Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I do not own any of the character, places, names, or anything associated with the works of J.R.R Tolkien or the Lord of the Rings (books or movie, whatever). My characters are Anita, Leila, and Arlandria and that is all.
Battle Cry- Imagine Dragons
Chapter 64: Battle Cry
The only sound to fills the elleth's ears was the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding away steadily and effectively drowning out the sound of hoof beats on cobblestone road as well as the wails of women watching their men head out an opening that so few had returned through. As the small sortie of mounted soldiers reached the gate, the large iron doors were pulled apart to reveal the unfurled destitution of Pelennor Fields. Gandalf glanced over his shoulder at Anita, dutifully yielding command to the young woman as he promised in the Citadel. The elleth took a controlled deep inhale through her nose, taking the time to think about the situation before her; yes this charge could mean the salvation of lives, it would also inevitably mean the loss of some too…the choice and the ramifications were hers alone to bear.
"To Faramir!" Her strong voice broke the silence, her choice having been made, and with the command the assault began. The cry was echoed down the line as the horses burst forth across the fields like a swarm of angry hornets , hurling towards the enemy line without reserve. Shadowfax was a mightier horse than those stabled within Minas Tirith for their cavalry, and the white stallion exceeded the pace of those following behind, giving the wizard and the elleth a lead. The Rammas Echor soon loomed into view and the sounds of a vast battle were becoming more clamorous with each hoof beat. The darkness had enveloped them not long after having left the safety of the city, the grasping fingers of Sauron's power becoming stronger the closer they got to Mordor.
Anita pulled her dagger from her belt and switched it to her left hand, while not her dominant hand it was both strong and skilled with a blade in its grasp; as she adjusted her blade the elleth also moved her position on the back of the horse, a task that was not easy given Shadowfax's extreme pace, but she managed to move herself so she now sat side-saddle.
The girl's movements drew the attention of the wizard sitting in front of her, "Stay with me!" Gandalf shouted above the wind as it whistled past them, carrying the cacophonous sounds of metal weapons clashing along with men and orc screaming in painful agony. They passed beneath an archway in the great wall that encircled the field, old and dilapidated as it was, the last line of defense that Gondor's men were desperately trying to hold.
"Sorry Gandalf!" She shouted back her response, clamping the old man on the shoulder once as they were thrust into the foray of orcs and men in battle. The elleth launched herself off the back of the cantering horse, her whole body slamming into an unprepared orc. The force of her landing sent them both crashing to the ground, her dagger finding flesh and destroying the beast before they hit the dirt. Adrenaline throbbing through her veins dulled any pain that the collision may have caused her, it was fueling her, pushing her, erasing any hesitation or fear she had. Ani rolled off her first felled foe, Glorfindel's blade sliding from its sheath as she rose to her feet. Facing her was a wave of enemies, halted in their progress momentarily by her surprising and violent entrance, and at her back was a group of equally surprised yet grateful squad of soldiers.
"Retreat to the city!" Anita yelled over her shoulder at the fatigued and battle worn men behind her, her eyes firmly locked on the orcs before her though, whose shock had worn off and were advancing on her menacingly. The elleth could feel the vibrations of the earth beneath her feet and knew that the rest of her mounted backup was rapidly approaching behind her to offer support. Gripping dagger in one hand and sword in the other, the elleth charged forward into the formation of opponents. The horses behind her never even slowed their pace as they approached the front line; together the girl and the cavalry collided with the hostile troops, slicing down orcs like stalks of wheat.
Laurё sung with power as Anita swung her mentor's sword through the air, the Elven blade hacked through the orcs with ease and dashed their front line to pieces, earning its epithet hundreds of times over: The Fist of Glorfindel. The elleth moved and dodged around the orcs clumsy movements with ease, practically dancing circles around them, the edge of her sword and dagger working in tandem to drain their life away before they had a chance to defend themselves. The horsemen broke apart the rival defenses, leaving the orcs scattered and weak, easy pickings even for the mounted soldiers. With the wave of opposition forced to a halt, Anita knew there was no better time than the present to order the full scale retreat. Signaling to the men who had followed her and Gandalf out onto the fields she shouted above the clamor, " Gather the injured and fall back to the city!" . Ani wasn't even out of breath, she felt raw and primal, every muscle firing with the adrenaline. Sheathing the sword and dagger, she bound across the field where she saw a bloodied soldier in tattered livery too tired and beaten to walk reaching out a desperate hand to a mounted comrade, half pulling and half pushing the weak man she closed the gap and helped him climb onto the back of the horse. "Go!" She yelled, spurring the men to safety.
