Author's recommended listening: Brahms, Symphony No. 1

CHAPTER XXVI: THE LANDS OF MORDOR

The warriors sat and rested, sharing what little water they had as the westerly breeze carried the smoke of Mordor away. Little by little, the gloom that had hung over the Ephel Dúath for so long dissipated and allowed sunlight to filter down once more. When they had regained their breath, the Armies of the West set to gathering their wounded, as well as burying those who had perished. A great uproar arose when Gimli discovered the Holbytla Peregrin – for at first he was thought to be dead, but was miraculously discovered to be merely unconscious beneath a Troll he had slain himself.

After a surprisingly short while, Aragorn ceased his activities and addressed the forces. "I ride now to Ithilien and the Field of Cormallen, where the Ring-bearer and his companion have been taken by Gandalf, and it is with all haste that I must move if I am to tend to them. See to it that the wounded are given horses, so that they too may travel with me and be healed. As for the rest! Those who have a mind to travel with me may do so, though I have a task of greatest significance for those who remain behind:

"First, give a fitting burial to those warriors who sacrificed their lives for our cause upon these plains; such a sacrifice must never go unmarked. When you have done this, go then into Mordor and strike down the fortresses that still stand in the north. We cannot allow any evil to gain a foothold in these lands ever again."

Aragorn mounted Roheryn and made ready to depart, accompanied by Prince Imrahil and many of the other great captains. Before he joined them, Éomer King approached Truva, who sat with her back against a boulder, legs splayed out before her and blank gaze fixed on empty space off in the distance. He motioned for her to remain seated when she made as if to rise, crouching instead beside her.

"Will you not come with us, Marshal?" asked the King gently, knowing what her answer would be before she spoke it.

"I cannot ride," said Truva, her voice trembling with a melee of suppressed emotions. "I will not."

Éomer King laid a hand upon her shoulder. "To lose a companion is to lose a part of oneself; it is the silencing of hoofbeats in the heart of an Eorlingas. In such times, there are none who do not despair, and yet I hope one day those hoofbeats might resume anew."

Truva did not respond, nor did she look to her King. Her gaze merely fell from the sky to her hands clasped in her lap as she allowed tears to run unchecked down her face. Éomer King rose then, for he knew there were no words that could ease his Marshal's grief, and after a brief conversation with Halbarad he departed after Aragorn. The two Kings rode together at the head of a large company of soldiers, for many suffered the grievous injuries of war, and a great deal more simply wished to leave those wretched lands. The entirety of the Hidlander force remained behind with their leader, however, and were joined by a great number of the Eorlingas.

As the army rode out, Truva turned to her own task. She searched the battlefield for any weapon that would suffice for her purposes and, finding nothing save a scythe clutched in the hands of a dead Easterling, took it into her own. She climbed to the crest of the hill upon which she had stood that morning at the outset of the battle, and began to hack at the ground.

The earth had been baked hard under the heat of the sun, and shards of shale sent the scythe ricocheting in all directions, but still Truva did not allow her pace to lag. With strike after strike she flayed the ground, blisters forming despite her rough, calloused hands, driven by a fury born of anguish. Drops of sweat beaded on her forehead and streaked down her face, mingling with her tears before falling to the dusty earth.

She had at last broken the hard ground and begun to dig with the unwieldy blade when a soldier – a stranger from the forces of Dol Amroth – ascended the hill and stood at her side. Truva paid him no mind until he caught her arm, and when she turned to him the soldier handed her a shovel.

"Thank you," she said, her voice cracked and faint. She tossed aside the scythe and took the shovel into her hands, immediately continuing to dig. The soldier then took hold of a second, and wordlessly joined her, working side by side to clear the dirt from a wide, deep hole.

When at last she was satisfied, Truva set aside the shovel and came once more to the body of Bron. Even to look upon his unmoving figure left her wholly overwhelmed; she fell to her knees and threw herself upon his neck and sobbed. She felt as though his death left her bereft of her own self, of all potential happiness, and that being parted from him was the greatest unjustness ever done upon her.

