The Strangers in Middle Earth

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Chapter Twenty Two

The Army of the West

Because of the honours done by my uncle, Aragorn and Imrahil agreed that our company should ride near the head of the army alongside the DĂșnedain. Lord Robert, Marcus and Father Harold were at the front, the latter of them carrying our companies banner, alongside Aragorn, King Eomer, Prince Imrahil, Gandalf, the sons of Elrond, Legolas and Gimli, who were sharing a horse. A further sign of the respect now granted to the Hobbits was that Merry was sharing Eomer's horse while Pippin rode with Gandalf. I with Richard, Jason and Edmund, as well as Cenric who had again agreed to be my squire, were just behind them. In the early morning of the second day of our march, we came upon crossroads where a statue stood, once portraying a great king, but its head had been torn off and a crude stone painted with an eye had been bolted in place by bands of rusting iron.

'Let all know that the Lords of Gondor have returned,' Aragorn said as soon as he saw it.

The head was found nearby, a crown of flowers had grown onto it, and Aragorn had a few men begin repairing the statue. Fearing the possibility of an attack from Minas Morgul, Aragorn ordered that a force of rangers be deployed in the area, and with Gandalf led a small force to the bridge leading to the Morgul Vale and destroyed it. Knowing that our path of retreat and the way to Minas Tirith was now secure, we marched in full confidence towards Mordor. It was a glorious sight to be sure, at the head of the Army of the West was King Elessar, as Aragorn will be remembered by history, clad no longer in the crude garb of a ranger, but in fine black leather, the finest ring maille and pauldrons carved with the shape of feathers, and from his shoulders a wonderful deep, black cloak. Now, truly, I saw more than just a man, but a king, a true, just king, so unlike Richard of England. Riding by the king was Eomer and Gamling, the latter bearing the Royal Standard of Rohan, tall and proud alongside that of Elessar, with the swan of Dol Amroth and the golden cross of our small but valiant company. The kings standard was being carried by a Gondorian soldier, its former bearer, Halbarad having been killed in the fighting outside of Minas Tirith.

At last, after three days of marching, all the greenery we were accustomed to in Ithilien had died out to be replaced by dry rocks and sand where only the most stubborn of weeds still clung onto life, resisting the corrupting evil of Sauron. Early in the morning of the fifth day of our advance, we found ourselves entering wide open plain before the mountains of Mordor. There we found it, the Black Gates, standing tall and arrogant, topped with fang like pinnacles of iron and flanked by a pair of tall towers, it was a dreadful thing to lay our eyes upon, and I was afraid upon seeing it, knowing tens of thousands of Orcs were waiting on the other side.

'Now we are here,' said Lord Robert.

'What shall we do, my king?' Imrahil asked him.

'We'll form our army into a hollow circle,' he answered. 'Our horses will be in the middle, our archers will be behind our men at arms.'

And so that is how we formed up, the English Company were amongst those directly facing the gates, and I stood there, with my pole axe ready. For a while we waited and when nothing happened, Aragorn and the leaders of the army, that being himself, Eomer, Imrahil, Gandalf, the Hobbits, Gimli and Legolas, Lord Robert, Marcus and Father Harold, rode towards the gates.

For Harold, he had never been more frightened than that day, looking upon what he had always thought the entry to Hell looked like. The banner in his hand felt heavy, as he waited for anything to happen.

'Let the Lord of the Black Lands come forth!' Aragorn declared. 'Let justice be done upon him!'

Marcus was nervous as they waited, hating the wait and wishing for anything, even an attack would be more welcome that this waiting. Then the gates creaked open, the groaning of metal against metal screeching through the air as the way to Mordor opened so slightly. From the doors emerged a single rider, clad in ornate black clothes and a long cloak, not too different to what one would expect a bishop or diplomat to wear, yet still suited for battle as seen I his helmet, looking not unlike the head of a spider. Yet, the most horrific thing of all was this mans mouth, for it was twice the size of a normal mans and surrounded by split open, bloody, oozing flesh and his teeth were rotten, for the such is the nature of true evil, not just does it destroy, but it twists and malforms all it touches until all that was once good is forgotten.

'My Master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome,' he then flashed them a disgusting smile, blood dribbling from his many face wounds. 'Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?'

'We have not come to treat with Sauron, the Faithless and Accursed,' Gandalf answered confidently. 'Tell your master this, the armies of Mordor are to disband, Sauron is to depart these lands, never to return.'

