrouded them like a fog. As it cleared, two of the four had been destroyed, lying beneath the broken fragments of Minas Tirith. Amongst the dust, she saw redheaded men limp at their posts with Edenion staring blankly up at the sky.

The Princess stared. The image was seared into her memory but refused to release its grip on her. It was not until another fellbeast passed by with chaos in its wake that the spell was broken. She shook her head; she would mourn the dead later and fight for the living now.

"Back! Back to your posts! Do not give in to fear!" The surviving crews returned, eying up the dead alongside them but fighting all the same.

How long had the battle been raging for? It felt like it had been hours. Without the sun it was impossible to tell but the day was growing darker. Down below, many of Mordor's siege towers had made it to the walls and she looked desperately for a white figure amongst the fighting without success. It was so hard to tell from here what was happening. Were they holding? Retreating? Beyond the walls, Mordor's army stretched into eternity. It looked as though they had barely touched it, even with their efforts and sacrifice. Nemireth felt despair begin to take hold. How could they have done so little for so much cost?

So long as the gate held, so long as that horde remained on the other side of the walls, then there was at least hope…

A chant went up from the army of Mordor, each soldier saying the same thing over and over again.

"Grond! Grond! Grond!"

They were towing it forward…a nightmarish device of the likes Nemireth could not have imagined in her nightmares. A vast wolf's head with fire at its maw. An engine of war made for a single purpose.

To destroy the gate of Minas Tirith…

"Target that ram!" She called to the surviving crews, "Hit the ram!"

"We can't!" One of the soldiers replied, "We can't turn that far!"

The only two that could have had been destroyed. Now she saw the intentions of the Nazgul. None of the defender's surviving artillery could hit the monstrosity that was being so slowly towed towards the city.

There was nothing they could do to stop it.

"Captain Karos! Form up the companies!"

"Yes, your highness!" He blew a sharp shriek of his whistle and the men of the King's Guard who had been sheltering where they could from the aerial assault stood to formation, the worry clear in their eyes.

She met their gaze, and she knew their fear was reflected in her own eyes, try as she might to hide it. All the same she called out as confidently as she could; "Araharné! E-aphad im!" She blew two sharp notes on her whistle and like that, the guard were all but running to the gate.

Following the main street, she could see the bodies that lay in piles beneath rubble, the shattered buildings that looked alarmingly like Osgiliath, the fires that now glowed fiercely in the failing light. The city was little more than a ruin now, its splendour crumbling beneath the assault.

Soldiers of Gondor were coming from every direction it felt, all flowing to the same place. The statue of Elendil greeted them as did Captain Dior, who had blood pouring from his hair with the look of man whose sense was hanging by a thread. Before him were the men of Gondor, arranged in a wall of spears and shields. Archers stood behind them and then the King's Guard. There, riding behind the line atop Shadowfax was Gandalf, and the Princess felt a little warmth in long chilled veins to see that he still lived. He paid her no heed however, eyes fixed ahead.

Nemireth's spear was heavy in her hand but her shield light. She tried to ignore the pinching in her stomach and the heaviness in her heart, a coldness that would not leave her. All the memories of Helms Deep came flooding back, the smell of mud and rain in her nostrils, the cold terror at the enemy before them. Did that fear ever go? She found that her hands were shaking.

Crash!

The gates trembled, the wood and steel groaning. The men of Gondor took a step back.

"Steady…steady," Gandalf's booming voice rang across the courtyard.

Crash!

The maw of the wolf came through the gates, the heavy wood falling away before it, allowing them sight of flames broiling behind clenched fangs. She could smell the acrid scent of smoke and burning tar. Winds, it was like seeing the Balrog all over again…

"You are soldiers of Gondor," Gandalf had lowered his voice, determined and strong, "No matter what comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!"

Crash!

The gates of Minas Tirith, unbreached for three thousand years, gave way.

It was trolls who led the way. Trolls like that which she had faced in Moria all those months ago, only these were clad in thick armour and wielding hammers larger than a man.

Nemireth might have cried aloud. She would never know for sure in the noise that followed.

The enemy crashed into the ranks of Gondor spearmen whose formation collapsed instantly. Men were sent flying in all directions or felled by hammers with the most sickening crunch of bones and steel.

"Volley!" Gandalf cried, "Fire!"

Arrows felled many of the trolls but those who remained carved through archers and soldiers alike. She felt the ranks behind her, the King's Guard of Aeanor begin to ripple and fragment, backing away in fear.

"e-lemosan Araharné!" Nemireth turned to face them, as bold as she could manage, trying to hide the quiver in her voice, "Pellan ell talaf!"

"Anun!" They steadied themselves, watching as a troll was felled under the spears of their allies. Nemireth longed to charge into the battle, to bring her weapon and those of her warriors to bear but a little voice in the back of her mind pressed, insistent. No, it said over and over, not yet.