There was a loud whoosh as a bluish blur skirted past her face and smashed into the ground mere feet from where the horse and rider had been not a moment earlier, and would still have been standing had they not heeded her command to retreat. The blue blob hit the dirt and burst into a wave of oily flames that quickly spread to cover the small area. Her dark eyes searched the landscape looking for the source of the napalm, and soon she spotted a small trebuchet that was being reloaded as fast as the orcs could manage. Anita's swift elf feet darted around the retreating soldiers and the bodies of the fallen, zig zagging as to make the aiming more difficult, a tactic that paid off as another blob whipped past her. The elleth didn't slow her speed even when she saw one of the orcs pull his sword out, she ran at him full tilt and leapt with all her might and drop kicked the foe into the wooden structure he was attempting to defend. The trebuchet groaned under the weight of the body hurled into it and one of the support beams snapped under the weight rendering it now useless.
The girl was back on her feet but with no time to pull her weapon a sword came at her face. Fast as she was, Ani barely moved in time to avoid having the skin peeled off her face by the orcish blade. Grabbing her enemies forearm and shoulder as his swing went wild, she drew her knee up and shattered his elbow with a sickening crack and a tortured cry from her victim. Releasing his arm she balled a fist and smashed it into his face once, twice, three times before he fell unconscious to the earth. Two more orcs advanced on her, the closest one swinging a war hammer at her torso. Ani caught the handle mid swing, the power the orc exerted jarring her whole body and sliding her back a few inches on the blood soaked dirt. The elleth leveled a kick under the handle at the orcs abdomen which the orcs easily dodged, however the elf used the moment of imbalance to wretch the hammer from her enemy's grip and slammed the butt of the handle into his throat. Remembering the second orc, Anita swung the large heavy weapon around just in time to catch the other orc in the side of the head with the hammer end. She was certain that his skull was splintered to pieces and the orc was dead before she let go of the handle.
A soldier of the Citadel stood a few feet away, his sword drawn and his mouth agape; no doubt he had been hurrying to her aid before he witnessed the speed and effectiveness with which she dispatched her attackers. "The fuck are you waiting for? Go!" She screeched at the statuesque man, jerking him out of his stunned paralysis. The man took two uncertain steps backwards, shaken by the display of brutality from the woman, when his eyes were drawn skyward and widened in fright. It was instinct alone that caused the elleth to throw herself to the earth when there was a flash of black movement in the corner of her eye. Her face pressed firmly into the blood and dirt, her arms covering her head, she felt the billowing gusts from large wings above her as something brushed far too close to her prostrate body for comfort. As it passed her by, Anita raised her head far enough to catch a glance of a set of powerful talons ripping the fearful man she had yelled at not a second ago from where he had frozen in terror at the sight of the dragon. No, not a dragon, Anita could see that now; rather it looked like a vile concoction made from more than one fell creature….the result was far from natural. The soldier let out a strangled cry as the flying beast hurled him across the field with terrifying force, the cry was cut short when the soldier's body made contact with the earth again. Even above the clamor of battle around her Anita's keen elf hearing heard the sound of his bones breaking when he landed in a heap, and it made bile rise at the back of her throat; If he wasn't dead when he hit the ground then his injuries would soon overcome him.
