Random Orcs, or We Fell to Middle Earth
Chapter Eighteen: Whiskey in the Jar
by Galadriel Tolkien
A small body lay at my feet, mouth opened in a soundless scream of pain. Or sadness. It was hard to tell, at this distance. Being ten feet tall and all that. It's so difficult.
Perspective changed, though, and I was somewhere else, a small stooped figure creeping along a rock shelf, watching below as two young hobbits journeyed through this land of washes and gullies. They were close, now, I could almost see them pausing for a supper, then slipping into a doze. And then, oh, then, it would be mine. My Precious.
Golden shiny circlet of power and lust. And it was mine. Should be mine. Had been, once.
I shuddered away from that mental touch, fighting with something.
My mind slid sideways, and I was suddenly hobbit-size, watching as Stinker and Slinker argued amongst himself as to when the best time to kill the nice little hobbitses was.
Sam.
I was Sam. Or Frodo. And I had been Gollum. As if I'd flipped a switch, I realised I was dreaming and couldn't affect the events. As if I was seeing the past as it had already happened.
We walked the marshes, the lights of old death and pain trying to lure us with promises that meant nothing. To be smothered in fogs and old cloaks, waterlogged and bloated faces peering from pools. Their eyes a bright green, hungry with want and need for a soul again.
Gollum led us, and I had no time to wonder at this puzzle. For he swept us through the marshes, and almost up to the Black Gate. Gazing at it through Sam's eyes, I shuddered. When the armies of Gondor marched--if they survived the coming battle for Minas Tirith--they would confront that huge edifice, and fall. I wasn't looking forward to it.
They turned south, skirting the walls, and entering the lush glades of Ithilien. Away from the evil taint of marsh and gully, they relaxed.
I shifted, then, the dream fading out of Sam, and fading into somewhere else. A desert, the winds slow and scorching as they shuffled sand against my legs. I turned onto my stomach and slowly got onto my hands and knees as sand began flowing upwards, pooling over my fingers and toes, whisps blowing up into nostrils.
Coughing doubled me over, my lungs rebelling at this treatment. More sand wrapped around my body, as if the wind were attempting to bury me from sight.
But I was so tired, so exhausted. There was no energy left to fight. I had to let it wash over me, cuddle me as I collapsed into it. Warmth slowly wrapped me, and I slid from consciousness.
And into a volcano.
Molten lava had buried me, but I bubbled to the surface in an air pocket, breaking free only to have a pronged stick shove me back under, catching in my hair and holding me there.
I fought, trying to breathe, to get away, pain reaching unbearable levels as my skin slowly crisped and flaked away.
The mountain erupted, and I was born along on a lava flow, only my bones left, falling bits of ash becoming my hair in an odd way as I sledded down the rockface, tendons crackling like fried chicken.
Water hit me, frying into steam in milliseconds, and I screamed, the mountain behind me echoing that cry.
Pain sent me awake, and I rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a thump. Cold stone lay under one cheek, one hand half curled in a fist, the other flat against it. The sheet was tangled around my legs, and I sneezed as dust slid into my nose.
For a moment I lay there, then I pulled myself to my feet. And the world lurched sideways, the walls and me turning into odd swirls of colour on the canvas of the universe.
"My Preciousss."
Gollum, again. Creeping along stealthily as the hobbits approached the mouth of something that felt incredibly old and evil. Then Gollum and I skittered ahead of them and were gone.
I shrieked in frustration against the past as Gollum and the creature Shelob made a pact against the approaching halflings. Shelob was a massive spider, bloated and horrible with power and age. She'd probably make seven of Alayna, with spare left over for seven of me.
Nothing helped, as I struggled against the sense-memory of the land of Mordor. I realised that's what I was getting as I hung there, absorbing these horrible images, fighting to not see them. Mordor was haunting me. Shelob stalked the two, and stung Frodo. But she was interrupted in her quest for food by Sam, who stabbed her deeply with something that hurt.
An elf-blade, I was betting, as we dragged ourselves back to the lair, to hide and recuperate.
The conscious side of me put a note to myself about destroying that lair.
I fell out of that and into somewhere else. A calm place, light and cool air wrapping me gently. A hand touched mine. ::Marya.::
Galadriel's voice sounded concerned, and I curled up on it, drinking in the rest and salve for the pain in my soul. ::I may fail.::
::You shall not, my dear.:: Amusement.
