Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: Woo! Another chapter! And this makes it officially my longest story ever. Sorry with the slow going... many thanks to all my loyal reviewers!!! I'm getting a lot of requests for Frodo and Sam... hmm... Next chapter, people, and you'll be stuck with them for a while! :D I don't hear any protest... anyway, this battle combines Helm's Deep and Pelennor Fields, as I figured too many epic battles and they weren't wolves any more. Enough babble! Here is...
Chapter Nine
~
All too soon the Enemy raised its' ugly head.
A clear day had dawned on the tundra, the rising sun painting the sky a fierce blood red. It seemed a horrible omen of what was coming...
The Rohan pack and its' visitors were on their feet instantly, the electricity on the air so real and tangible that Legolas' fur stood on end. Nostrils quivering and tails raised, the wolves leaned into the wind and smelled the danger hurtling towards them.
A great black mass came into their vision, blotting their horizon. At first it seemed one great and terrible shadow, but it became clear that this was not the case. It was Orcs, perhaps several hundred of them, fangs glistening in the morning light and bristly fur looking like mats of blackness stolen from the night.
It was time.
Rising on his hind legs, Aragorn sounded a long and proud war cry, and the pack sounded back. Spurring into motion, the mighty grey wolf sped towards the attackers, the rest of his companions at his heels. The Orcs, seeing the charge, picked up speed to meet them with equal force.
With a hideous roar, the opposing forces met.
Great was the strength of the Rohan pack, and all of its' members were capable fighters. And of course, neither Legolas nor Aragorn had any match in battle. But the foe was numerous, and it was difficult going.
At first, with their fresh strength and stamina, the wolves held up easily. But the enemy kept coming, and they were gradually beaten backwards. And still Aragorn refused to sound the retreat.
He fought like a possessed creature, seemingly unaware of the bloody wounds laid open across his flanks. At his side, Legolas fought with the same indomitable fury that kept them going strong even in the midst of the carnage.
Orc bodies were piling up, great heaps of their black forms scattering the battle field.
And suddenly, treachery appeared.
Covered in Orcs, infamous for latching onto their prey, Aragorn was helpless against the abrupt turn of events. For in the midst of battle, Wormtongue turned and latched his teeth on Aragorn's throat, growling terribly. The Orcs still clung, and Aragorn fought in vain for his air.
The world was swirling, all he could see was Wormtongue's snarling face...
Sailing through the air, Legolas used his body to knock Wormtongue away. And in the thick of the war raging around them, two wolves fought. It was life or death this time. Feinting and bristling, the two circled around and around.
Finally, Legolas lunged for real. Everything seemed to slow... but Legolas' aim was true, and his teeth clacked shut on the furry patch of Wormtongue's throat. In less than a minute, it was over.
Wormtongue the traitor lay dead on the ground.
And still the enemy came on in droves, waves, and the group of now six stumbled backwards. Refusing to yield, refusing to give. And yet death was imminent.
A triumphant call sounded from somewhere.
The combined forces of the Lorien and Imladris pack came slicing in from the rear, striking the Orcs unaware and slaying them rapidly. They were fresh and strong, and fought like demons.
And soon Aragorn saw Elrond fighting at his side.
Hope was renewed and the battle continued. But the day stretched onward, and the enemy showed no sign of waning.
The retreat was sounded.
Turning on their heels, the wolves fled. Theoden knew this territory well; the packs followed him to a massive fortress.
For a fortress it was, an enormous bowl shape carved into the earth, rising up impossibly high in the back and sides, leaving only an opening at the front. It was called the Deep, for that was the only name for it, buried deep in the ground. The wolves entered and turned their teeth to guard the entrance.
Safe. For the moment, anyways.
Elrond and Arwen rested their heads on each others' sides, rejoicing in their reunion. From a short distance away, Aragorn watched respectfully. Seeing this, the black wolf released his daughter to go to her love, and the two young wolves nuzzled affectionately.
Sides heaving for air, Legolas stood near the entrance and watched. The Orcs were drawing back, settling in a wide semi-circle before the entrance, and only exit. For the moment, the wolves were trapped.
Meanwhile, the new-coming packs of Lorien and Imladris were adjusting to their surroundings. Elrond had appeared to them and summoned them to the South without a moment to loose. With her uncanny instinct, Galadriel had not questioned him and had also ordered Glorfindel to follow.
The Elven packs had not fought such a battle in years. For so long, the tundra had been peaceful and calm. But now the dam was broken, and evil fled through the land with awful force. And now the packs were slowly joining together to finally face this intruder and destroy it once and for all.
But all was not harmony among the ranks.