The sight and sound of the Nazgul overhead turned the once unsystematic, though effective, retreat/rescue attempt into all out chaos. Picking herself up, Ani took a moment to survey the bedlam before her. The men of Minas Tirith were in full retreat formation, as many injured as could be saved were thrown across the backs of their comrades horses, those too far gone to risk the effort were left in the fields. Despite the relative ease with which the withdrawing mass of men could be attacked from behind by their enemies, Ani noticed that the hordes of Mordor weren't giving chase. The elleth knew that while losses had been sustained on both sides, the losses on Mordor's side were far, far less than Gondor. It was only made to look like they were falling back to regroup. The answer to her riddle gave a loud piercing screech above her head. Why risk any troops when at their disposal the enemy had a beast that could pick off the retreating men one by one?
The dark winged creature swooped widely overhead lining itself up for an attack, much like the birds of prey Ani had witnessed growing up in the desert. The elleth took off sprinting across the grassy plain, trying to determine where the beast and rider were going to strike. It dove. The adrenaline that the girl had felt at the beginning of the battle and had begun to wane was now back in a second burst of energy as she careened over the field and hurled herself at the back of one of Faramir's men, tackling him to the ground. The snap of talons closing around empty air filled the space the two had occupied as they tumbled to the ground painfully. Immediately Anita was back on her feet, hauling the heavily armored man back up to keep running, just in time for them to both witness an undeterred Nazgul, robbed of its first target, snatch a cavalryman off his horse.
"Fuck!" Ani cursed loudly, pushing the man she had tackled to indicate he should keep running. That Nazgul had to go. Once more pulling the sword from her back, the elf stood her ground firmly as the other soldiers raced around her to return to the safety of the city. The beast made a wide arc in the sky giving the girl a perfect view of both beast and rider; even without a face beneath the shroud, Anita knew that the Nazgul was looking right at her. She pointed the tip of the sword at him, presenting a direct challenge to the rider. The Black Rider changed course quite suddenly in mid-air and Ani knew her challenge was being answered when its new flight path came directly at her. Dropping her sword and coming to a defensive fighting stance, a shudder of fear came over the girl that went from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet. Glorfindel had taught her much; how to walk among the tree tops undetected, how to best defend herself against all manner of foe, most importantly how to keep herself alive.
He hadn't taught her anything about dragons.
The elleth knew that with the creature overhead no one was safe as they attempted to recede to the city, so for the sake of the lives of others it HAD to be killed. With a feral scream that tore its way from her lips Anita dropped her defensive stance and dashed at the incoming Nazgul, intending to meet it head on out on the battle field. As they drew near each other, mere meters separating the deadly conflict to come, a blast of blinding white light drew a surprised yelp from Ani and an agonized one from the wraith. The distraction caused the girl to pull up short which saved her from unintentionally colliding with Shadowfax's hide, the horse having appeared suddenly from nowhere. Blinking the spots from her eyes , Anita saw the Nazgul barely pull up in time to avoid crashing before it ascended to higher altitude to recover from the radiance produced from Gandalf's staff.
The wizard brought the horse around next to the elleth, "Find Faramir!" He bellowed down at her. Ani would have argued but for the look in Gandalf's eye… she knew better than to mess with that look. With an unladylike growl, Ani sheathed her sword and turned her focus back to her original goal of this rout; finding the young Captain. Based on what the ebony haired elf knew of the young man she was searching for, he would be at the very back of the retreat, herding his men forward to safety without regard for himself. Winding her way between the groups of men working their way to Minas Tirith, some walking or riding while others limped or were being carried, the girl dutifully looked for Faramir among the weary downtrodden soldiers. Panic started to surface the longer the girl went without seeing the Captain anywhere with his troops. Had he already been killed? Were their rescue efforts too little too late? A cry from overhead gave Ani the push to redouble her efforts, the wraith had been scared away temporarily by Gandalf but it would surely return with a vengeance.
Finally she spotted him atop his horse. Exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy cloak, disguising the proud and patriotic stature the man had worn when he rode out of the city. Fool wasn't wearing his helmet. Though Ani supposed if he HAD been wearing the protective armor for his head she never would have recognized the crushed and hopeless figure as belonging to the son of the Steward. Cutting across the field she called out his name to gain his attention. The captain raised his head in acknowledgement, too tired from the long hours of fighting to seek out specifically whoever had called his name. The wail of the Nazgul sounded loudly as the creature made a low pass over the soldiers, flying straight for Faramir. Too late the elleth understood her mistake, having announced the identity of leader of Gondor's army while he was utterly defenseless….if only he had been wearing his helmet.