Despondent, Truva undid Bron's saddle – so that he might roam free wherever he may go, unrestrained by the contraptions of Men. When she attempted to drag his mortal body to the grave, however, Truva found that she could not budge him. She heaved ineffectually for a moment before the Gondorian soldier came to assist, but even their strength together was no more successful.

It was then that Chaya, taking a brief respite from her labours of piling the corpses of enemies into passive heaps, took note of her captain's struggles. She quickly gathered a group of warriors about her: Halbarad and Éomód, Blackbramble and several Hidlanders, even a few Dúnedain. They moved as one to Truva's side, and together lifted the body of Bron and laid him gently in his grave.

Truva placed his tack beside him, though she kept the saddle blanket so that she might have some physical remembrance of her faithful companion. She looked down upon his tawny hide and gleaming black mane, beautiful in his own drab fashion; his hardworking yet mischievous spirit had always been his most endearing feature, and to see it gone from his body brought a pain previously unknown to Truva.

She longed to turn from the scene, longed to run as far as her legs would take her, longed to run until she caught up with Bron, wherever he was. Yet duty beckoned, and Truva accepted the shovel Chaya offered. She allowed the first fistful of dirt to fall from its blade, and with a quiet, hollow sound the earth of that foul land hid her beloved companion from her eyes eternally.

The others joined in, slowly refilled the grave until it was even more prominent than the surrounding hill. Blackbramble selected a large boulder, and with his massive bulk placed it upon the mound. Their task at last completed, the warriors stood in silence about the rock, for none had the heart to speak words that could never fully express the sentiments that disquieted their hearts. Several of the Eorlingas had likewise lost their steeds upon the fields of the Pelennor, and so knew all too well the despair Truva must feel.

One by one, the others returned to their tasks, leaving Truva to contemplate Bron's final resting place. No grass or flowers would ever grow in such a wasteland, she was sure, and so Truva drew her dagger and etched a single, small bud of simbelmynë into the boulder. Beyond that, she would have to content herself with knowing such flowers would blossom evermore in her heart.

After some time, Truva wiped her eyes and joined the others in burning the piles of Orcs and Trolls and other unsavory characters. As the oily, acrid smoke roiled skyward, they began to dig orderly graves for their own soldiers – though these were far fewer in number. Spears were placed at the head of each grave in the Eorlingas tradition, even for the fallen Gondorians, and slowly some small amount of peace settled into Truva's heart.

The lingering company built brazen bonfires that night, and a few particularly skilled hunters managed to snare half a dozen skinny rabbits. It was a fine feast in comparison to the rather paltry fair the armies had subsisted off of along their northward march, yet Truva was not the only one who had little interest in eating. As many warriors procured flasks that had been secreted away and were just beginning their night of revelry, Truva was simply following the lead of several others when she wrapped herself in Bron's saddle blanket and willed sleep to come.

It did not. Not long after the merrymakers at last fell quiet, Truva gave up all pretense of sleep and rose. As the gray light of early dawn filtered through the haze that still belched from Orodruin, Halbarad found her perched upon the boulder that demarcated Bron's grave. He handed her a breakfast of watery broth, the last remnants of the previous night's meal. Truva held it to her lips, for though she still did not feel hungry, she knew the tasks that lay before them would require her full strength.

"We are the two of highest rank that remain behind, and so I believe it is our duty to establish the next course of action," said Halbarad, digging into his own meal. It did not escape Truva's attention that he considerately avoided asking about her emotions.

"I imagine our first task must be to clear these hills before we move into the land of Mordor itself," said Truva. "Though it will be no easy task, for we have not the power to bring the entire mountain down, and any barricade we raise might just as easily be lowered."

"Nevertheless, it is necessary," he agreed. "To think on how the forces of Mordor poured as if a black river from the rock itself still sends chills down my spine. Perhaps it would be best to proceed in teams and flush out any combatants that linger in those tunnels, then set fire to that which we may."

"That is surely our best choice. I shall organize my warriors along the northeastern side, and entrust the Ephel Dúath to you."