The creature before them simply chuckled and shook his head as if he was scolding a chid.

'Old Grey Beard, I have a token I was bidden to show thee.'

He reached into his robes and pulled out a strange thing, a shirt of ring maille, shining like pearls, but not large enough for a man to wear. Marcus was confused for a moment as to why someone would make armour for a child. Then he realised with horror that it was not for a child, but it was sized fine for a Hobbit. They had Frodo, he realised.

'The Halfling was dear to thee I see,' the Mouth of Sauron gloated before tossing the shirt to Gandalf who had tears in his eyes. 'Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host.'

'Frodo,' sobbed Merry.

'No!' Pippin shouted

'Silence,' Gandalf commanded them before they let slip the plan.

'What are you?' Harold snapped. 'Were you once a man like us? Did you have a mother and father? Did you have brothers and sisters? Was there a time where you had a wife and children of your own? I doubt all of this, for no true man would ever willingly give himself over to Sauron, to be twisted and corrupted. You are lesser than any Orc, and yet I have no anger for you, only pity, for one day soon you shall face eternal judgement.'

'Pitiful, weak man,' he scoffed at the priest. 'We have both done evil, haven't we? At least I am on the side of a master who is both strong and who I know leads me. Ah,' he remarked when he saw Aragorn. 'Here he is. Isildur's heir. You should know it takes more than a broken blade to be a king.'

'I know that,' he answered with an icy voice, and in the blink of an eye drew his sword and severed the Mouth's head.

'That concludes negotiations,' Gimli chuckled.

'We've lost,' said Robert. 'We must retreat while we still can.'

'He only spoke of one Hobbit,' said Markus. 'The other may be alive.'

'Sam would do that if he had to,' Pippin agreed, fighting back tears.

'I refuse to believe it's over,' said Aragorn. 'Are you all still with me?'

'To the death my king,' said Imrahil.

'To the death,' agreed Harold.

'To the death,' spoke up Marcus and then he looked at Robert who sighed.

'To the death,' he agreed.

The gates then began to open wider and wider, everyone looking through them at the most terrible sight in all of Middle Earth, Mordor, tens of thousands of Orcs and corrupted men, Trolls and other monsters, amongst them even were wicked Morgul Knights upon twisted steeds and above them, Barad Dur itself and at its peak, a burning eye.

'Fall back!' Aragorn shouted to the men of his company and as one they galloped back to the circle, where I stood next to Richard and Jason.

As the gates opened even I, to my shame, took a nervous step backwards, seeing just how many of our foes we were facing. Our leaders returned to us and rode their horses through our ranks, before climbing from their mounts and joining us, except for Aragorn, who held his bloody sword aloft.

'Hold your ground! Hold your ground! Sons of Gondor! Sons of Rohan! Sons of England! My brothers! I see in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come, when the courage of men fails. Where we betray our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of Wolves! Of shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down! It is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear, I bid you stand, Men of the West!'

At that there was a flurry of movement as men drew their swords, raised their spears and cheered even as the Orcs advanced. At a steady rhythm, our enemies advanced, surrounding us, and I looked on the faces of my cousins and my friends, all of us afraid, all of us ready to accept whatever fate lay ahead. Father Harold stood just behind our part of the line, holding his banner high which blew in the wind.

'Any regrets?' I asked Marcus.

'None,' he answered.

'One or two,' was Richard's response. 'There was a pretty redhead in Minas Tirith I didn't get to talk to.'

His small joke actually won a smile from me, and I thought of Sunniva, safe in Minas Tirith, for now.

'I lost track of my regrets,' Jason answered, unusually sombrely, realising he was probably about to die. With his one good eye he looked at me. 'I never said goodbye to my mother before I left home. I'll be able to say sorry to her soon.'

'I'll be able to see my father,' I told him. 'I hope he's proud of me.'

'I'm sure he is.'

'My wife,' said Edmund. 'It will be nice, seeing her again.'

I looked at the merchant, his hands protected by gloves and over them, ornate rings he claimed from dead Haradrim after Pelennor Fields.

'Thomas will be waiting for me,' Mathew Fendrel said with a quivering voice.

'You will see them again,' said Father Harold, 'but it will not be this day.'

I looked along the line towards the king who had stepped a little ahead, looking straight towards Sauron. For minute after minute he stood there, lowering his sword as if ensnared by some trance. Then, at last, he pointed his sword towards Sauron.