Bristling and showing his teeth, Haldir circled the Rohan pack. He had never seen these wolves before, and hardly trusted them. Theoden snarled back, but wearily. The old alpha was exhausted by the day's battle, and the young Elven beta saw this. Lifting his head, Haldir took the alpha position.
A sharp bite on his shoulder brought him down. Glorfindel stood there, growling. Lifting his tail and raising his hackles to appear twice his size, the Imladris alpha bossed Haldir to the ground. The rebellion was stopped.
Elrond, Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel, and Theoden went off to discuss the next strategy. Glancing over her shoulder, Galadriel asked with her eyes if Aragorn wanted to join the council. He did, and followed the elders over to meet.
Night came on, and still the Orcs remained firmly rooted without. Legolas, Rumil, and Orophin barked many threats at them, but nothing worked. The moon rose overhead, giving an eerie glow to the Enemy forces. Something else was out there... Squinting and tilting his head, Legolas strained his eyes...
And suddenly chaos broke loose.
A gunshot shattered the air, blasting a fiery orange crater in the ground near the entrance. Breaking council, the six leaders raced to the opening and looked out. Devilry from Mordor... A few two-legged shapes loomed on the horizon.
The wolves were not alone.
The gunfire rained on the Deep all night, lighting the sky with brilliant flares. And still the Orcs remained in their position, their beady eyes twinkling in the occasional flash.
Day broke, and with it brought little promise. But the wolves had rested and regained some strength, so there was a sliver of hope. That hope was quickly crushed by the sight that awaited without. There was little chance of survival.
The five alphas turned a respectful gaze to Aragorn. It was he who would lead this final charge, with Elrond at his right side and Legolas to his left. Lifting his head, the young Numenor male summoned the last reserves of his strength and courage.
And then he howled the attack call.
Tragically beautiful was the sight of the wolves racing towards death, willing to die fighting for the end of evil. The Orcs rose from the seats at last, barking horribly in their rasping voices and tearing into the fray.
The battle was on.
Rumil and Orophin fell first, side by side, a ring of slain Orcs around them. They were the brothers of Haldir, and the grief and anger of the beta spurred him into battle more fiercely than before.
In the midst of battle, Theoden fought as he had in his younger days, a vison of the glory he had once known. And suddenly, he found himself alone, in a clearing, and an apparition of hell appeared before him.
A hunter, clad all in black, a ski-mask pulled over his face and many guns strapped to him, on his thighs and across his back, and ammunition belts across his chest. He was one of the Nazgul, the elite band of nine hunters that were trained by the Great One himself. A rifle rested in his hands, and he leveled it at the old alpha before him.
A shot was fired.
And then a lithe form exploded up behind the Nazgul, teeth flashing in the sun and clamping down with a terrible fury on his neck. In two powerful shakes, that neck was broken, and the female of the Rohan pack stood over her victory.
Eowyn raced at once to Theoden's side, but the aim of the Nazgul had been true, and the mighty alpha was dead.
Four more Nazgul appeared, guns firing into the battle, caring little whether they hits Orcs or wolves, as long as they hit something. Lindir and Erestor of the Imladris pack were slain by the poisonous shots.
Hope was lost.
Fighting valiantly, Aragorn could only think of the words Elrond had spoken to him only days before...
-Fear not. Hope will come when all seems lost.-
And then something miraculous happened...
With a screaming war cry, a great eagle appeared in the sky above. It was not grey, nor brown, but the purest white of all, with blackened wingtips as if burned by some great fire.
Gandalf the Great had returned!
He wheeled overhead, and the wolves saw him. Great was their rejoicing, and even in the middle of a terrible battle they sang joyfully. Swooping into the fray, Gandalf scattered the Orcs with his talons and flew to Elrond's side, landing on his shoulder. The Half-Elven sang as well at the return of his dear friend, and the battle began anew.
A great thundering sound filled the air...
Mighty and powerful, the Ents came pouring over the horizon and into the thick of the fight. Gandalf had summoned them from the South, and they now appeared not as reinforcements, but an army of vengeful guardians. Dozens of Orcs fell under Treebeard alone, and the tide turned at last.
At the heels of this enormous army came two yipping followers. Merry and Pippin came into battle, and though they had very little fighting skills they tried their best.
Shots were being fired from closer now, as the Nazgul moved in for the kill. If they could have their way, there would be no survivors.
They did not anticipate the two small sets of teeth clamping on the backs of their knees. Momentarily crippled, the Nazgul stumbled long enough for larger wolves to finish them off. Merry and Pippin had proved their worth after all.
The remaining Orcs, about twenty in number, attempted a retreat and were cut down immediately. The Enemy was slain.
The battle was over. The battle was won.
But the war was just beginning.
~ To Be Continued