"Very well, but I think it shall take a great deal to rouse these scoundrels," Halbarad laughed quietly, looking on with amusement as several of the revelers sat up, clutching their pounding heads.

It took a great deal of time, but when at last all fighters had risen and eaten what little breakfast could be found, Truva and Halbarad gathered their forces and marched into the foothills. The Hidlanders and Eorlingas began to divide into pairs, yet when Truva turned to Chaya, the Hidlander was already conversing with Halbarad. She looked then instead to Blackbramble and struggled to rearrange her slight frown into a smile, the reassurance of which did not reach her heart.

The Orc tunnels bored so numerously into the mountainsides that they appeared to be one massive nest of paper wasps, more tunnel than rock. Black shale slipped and slid under their feet as the warriors clambered higher, each pair approaching a separate entryway.

"Keep to one side as not to get lost," Truva warned as the teams disappeared into the darkness. She looked to Blackbramble, who already held rapier in hand, and hoped his blade skills were as proficient as his bow skills. She likewise loosened her sword from its hilt but did not fully draw it.

Just within the entrance stood a stash of torches, and striking her steel bracelet against a sharp rock Truva lit one and held it aloft. There was very little to be seen save bare wall; perceptible emptiness extended far beyond the sphere of light thrown by the torch. Truva advanced cautiously, Blackbramble close behind, and both leapt slightly every time the sound of their own movements echoed back to them.

They had walked only a short distance before a short tunnel branched off to their right, which led to a massive chamber beyond. Within they found a great armory: shelf upon shelf of shields and swords and helms and bows, stacked high to the ceiling and crammed into every corner. It was well the battle had met the decisive end it did, for the armies of Mordor had certainly not been undersupplied and could easily have outlasted the Host of the West in a siege of any length.

"Let us clear the chamber, then we can burn it all upon our return, when we have secured the entire passage," said Truva, yet even as she spoke a tiny gremlin of an Orc leaped out at Blackbramble as he peered around a heap of breastplates, clawing at him with desperate, bony fingers. Truva did not so much as have time to react before Blackbramble's hand struck out and his rapier flashed at the creature's throat. It sank to its knees in an instant and collapsed upon the floor.

"We can burn that, too," Blackbramble said, stepping over the body and returning to the main passageway. Truva stood riveted in place, for though she too had been prepared for attack, she was astounded by how efficiently Blackbramble reacted. Truly the Hidlanders had become exceptional warriors!

Once she recovered her wits, Truva jogged to catch up with her companion and they continued deeper into the mountain. There was little else to discover; at one point the duo came upon a second side tunnel, yet it merely led to the next passage over, where they encountered Éomód and his Eorlingas partner sweeping back after having reached its furthest end.

Truva and Blackbramble returned back toward the entrance of their own tunnel as well, setting the torch upon all that would burn in the armory before reemerging into the morning sunlight. They arranged a cross of rocks before the entrance to mark that it had been cleared, then proceeded to the next tunnel and repeated the process. It was tedious work, and Truva found herself longing for the fiery explosion the Orcs had used long ago on the Deeping Wall. Even so, the end of several passageways was a tumble of rockfall, or a gaping chasm that looked out onto the gates of Morannon, suggesting that the explosion of Orodruin had effected great destruction upon the tunnels.

As the company moved from tunnel to tunnel, they discovered even greater armories, and larders filled with the most rank, inedible food. They encountered but a few lingering foes, most of whom fled east along the Ered Lithui; the rest fell to the blades of Truva and the others when they defended themselves against the Orcs' surprising attacks.

Though they worked throughout the day and deep into the night – for there was little difference between the two in the dark bowels of Mordor's defenses – scarcely half of the tunnels had been cleared ere the forces of the West retired for the evening. They passed a second cold, restless night on the bleak plains before Morannon, and resumed their task early the following morning; it was not until late afternoon began to shift to early evening that a stone cross lay before every visible tunnel entrance.