'For Frodo!' he announced and charged.

'Frodo!' the Hobbits cheered and were the first to follow him.

The archers let their arrows fly and all of us men at arms raced ahead, weapons raised, towards the enemy. I slammed shut my visor seconds before we crashed into the enemy lines. I rushed an Orc and ran him through with the spear of my poleaxe before punching another in the throat and then hacking down with the axe blade, almost cutting clean through the Orc's neck. A short beast with an axe attacked me so I brought up the shaft of my weapon to block it before kicking the Orc between the legs, only for Jason to kill it with his bill.

It was a battle like no other, with the entire force of Mordor rushing forth from their home against us. It was like hacking into a forest with nought but a knife, always more and more of them rushing against us.

'For my father!' shouted Cenric, cleaving a head off with his axe.

'Don't leave yourself open!' I snapped at him.

A large Orc, perhaps it was an Uruk even, swung at me with a crude two handed sword, splintering my poleaxe's shaft. I stabbed at my foe with the spiked butt end of the weapon, cutting through the beasts throat, and then I hammered into an Orc's neck with the head, still in my hand. That was when I drew Alaric and began slicing and cutting at my foes. Cenric fought at my side with such courage and anger that at moment I feared for his safety, but that wrath was tempered by enough common sense that I knew he would be safe. Suddenly there was a shout and I realised to our left, just at the point between the English and Gondorian's the Orcs had managed to split us apart. Robert tried to shout from his position on the front to send men over to block it but no one could hear him.

Fortunately, someone did notice. Father Harold had placed himself before the Orcs, defiantly holding his banner with his left hand, his right hand beneath his cloak. The Orcs, their love of causing pain at heart, they rushed him, seeing an easy chance for blood. The first Orc, wielding a one handed axe, charged Father Harold but, in a single swift motion, parried the blow with the pole of his banner and drew a dagger from within his cloak, thrusting it into the Orc's eye. He couldn't withdraw the knife, being stuck in bone, so he grabbed the axe from the Orc, a peasant's tool by the look of it, used for cutting kindling, and killed two Orcs in quick succession, before Mathew Fendrel and a dozen bowmen, Gondorian and English, rushed forwards and shot some of the Orcs. At that moment Harold turned to face those men and held high his banner.

'Put aside your bows my sons and pick up your swords! It's time to do God's work!'

At his command they drew their backup weapons, falchions, axes, hammers and swords, and charged into the breach behind the priest, still wielding his banner and axe. With our companies banner now at the heart of the fighting, our willingness to fight only increased, and we kept fighting, even as many brave Englishmen fell dead around us.

Then came the screeching, one all too familiar, which saw all of us, even the Orcs, look up to the sky. Eight Wraith's upon their Fell Beasts were sweeping down from the sky towards us, fangs and claws ready. At that moment I believed we were doomed, but then it happened, the Great Eagles came to our aid, claws against talons and jaws against beaks. Many of us cheered with joy at the sight, but then we were back in the fight, slaying Orcs as they came at us with savage glee. Directly over us, an eagle and a Fell Beast fought, snapping and clawing at each other, until the eagle won the advantage and bit into the Beasts throat, killing it. The monster fell towards the ground, crashing into the Orcs just ahead of the company. All of us froze in horror, realising what now faced us, and I gripped Alaric tighter, as the Ring Wraith stepped away from its mounts corpse, sword in hand. Even the Orcs backed away in fear of one of their masters greatest servants. This Wraith wore the dark robes of all its unholy brotherhood and also a suit of dark armour, twisted and yet ornate, black but not painted or forge darkened, more like no light could bare to touch it.

'Stand your ground for God is with us!' Harold declared, still gripping his axe.

The Wraith advanced on us, swinging its sword at Edward of Bristol, slitting his throat, before running through Sir Andrew Black. Lord Robert, followed by Tancred, took on the Wraith together, trading a few blows, before the monster won the upper hand, stabbing Robert through the foot, forcing him to his knee, before punching him in the neck, his entire throat and neck sundering to the blow, killing him. Tancred, seeing his father die, let out a scream of anguish so terrible than even some of the Orcs stepped back, and fell to hold his fathers body, ignoring the Wraith who moved on to kill other, better men. The Wraith cut through us, many of us having no choice but to back away as quickly as we could while not breaking ranks. It came face to face with Richard who fought with all his courage, trading blows with their swords, my cousin even laughing at one point at their duel.