"Faramir!" She cried out to the young man, but there was naught to be done… Anita saw the impossibly small arrow fly from the wraith and strike its target true. The captain jerked as he was shot, then slumped forward upon his horse heavily. A burst of speed carried the elf the rest of the distance to Faramir's side and she hauled herself up onto the horses back so she was sitting behind the limp man. Pushing waves of dirty hair aside, Ani saw that it wasn't an arrow at all that Faramir had been shot with but a dart that had penetrated his neck. With the utmost care, the elleth pulled the sharp little needle from where it had stuck his skin and cast it aside; the dart crumbled to dust as it hit the ground. Examining the wound, the elleth saw how the skin was puckered and a shade of angry red where the point had lanced him, she also noticed how the veins under the skin were turning a dark color and becoming more pronounced. She had seen this wound before, months ago though now it felt like eons, the day she had accompanied Glorfindel to find a missing Hobbit. Frodo had come to Rivendell with a similar injury; however the damage done to the Hobbit was far more severe and had progressed much further than what Faramir was currently suffering. That being said, Anita knew what was going to happen to the Captain if his wound wasn't immediately tended and the poison drawn from his body.
Glancing above to make sure the wraith was otherwise occupied and their escape across the field would be undeterred, Anita made the choice to personally remove Faramir from the field and take him to a healer. It was silly, and a bit selfish, to place this one man's life in higher regard than the hundreds surrounding her, but she had a debt to pay back to Glo and she was determined to do it by keeping this young man alive.
"Faramir, I need you to stay awake," Ani stated firmly, brushing the hair from his face and seeing he was already beginning to pale. "Faramir!" She hissed a little more loudly, and still receiving no reply from the inert human, the girl smacked him soundly on the side of his stubbled face which did illicit a groan from him. "Good boy." Ani mumbled as she adjusted herself and the man so she could reach the reigns and try to guide the horse as she rested Faramir's weight against her chest. With a gentle nudge of her foot Anita urged the horse forward, awkwardly encouraging the steed into a canter despite the dead weight sitting in front of her.
The sound of pounding hoof beats drew the attention of the other withdrawing troops , when they saw it was an injured Faramir being held aloft while raced to safety they quickly scrambled to get out of the way to clear an open path back to the city. Horns sounded from high atop the walls as they drew near the city gates, which were already standing ajar to allow the fleeing soldiers in from the fields. Ani didn't stop at the gate, she didn't even slow her pace as she barreled through entrance and continued up the winding road to the Citadel. The poison coursing its way through Faramir's veins put him on a timer to his expiration date, Anita didn't know exactly how much time they had before irreparable damage was done to the young man's system and the elleth didn't want to find out. Fortunately the Son of the Steward was much loved, not only among his own men but by the people of the city, who stepped aside and allowed horse and riders to easily pass over the city streets without hindrance. Distressed cries from citizens filled the air as they sped through the town and Ani hoped that Faramir, even if he wasn't awake, were at least semi- conscious; she wished he could see that, no matter how his father welcomed him back, the city loved him and looked to him as a hero.
Word had spread up the levels of Minas Tirith heralding the return of Faramir , a group of people were waiting expectantly on the Sixth level to care for the fallen Captain. The horse had not even come to a full stop before Anita was sliding off to address the anxious crowd of soldiers, citizens, and healers that had gathered, "He has been shot with a poisoned dart in the neck. I didn't have time to try and draw any poison from the wound and it absolutely cannot be allowed to fester." Two Citadel guards stepped forward to help retrieve the comatose young man from atop the horse and lay him down on a makeshift gurney.
"Then it is true!" Denethor's despairing voice filled the courtyard where everyone had gathered. Pushing through the crowd the Steward threw himself across his son's prostrate form. "The Dark Lord has stolen my sons from me and now my line is spent!"