"Let us rest now, and enter the dale of Udûn on the morrow," said Halbarad to the soldiers. "Seek out what water there is to be found, for I would not trust to hope that we shall find any, least not that which might be drinkable, within the lands of Mordor."

When the next morning came, Truva was loath to leave the grave of Bron. She lingered until the last moment, hand resting upon the great stone, when Chaya came and intertwined her arm in Truva's, to lead her captain away. Even so, several tears trickled down Truva's cheek as she glanced back once, twice.

The company cautiously approached Cirith Gorgor, where the ruins of Morannon and its flanking towers lay wasted. Those whose mounts still accompanied them led their horses by the reins rather than riding, for the way was treacherous and loose rock teetered precariously, shifting beneath the feet of even the lightest among them.

The sense of unwavering observation had dissipated, yet an eerie hush held, for though mighty Sauron had been struck down and the clouds dispelled, a fell mood still prevailed over the land. When the warriors of the West reached the crest of the rubble, they could see the abandoned dale of Udûn spread before them. It was dark and desolate, absent the stirrings of any living thing as far as the Isenmouthe, where spurs from Ephel Dúath and Ered Lithui came together to complete the encircling ridge around the valley.

To the south rose the tower of Durthang, high and commanding above the dale, yet about its base were scattered lesser Orc-holds, many of which strung out across Carach Angren to the northern mountains, as well. Truva sighed dispiritedly to see the monumental task with which they were confronted.

"Can we not simply set fire to it all?" said Chaya, the exasperation in her voice echoing the thoughts that ran through the minds of all.

"Were it only so easy," said Truva. "Though our enemies would certainly approach the task in such a manner, that is the very reason why we must not. It is our way to offer the opportunity of surrender, even to those as loathsome as Orcs; we shall not kill for mere expediency's sake."

The company proceeded first along the western edge of the dale, clearing holds and tunnels in a similar manner as the previous days. Low huts they tore down, for most were simple constructions of mud and rock that fell easily to the might of the fighters, yet they were compelled to leave quite a few more solid structures standing. Their inability to definitively bar the area's rehabitation left the warriors frustrated and uneasy.

It was a time consuming task that wore on their nerves if not their bodies, for though they had not encountered a single Orc beyond the Morannon, they were ever cognizant of the potential for a surprise attack. Throughout the day they progressed southward along the Ephel Dúath, gradually growing nearer the fortress Durthang, and at night they struck camp within hailing distance. They kept a tight guard, ever with an eye upon the looming tower.

In the late morning of the next day, they stood in the shadows at its base and craned their neck to peer up at its lofty turrets and ramparts. From the spur of rock upon which it stood, the fortress' walls rose sheer and obsidian, repelling the Host's first attack ere they even readied it.

"Let us approach this task as we have all others until now: with thoroughness and a level head," Halbarad encouraged the warriors, though Truva could see by his furrowed brow that he was as concerned as she. If the enemy were to mount an offense, the stronghold of Durthang would offer them the best advantage.

"I will begin from the topmost levels and work my way down, if you will cover the lower levels," she said, and he nodded in agreeance. Another thought struck her then as she looked upon the black walls of the tower, not unlike that of Isengard. She raised her voice so that all might hear and said, "If ever we were to find the blasting fire that caused such devastation at Hornburg, it would be here. Keep a sharp eye for any peculiar material you are unfamiliar with!"

The company looked at her in confusion, yet nodded before turning to the fortress, which was cast in the gloom of the mountains even as the midday sun bore down overhead. A group of four warriors approached the gate, which lay slightly ajar, yet they met no resistance as they pushed open the reinforced doors. They quickly motioned for the others to follow.

Once through the front entrance, the Dúnedain and Swan Knights of Dol Amroth fanned out along the first few floors as the Eorlingas and Hidlanders mounted the stairs, climbing flight after flight until they neared Durthang's high towers. They peeled off in pairs, two to a floor, destroying what they could and defenestrating what they couldn't.