Most of the trolls had been slain, overwhelmed by the defenders who did not flee from such terrible odds but instead pressed, attacking with a courage born of desperation. Through the gates behind them came orcs, not in a wave but a flood. They fell upon the broken and separated ranks of Gondor, unable to reform before the enemy hit them, cutting them down at will.

Now!

"Herio!" She cried, "Herio!"

With a great cry the King's Guard surged forward, shields raised and spears lowered. Their momentum cut through the ranks of orcs and trolls alike, driving them back. Nemireth felt her spear bite deep into the gut of an orc before she pulled it free and stabbed again. No longer did she care for her aches and pains. Her world was now the battle in which she found herself. The surviving Gondor troops folded into the ranks where they could, lunging and hacking. If they could just drive them back far enough…if they could just seal the gate…

The stream of orcs before them parted.

It was not more orcs who now passed beneath the gate but men. Men dressed in tanned garb, faces hidden behind long cloth masks and wielding long halberds. The Dusk Guard. The same men she had seen in Osgiliath. The same men who had cut through Samar's company and taken the city. The traitors of Umbar. They chanted loudly in their foul tongue, one voice then the others answering. Their formation cut into the uneven line, ragged and broken by the battle. Halberds fell and stabbed, cutting through flesh and bone and steel with ease. And all the while they sang.

"Pellan!" She cried in desperation, the battle slipping through her fingers like grains of sand, "Stand! Stand your ground!"

It was an impossible order. The orcs pressed in from the sides, the trolls continued to smash and carve great gaps into their ranks and the Dusk Guard chewed through them as steadily as a saw through a tree trunk. Their ranks were too thin, their numbers too few. Step by step, death by death, they were driven back.

The Princess could see orcs breaking off down the side-streets. They would try to flank as she predicted. She thought back to the Deeping Wall, when they had stood their ground until it was too late. What was there to gain here? What had there been to gain there?

Xiphos…

"Karos!" She called for her Captain, though she had no idea where he stood or even if he lived, "Your company! Break and protect!"

"Araharné! Omáran!" Karos blew his whistle and the noise pierced the battle as surely as spear did flesh. King's Guard broke from the battle and formed a fresh line behind them, with large gaps between each man.

"Fall back! Fall back!" She called to the men of Gondor, "Retreat towards the second level!"

They needed no further encouragement and the troops broke off and rushed through the gaps left in the King's Guard. Nemireth was one of the last through and the ranks sealed up behind her, a fresh wall of spears and shields. The orcs were the only ones who fell upon them, the Dusk Guard were content with their work and stood in victory amongst their victims. Even now, their voices cut through the sounds of battle still. What trolls survived had split down smaller streets in search of prey.

Karos handled his men magnificently; allowing the formation to fall back step by step. Step by step, rank by rank they withdrew. Around this wall however, the fight was a desperate one. Orcs poured in from every side-street as if the houses themselves were spawning them, throwing themselves upon the defenders as they sought to cut them off and destroy them. This was not a battle. This was a brawl. This was brutal slaughter were no quarter was given and none asked for. Worse than Osgiliath, worse than Helm's Deep. It felt like the whole world was nothing but war and slaughter. Every street, every corner, every square was yielded only with the greatest reluctance and a heavy toll in blood.

"Never let a fight become a brawl…"

This had become a brawl. The worst kind of brawl. Wild. Uncontrollable. Vicious. There was nothing she could do about it, no order to be brought. All she could do was survive…

The next step.

Nemireth stopped counting how many orcs she felled, for there was simply too many to recall and she needed every ounce of concentration just to stay alive. She remembered what Boromir had told her; back in Rivendell, before the Fellowship had even set forth;

"You've been trained to fight in a system and that system does not exist…"

She remembered what he had taught her. Stay on the move; guard your flanks. Focus on your enemy yet watch on all sides…

She sidestepped the swing of an orc's sword and drove her spear deep into his stomach. Before she could withdraw it, another orc lunged for her with a wicked, rusted axe. The judder as the spear shattered race up her arm into her shoulder and the Princess cried aloud, stepping back. He attacked again she brought her shield up to drive him back while fingers wrapped themselves about her sword. As the weapon slid from its sheath, her attacker was cut down by a Gondor soldier, who himself was driven to the ground by an orc who had leapt atop him, biting down into his neck. Even over the sounds of battle, his gurgled screams filled her ears as she avenged him.

All the while Gandalf rode amongst them. Shadowfax was as much warrior as mount and he crushed and bit any orc who he could reach while the Wizard in white wielded sword and staff. His voice was booming, every word bringing steel to a desperate fight as step by step, they retreated.

At last! The gates of the second level! Nemireth passed through, then turned to watch Karos' rear guard fought their way to safety. She found encouragement and prayers escaping beneath her breath. It took every ounce of control to keep from throwing herself amongst them. Trust in Karos. He knew what to do. Though there was no wall above the gate, arrows and stones poured down from the higher levels and the orcs shied away from the punishing fire. It gave Karos the window he needed to see his company back through the doors and to safety.

The gates sealed behind them with a deep and final thud.

The lower city was now in the possession of Mordor.