"It may have been the enemies' dart, but the burden of your son's death will be no one's fault but your own." It was poor form to kick a man when he was down, but Anita couldn't simply ignore the fact that this situation had been completely avoidable if Denethor hadn't been out of his mind; hell bent on power and proving himself a better fit to the throne than the rightful heir, the Steward had done this to himself and by extension his sons.
All eyes turned to the elleth who was glaring down at the ragged older man holding Faramir more tenderly than any had ever witnessed, shocked that the girl would utter something so heartless. "You are right," Denethor whispered hoarsely, shocking the crowd and Anita simultaneously, " I sent my son forth, unthanked and unblessed out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins." The once regal man let out a wailing sob and clutched his son closer, the full weight of his damning choice finally resting heavy on his heart. Those who occupied the courtyard awkwardly turned their eyes away from the scene before them, the moment too intimate and personal for spectators. Anita was the only one who watched as Denethor sobbed. The elleth wished it hadn't come to this; Faramir shouldn't have to be on his last breath for his father to realize that his sons were worth more than ruling hundreds of provinces. But like all good life lessons, it must be learnt the hard way.
Looking around at everyone in the courtyard , Ani knew that no matter now grief stricken Denethor was, this scene couldn't continue. Things were going to get worse by the minute as the final siege grew nearer, and this city needed a strong leader. In a perfect world, the Steward would have time to properly mourn his losses and honor his son… in a perfect world though the city wouldn't be under attack by a vengeful and angry Dark Lord and people wouldn't be needlessly sacrificed in war. With a heavy sigh, the elleth moved to Denethor's side and put a comforting hand on his arm as she leaned over to speak into his ear. "You have two choices; either compose yourself and lead the men in the defense of your city, or follow Faramir to the House of Healing and have your breakdown far away from the eyes of those who look to you for morale."
Denethor jerked upright and turned to catch her eye. As Ani held his gaze, years of wisdom and experience caring for the city stared back at her , etched into the man's face in every deep wrinkle and every gray hair; but beneath the deeply rooted need to govern the peoples of Gondor was the terrible guilt that came with the knowledge that he had destroyed his family. "Whatever now may betide in war, my line has already ended. The House of Stewards has passed away…and now too shall the city."
"Okay," Anita said as she straightened up, "option number two it is." With a wave of her hand she dispersed the mass of people in the courtyard, the healers returning to the House with an injured Faramir and a grieving Denethor in tow. Those who had come to witness the spectacle of what had happened returned to their homes or their employment, leaving Anita and a handful of soldiers to remain.
"Who now is the Lord of the city?" One young man, one too young to be in soldiers livery by Anita's estimation, asked of no one in particular.
Anita watched the receding group of people as they headed to the House of Healing, distressed at having to tell Gandalf that the Steward had finally 'gone round the bend'. "Denethor is still the Lord of this city," She answered back calmly, "but even great lords must be allowed time to grieve. He will return to defend his people." Anita wasn't certain about that last part at all, but right now the city stood adrift without a public figurehead and that would make the citizens and soldiers alike very anxious.
"What shall we do now? How can we manage the defense of this city with no Lord?"
"Gandalf will maintain control of defending this city until Denethor sees fit to return and aid us. In the meantime there will be injured and weary soldiers soon coming this way, they will need provisions and to have their wounds tended. I suggest you gather your fellow men and see to that task." The young man nodded at Anita's directive, relieved to have a job to focus on for the time being, gathered a few other guards and went to prepare for the arrival of soldiers who needed tending. Then it was just her standing in the courtyard, alone but for one other man that she only vaguely recognized as Beregond. He was studying her intently in silence and had been since she dismissed Denethor. The elleth stared back in equal silence, waiting for him to offer up whatever question was brewing in his mind.
Finally he spoke, " You lead armies, rescue Captains…you have no fear. What manner of woman are you?"
Blood and mud that adorned her clothing did nothing to quell the air of nobility about the girl when she squared her shoulders . "I am Lady Anita of Rivendell, Daughter of Elladan of the House of Elrond; and I am desperately trying to save your city. That is what manner of woman I am."