In an abrupt change of heart, Chaya had elected to work with Truva for their task that day. The two were several flights down from the topmost floors, rummaging through what they suspected to be a revoltingly stocked scullery, when shouts erupted above them. Truva peered out into the winding stairwell, only to witness a quartet of Eorlingas tumble down.

"There are too many of them! We are overwhelmed!" they cried as they raced to the lower levels, falling over each other to evade the danger. Truva gave a sharp whistle to Chaya, who emerged from the larder, having been too absorbed in her task to hear the commotion.

"Warn those on the lower floors, and guide all before you," commanded Truva. "Once everyone is clear, fall back beyond the tower and take cover; I will slow their progress as much as I may."

Chaya wasted no time with words. She darted out into the stairwell and down to the lower floors, alerting the Western fighters two by two as she went. Truva took a position in the scullery doorframe, drawing her bow to keep the enemy at a distance. She could hear their nasty snarls just beyond the bend, yet the first instant she saw a flicker of movement she released a warning arrow. It clattered against the stone walls, failing to hit any mark, yet clearly gave the Orcs pause.

When Chaya gave a low whistle to indicate the next few floors had been evacuated, Truva descended a single flight of stairs. The Orcs, however, pursued too hotly and overstepped their distance; for from her position on the lower level the first few stumbled into Truva's line of fire, and she was quick to dispatch the foremost one. Seeing their compatriot tumble forward down the stairs, the remaining Orcs hastily retreated, only to begin peppering Truva's position with their own assault.

At another whistle from Chaya, Truva took advantage of a lull in the Orcs' onslaught to descend further, yet the closer she drew to ground level the harder the enemy pressed, and with each successive level Truva struggled increasingly to retreat after the others. Several times the enemy's arrows struck her, though each shaft was deflected by her armor, leaving only the promise of bruises behind.

"Ai-oi!" Chaya cried at last, when Truva defended a position just one flight of stairs above the entrance, "All clear!"

Truva peered out through the open gate of the fortress into the barren expanse beyond, where arrows rained down from higher levels as the forces of Mordor attempted to strike the company of the West, who had taken shelter behind a rocky outcrop.

Truva made a desperate dash for the exit. Once clear of the gate, she hugged the side of the fortress, hoping to evade the observation of the archers for as long as possible by circling westward along the wall. Yet even as she began to race across the expanse toward Halbarad's position in the foothills, she was spied by the Orcs above, who leased countless volleys in her direction.

Most arrows fell either wide or short of their mark, while others were deflected, yet it took but one arrow – lodged directly between her hamstring and calf at the weak point in her armor – to send Truva sprawling across the earth. Spitting dusty sand from her mouth, she looked up to see that safety was still a great distance away. She began to crawl, dragging herself arm over arm across the open area, each shift of her body sending shooting pains throughout her leg as deathly projectiles fell ever closer.

In an instant, Chaya was crouching beside her leader, and with deft movements grabbed Truva by the armpits. Keeping low, the Hidlander shuffled backward across the remaining distance, dragging her Marshal to safety. Halbarad fell immediately upon Truva, removing her armor to assess the injury.

"It is not severe!" Truva cried, pushing his hands away. "Let us not lose focus of how best we might remove those Orcs from the fortress!"

"Their fortifications lend them a clear advantage," said Halbarad, ignoring her protests and continuing to tend to Truva's wound. "I do not think it is with force that we shall be able to overcome them."

"Perhaps we can starve them out," suggested Chaya. "I saw their provisions; there was certainly nothing fit for the consumption of Man – yet even Orcs would find it hard to subsist on what little they had stored."

"Such an approach would take a great deal of time; perhaps more than we ourselves can afford," said Halbarad. "Yet if that be the only option, it is the one we must take."

"Excuse me, but perhaps this would be useful," said the hesitant voice of Éomód, holding before him an iron sphere from which issued a soft, shifting rattle when shaken. The three leaders stared at the object in astoundment, unsure of what they looked upon.

"Is that—perhaps?" exclaimed Halbarad.

"I did not get a clear glimpse of the device used against us at Hornburg," said Truva, "Yet I suspect it was not dissimilar to this!"