::These are only dreams.::
::Are they?::
I shuddered, ::I could hope they were.::
::Yes.:: A soft hand touched my forehead, and real sleep began shrouding me in its hold. ::You shall do well. Rest and regain thy strength.::
True sleep wrapped around me, then, and I dreamt no more.
--
When I finally awoke, the sun was nearly gone again. I yawned, stretching out the kinks as the world around me resolved back into reality. There was no one nearby, so I decided to laze about in bed. After all, even the 15 or so hours I'd had hadn't completely restored me. But I did feel rested.
And I'd dreamt. Odd things. And Galadriel. That part must have been real.
::Morning, lazy.::
::Evening, surely. And. Coffee?::
Alayna snorted, ::As if.::
I sighed. ::Don't wanna get up.::
::Food?::
My stomach rumbled in response, and I sighed again, ::Stop that.::
::You're going to get such a reputation.::
I dodged that, ::How goes the siege?::
::Not bad. There've been a few forays out there, but most haven't done more than just keep the army off the battlements down there.::
::Good, good.:: A piece of memory touched me, ::He'll try to break the gates tonight.::
::Why?::
::Properly Gothick. I don't know, it's just the thing--the Witch-King seems to enjoy things like that. The proper Atmosphere and all that.::
She snorted.
I ate. Evening deepened into full darkness, and I slowly disgorged myself back into blood-encrusted chainmail and sword. There weren't any knives left, but someone would be willing to loan me a bow. I hoped.
My mind wandered for a time, recalling dreams and nightmares. Undercurrents of things to come. I turned away from that, concentrating on the present. On the tangible things I could do here and now. One thing my body had done was heal the slash across my palm where I'd blocked the sword earlier. A lifetime ago. My ankle still twinged, though. Bones were harder to heal.
As for things to do, sadly, that was currently nothing.
Oh, the siege was going apace, but there was no need for me anywhere yet. Gandalf and the commanders had the troops in hand, and they were happy. Mostly.
Unhappy were the enemy, of course. Those that were human were frightened of Gondor, sure the giant men of the west were planning to invade and claim their land. Or Mordor itself had bound them to it in some way. I suspected blood sacrifices, as well as kidnapped families. Or even just threats. Fight for us, or we kill everyone.
I slowly made my way down through the city. Re-provisioning at one of the guard stations.
::Pilfering, more like.:: Alayna corrected me smugly while she stood in the forecourt, basking in the semi-darkness.
::Shut up.:: Strapping on the few knives I found, I considered the coming battle and shuddered. I was getting tired of this, but there really wasn't anything else to do anymore. Fight and fight... I gathered a bow and several quivers of arrows, determined to roam the battlements as I had at the Deep.
That moment of death touched me again, and I shied away from it, determined not to allow myself to fall that low.
Of course, that had been out on the field of battle. But I had still let my anger control me, still nearly destroyed myself with darkness. Sauron would have had a good mistress in me.
I shoved that bit of speculation to the side and left to continue down to the battlements. Alayna came with me, and we walked silent as ghosts down through a city of people who expected to die shortly.
Alayna nudged my shoulder. ::They're not as bad as all that. Stop being so hopeless.::
::Bah.:: I wrinkled my nose at her, then sighed. ::You're right.::
We got to the gates and I left Alayna there to wend my way around the battlements, chatting with the soldiers there, making a nuisance of myself, and occasionally letting off arrows in the direction of the milling mass of army below us. They made many attempts to climb, using ladders and siege towers, but it was a half-hearted sort of attempt, as if they were waiting for something.
The night passed swiftly, and as dawn approached, one of the commanders made the decision to run a foray down onto the Pelennor. I joined them, as horses were saddled and orders were given. This seemed like a bad idea, but maybe it would be good.
I was in the middle of the pack, as we filed out onto the plain. The host of Mordor seemed surprised, but set to with us with alacrity.
Soon, the ordered charge fragmented into pockets of fighting that spread across the base of the City of Guard. I was by myself for a time, sword cleaving deeply as Alayna danced under me.
In the midst of the melee, I spotted one of the guardsmen, besieged. We all were, but he was wounded and would die soon.