The Wraith managed to hook my cousins sword with its own weapons cross guard and then pulled Richard's weapon away. It seized Richard by the throat and lifted him up, Richard kicking and punching the whole time. Marcus and I raced ahead to aid our kinsman but the first to aid him was Father Harold who, with the spear head atop the banner, stabbed at the Wraith three times.

'Unhand him demon!' the priest declared.

His attack on the Wraith had done its purpose, getting its attention away from Richard for long enough to allow Marcus and I to help. We swung our swords at the beast who dropped Richard at last. However, with centuries of skill and training our enemy stopped every blow we hurled at it.

Richard had picked up a discarded sword and joined our fight against the Wraith. Never in all my life before or since have I faced such a dangerous enemy, never so certain have I been that I was going to die. I stabbed again and just managed to cut the Wraith's robes. By then it had enough of us and threw itself upon Richard first, dealing him a backhanded blow which threw him through the air and into the packed ranks of Orcs. We lost sight of him there and I feared him dead.

Then it swung at Marcus, tearing apart his tabard before bringing down the pommel of its sword onto his shoulder. I heard metal and bone break beneath the blow as his armour buckled. Even through his helmet I heard my cousin scream in pain as he stumbled away.

I didn't back down, I couldn't. I stood in the path of the Wraith and with Alaric gripped in my hands I fought as hard as I could. At last it got the upper hand over me, finally pushing me down to the ground and I dropped Alaric in the process, my sword clattering to the ground by me. The darkness of the Wraith's hood seemed to surround me, numbing my body and almost devouring all warmth and hope from my body, from my very soul.

'God help me,' I whimpered, feeling my eyes welling up with tears.

A form struck into the side of the Wraith, Richard. His gauntlets were black and dripping with Orc blood, his helmet gone and a deep cut in the side of his face, exposing bone in places, a cleaver in his hands, he attacked the Wraith as another darted into the fight. It was Cenric and he swung his axe into the back of the Wraith, piercing its plate and drawing a harsh scream from the undead fiend.

The Wraith swung its sword and splintered the shaft of Cenric's axe in a single explosive blast, throwing the young man of Rohan back. The Wraith was about to go after him when Richard attacked again. The Wraith blocked a blow from my cousin and wrenched his sword away from him. The Ring Wraith prepared the bring its sword down on Richard with both hands clasped around its black blade, but at the last moment Richard reached up and grabbed hold of the Wraith by the wrist as its blow began. He gripped hard, keeping his hands against the Wraith, keeping the sword back. He let out a loud, painful scream as they grappled, every ounce of strength he had going into holding the enemy back but little by little, my cousin was forced down, inch by inch this creature with the power of Hell on its side overpowered Richard until, with one last desperate gasp of air, he fell to the ground.

The Wraith was about to stab down at Richard's vulnerable form when something made it stop, it turned to the Mordor again and let out of shout of both realisation and pure terror. It was at that moment that something dormant in me decided to wake, as if it had been locked away my entire life only now coming to the fore. I reached for Alaric one last time and when my fingers gripped around the handle, something drove back all the shadows, the cold and the dark, giving me fresh strength. I stood again and let out a fierce battle cry. The Wraith turned to face me and we began our duel.

I swung Alaric down in a shining arch and it raised its own sword. For an eyeblink the two weapons were locked, Alaric's blade glowing as if on fire, and the garnet eyes of the unicorn like hot coals, then my enemies blade shattered into a thousand pieces. Carrying on, I thrust Alaric into the chest of my foe. It screamed in pure agony as flames raced up its robes, falling to its knees before the robes fell empty, collapsing into a pile of smouldering cloth. Everything that powered me there than faded, my strength failed, I allowed Alaric to fall from my grasp, thudding into the ground. I looked around me at my fellow men and they looked back at me, stunned. I fell to my knees, growing weaker as my eyes darkened again. Looking ahead, I heard a faint rumbling and the last thing I saw was the Dark Tower of Barad Dur begin to fall.

Review Response Time:

ATP: We'll get into the Father Harold's ideas later, don't you worry. I think this chapter though did highlight a bit more about him.

MrBogus: Thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying it.

minstrelgirl451: Nothing without sacrifice has any value, or at least that's what I believe, and saving Minas Tirith took a heavy toll.