"How is it to be used?" said Chaya.

"It was ignited by fire, that is all I can recall," said Truva.

"Yet it was the concoction of a Wizard," warned Halbarad. "Would it not be unwise of us to meddle with such uncertain and dangerous tools?"

"In my observations of Gandalf, I have come to suspect that there is a great deal less of magic, and a great deal more logic in the deeds of Wizards," said Truva; even so, trepidation sank into her heart. She took the black orb from Éomód and turned it over in her hands.

"There!" said Halbarad, pointing. "Do you see? Perhaps it is some kind of igniter."

His outstretched finger indicated a woven tail of fabric that extended from the orb. Truva's eyes shifted from Halbarad to Chaya to Éomód, all of whom wore precisely the same uneasy expression that lay upon her own face.

"Who has the best arm amongst our number?" she asked.

"I should like to believe it is I," said Halbarad. With that, he took the orb into his own hands, yet to their surprise he did not put fire to it; instead, he stood tall above the company's natural fortifications as arrows of the enemy continued to rain down.

"Forces of Mordor!" he cried, his voice clear and distinct even as it echoed back to the Host from the bare mountainsides. "You have no exit save that which lies before us, yet fortunate you are in that we are a forgiving people; surrender now, and you shall be spared! Should you continue your assault against us, however, none amongst your number shall emerge victorious."

No sound emanated from the lofty towers of Durthang. Halbarad cast about the ranks of his fellow warriors, unsure of how to proceed. At last he called out, "What say you?"

The only response to Halbarad's parley was an arrow that whined disturbingly close past his ear. The intent of the Orcs' reply was unmistakable, and thus Truva struck her bracelet upon rock once more. As soon as the tail of the sphere was alight, Halbarad paused but a moment to calculate his aim ere he lobbed the orb in the direction of the fortress. It arced gracefully across the distance and cleared through a tall window on the second level.

A few startled grunts and squeals could be heard from within as the Orcs scrambled to expel the fiery weapon, yet they were too slow. The fortress erupted in a blast of fire and rock.

Driven by curiosity, Truva briefly peered beyond the company's shelter to observe the astonishing spectacle: the second floor of Durthang disintegrated instantaneously, causing the upper levels to collapse and drive straight through to the ground. The topmost tower wavered high above, appearing to stabilize momentarily before it ever so slowly began to tilt; then upon reaching the tipping point, it fell with a deafening crash onto the rocks below, raising a choking cloud of dust that swallowed the warriors of the West.

Silence reigned. No movement could be detected from the fortress, and indeed it was impossible for any living thing to have survived. Truva rose on her uninjured leg, followed closely by Halbarad and the other fighters, to take in the utter destruction they had wrought. Though the sight brought relief to their hearts, it also sowed a sense of awe and fear; for had they not used such a weapon against their enemy, it most surely would have been used against them. Thus had been the might of Mordor.

In the hush that followed, the warriors gathered about Halbarad as he bandaged Truva's knee with what few resources they had.

"What are we to do?" asked Chaya, her voice unnervingly loud in contrast to the silence.

"Perhaps we might rest for the remainder of the day?" suggested Halbarad, for though the sun still hung high in the sky, to look around at the faces of the less experienced fighters it was apparent the ambush had left many of them in distress.

"I do not like to linger in this place," said Blackbramble. "It is foul."

"I think it best we push forward and continue our work as quickly as possible," said Truva. Many of the others nodded; the desire to move on from those unforgiving lands and reunite with the Host that had already journeyed to Ithilien far outweighed the exhaustion that engulfed them.

"Very well," said Halbarad. "But let us take a brief respite to eat and drink before we strike out again."

A murmur of approval rippled through the company as they set in for a quick rest. Halbarad wove throughout the groups, sharing a quick conversation here and there to ensure the warriors were truly prepared to press on, though when he circled back to Truva he took a seat beside her. She sat with her back against a boulder, legs splayed out before her and water skin in her hand, its dwindling contents already a cause for concern.

"And what of you?" he asked quietly with a pointed glance at her injury.

"What of me?" said Truva, taking no more than half a sip of water.

"Will you be able to walk?"

"There is no need for such worry, Master Halbarad," laughed Truva, "We were fortunate in that none other among our number was injured in the assault, and mine is far from a mortal wound."

"I cannot help but feel ill at ease. The Dúnedain have long taken advantage of the healing properties of athelas – and I know you have felt its benefits at the hand of Aragorn – yet there is no hope of finding it in the desolate waste about us."

Truva shifted uneasily at the mention of the Dúnedain chieftain, though she did not allow her voice to betray her discomfort. "What can be done has been done, thanks to your quick action, and that was far more attention than I ever received in the Hidlands. Let us focus instead on concluding our task here, so that we escape these wastelands all the sooner, and I might receive more thorough care in Ithilien."

Halbarad pursed his lips, though he said nothing, and they ate their light meal in silence. When the fighters began to grow antsy, he rose with a final doubtful look at Truva and mustered the company to move out.

Rather than cross the expanse of the Isenmouthe, exposed as it was to any enemy forces that might yet linger, Halbarad and Truva agreed it better to descend into the valley of Udûn itself and clear it as they swept eastward. This would also serve to ease their workload, for the dwellings within the dale were temporary, little more than makeshift tents and rudimentary shelters erected haphazardly as the forces of Mordor prepared for battle. Thus the fighters found themselves scrambling down a steep incline of shifting shale rock to the valley floor.

Working in pairs as ever, they cleared and set light to each structure as they went. Soon the entire southwestern region of Udûn was ablaze, sending choking columns of smoke skyward in a paltry imitation of the destruction of Barad-dûr. The company no longer encountered any opposition, and it was their hope that all troops had gathered in Durthang for their final assault, leaving no foe behind.

At night the warriors of the West camped in a central clearing of their own making, setting a heavy guard so that they might get what little rest they could in their heightened state of vigilance. The day's battle weighed heavily; though the war had been concluded with the fall of Barad-dûr, the constant threat of small skirmishes allowed them no respite. Even so, they had no choice but to pursue their duties come morning, and in the span of the following day they had swept the dale of Udûn in its entirety.

They ascended the foothills of the Ered Lithui, and there upon the northern mountainsides they came across a great forge of Mordor: a shadowy, gaping maw in the black rock, silent and ominous. Halbarad and Blackbramble approached furtively and slipped beyond the entrance to scout, although they reappeared quite quickly.

"There is a rear entrance, by which I suspect our adversaries fled," reported Halbarad when the two returned. "Nevertheless, go with caution; we have certainly had enough surprises as of late – I should not like to encounter any more."

The cavern seemed to draw in a dark breath as the warriors drew close, and they peered into the gloom to see a vast metalworks assembled within. A terrible furnace had been hewn into the rock, though it now lay cold and sooty; sword and hammer, shield and tongs had been discarded haphazardly in the blacksmiths' rush to flee.

The company proceeded to lay waste to every corner of the forge, and as she explored further within the network of tunnels Truva was elated to spy a stockpile of siege-engines nestled in a secluded cave. She gave a sharp whistle, which carried far on the thin, dead air, and the others rushed to her side. Together, they ogled their stroke of good fortune; for amidst colossal battering rams and other tools of destruction sat a number of catapults. Though many were far too large for any but trolls to shift, there was a single smaller one that could be of use.

"Well spotted, Truva," Halbarad said, clapping her on the shoulder.

The soldiers worked with a renewed sense of purpose then, for no longer would they leave any trace of serviceable resources behind. Each threw his shoulder to the catapult, pushing it back through the tunnels and out into the watery sunlight of the rocky foothills.

Having reduced the forge to rubble, the Western host turned their attention upon the northern circumference of Udûn, where they spent several more days clearing the Orc-holds there, razing and burning every last structure to the ground. From strongholds buried deep underground to watchtowers built high upon the towering mountains, nothing evaded the wrath of their newly acquired catapult.

Once the northern area had been secured, the company circled southward toward the pass of Carach Angren, where a single bridge spanned the short distance between the rocky spurs of both the Ered Lithui and Ephel Dúath, curving over a nonexistent river. Menacing watchtowers loomed at each end; these were not hastily built, and indeed were so solid in their construction that it took the warriors the better part of a day and a great deal of effort to tear them down. At last they turned their catapults upon the bridge itself, and succeeded in rending an impassable gap in the structure.

Upon their crossing of Carach Angren, the host revisited the Orc-holds that they had been forced to leave standing along the Ephel Dúath, north of the devastated fortress of Durthang. One by one they tore each down in succession, and at long last they looked out across the dale of Udûn and witnessed nothing save destruction, and believed their work to be done.

That night, the company huddled about great bonfires – for in the aftermath of its destruction the plateau of Gorgoroth grew freezing at night – and strove to create what little joy might be found in such fell lands. There was little to eat, yet several warriors raised up their voice in song, and as he dodged several spontaneous dancers Halbarad sought out Truva.

"We must now head southward," he said quietly, taking a seat beside her and unwrapping the bandages to inspect her wound, which had begun to ooze. "I do not believe there is any significant infrastructure eastward – not after the collapse of Barad-dûr – yet from here to Minas Morgul I suspect there are countless Orc-holds that still threaten."

Truva sighed heavily, then winced when Halbarad dabbed at her knee with a cloth that had been dipped in some noxious liquid. "I had indeed hoped our task might finally be complete, though a part of me knew that the might of Mordor would not so easily be laid to waste."

"The others will not be pleased," he smiled wanly.

"No, I do not think they will be," said Truva, binding her knee anew with a fresh strip of cloth.

Despite Halbarad's prediction, the company greeted the news with a distinct lack of surprise the following morning, and the air of resignation was palpable as they struck camp and marched out. Though they knew their path lay southward, it was only after a great deal of aimless wandering that the small host came across a well-worn track, which they turned at last upon. The road threaded between the Ephel Dúath on their right and the mountainous ridge of Morgai on their left; and though the path showed obvious signs of traffic, there was little to break the monotony of dark, barren rock save the occasional deserted Orc-hold.

The days trudged wearily by, and with each encounter of fort and tower and outpost the warriors repeated the same pattern: first ensuring there were no occupants before leveling the structure to the ground. At the outset, the company pushed the appropriated catapults along before them; upon realizing all the southern Orc-holds were of roughshod construction, however, they abandoned the machines alongside the road, and their progress grew more rapid.

It was thus, on the tenth day since the battle at Morannon, that the remainder of the Armies of the West found themselves within view of the tower that guarded Cirith Ungol. It rose high and imposing, stony foundations carved from the rock of the mountain itself, appearing far more indestructible than even Durthang.

"You don't suppose Lord Aragorn expects us to tear that down as well, do you?" questioned Blackbramble.

"I hope not," said Truva, for utter exhaustion could dull even a Marshal's sense of duty.

"The catapults lie a two day's march behind," said Chaya, vexation apparent in her tone. "Should Lord Aragorn desire the destruction of this tower, let him come effect it himself."

"Minas Ithil lies directly across the pass," said Halbarad, "And long ago it was manned by the Men of Gondor; I would see it restored to its former glory, and the Towers of Cirith Dúath guarded once more. Let us secure it from our enemies, yet stay our hands in its destruction."

"You shall hear not a contrary word from me," said Chaya.

The warriors proceeded to sweep the tower and its companion across Morgul Pass, ascending each turret and descending into the labyrinths below. They encountered no opposition all the while, for the fall of Barad-dûr had given Mordor's captains the foresight to abandon their position within the towers, and it was with great relief that Halbarad concluded they had done all within their power to strike down the remnants of their foes.

The company camped that night upon the Cross-roads, at the foot of the newly reconstructed statue of the Gondorian king. As they drank deeply from the cool, clear streams of Ithilien and sat down to a meal most abundant, foremost in the warriors' minds was joy – to finally escape the unsettling realm of Mordor and its desolation.