Not on my watch. With a quick movement, Alayna and I were next to him, and I dove off her back, rolling to come up and slash the legs out from under one of his opponents. He gaped at me, then responded quickly as I boosted him into Alayna's saddle. The enemy surged forward, and I turned away, trusting Alayna to get him out of the battle.
There wasn't much time left, anymore. I could sense that things were coming to a head, but didn't want to worry about it.
::I'll be back.::
I snorted and beheaded three orcs. ::I should hope so.::
Swords flashed in the half light as I fought. Mine was coated in blood, so it was sort of a sparkly red flashing. Again and again I dodged and slashed, trying to take out an entire army by my little self.
I felt very melodramatic.
Blood poured into the dust we churned with our feet, eventually turning to mud and stickier substances. I went down while executing a particularly dodgy move, and rolled, wondering how much brain matter I'd picked up. Morbidly, I wondered if it would affect my mind.
A spear slammed into my back, stopped by the dragon mail. But oh, that bruise was going to be painful.
I was on my feet again, fighting still. Too late, I realised they had drawn back for a moment. Two orcs took me down, one from above, one from below, and a pile of them descended, suddenly. I felt like a football, when the quarterback fumbles.
I slithered out of the pile slicker than any running back, though.
Once standing, I slammed my sword down into them, slicing about halfway through before finally losing my momentum. With a jerk, I yanked the sword free and spun to take out the man behind me.
A frustrated growl echoed in my head as I dodged a club and skewered two odd-looking shambling things that might once have been llamas, but now stood on their hind legs. ::What?::
::I can't get through the mob to you.::
No surprise, really. ::Am I the last one from our side in a--:: I paused to dive, roll, decapitate, rinse and repeat. ::thirty-foot radius? Or so?::
::Yeah. I'd say closer to fifty.::
::Cool.::
::What--Oh. Twit.::
::Am not.:: I spun again, decapitating another orc.
We argued while I fought, one hand occasionally weaving a quick sigil into the air around me. It was a spiral. Sort of. Actually, it probably was much more odd-shaped, like a freaky trapezoid. But, in the end, I got to the center of the tootsie pop, and paused to check that all of the strings met properly. They did.
I pulled my shields tightly around myself, then added a layer of physical ones. An instant later, I struck a match.
The explosion shattered the air and melted the ground into glass in a good-sized section of the Pelennor. Charred grass and bits of bone and metal fused into a whole.
Moments passed and I realised I'd fallen to my knees, as if huddling with my arms over my head would keep the fires from touching me. I dissipated the physical shield, then retched as the stench of charred flesh reached me. Heat shimmered on my skin, and considering what had been there moments before, I was probably lucky it only shimmered. The dragon mail probably helped, too. My boots were smoking.
Clicking sounds came to me hazily, and then Alayna's nose touched the back of my neck. I shivered.
::We have to get back.::
I scrambled to my feet, using her legs and the stirrup as a crutch. Another wave of shivering hit me, and I swayed into her side, sweating. ::Where's my sword?::
::In your hand,:: she replied testily. ::Now will you mount before my hooves melt along with your boots?::
"Oh." I sheathed my sword and mounted slowly, then croaked out, "Can I die now?"
::No. Now hush.::
The fireworks had sent the army of darkness scattering away from the gates of Minas Tirith, for the moment. Which was all to the good, since I couldn't do more than cling to Alayna's back and hope no one wanted me to do anything useful. That last burst of magic had taken more than it should have. Probably because I'd been in the center of it.
::It's closed.:: She sounded surprised.
With effort, I looked ahead of us at the main gate. ::Odd.::
::Hang on.:: Alayna put on a burst of speed, and I grumbled and hunched over, clinging tightly as she jumped. We rose in the air, up, up, up, then I felt the walls passing beneath us and we were falling, landing with a stagger that sent me half out of the saddle.
Gravity hit me like a ton of bricks, and I folded, allowing that it had the stronger hand. A guard caught me, and it all went sort of grey for a moment.
Too soon, something smashed against my waning brain, tingling against my shields. I looked up, staring at the great gates. From the other side I sensed a presence, malevolent and powerful. I knew what it was an instant before the gate of Minas Tirith shattered inwards.
The Witch-King gave a cry of triumph, and stared through the opening at me.
Energised by the impending sense of Doom, I remounted hastily, and then paused, something else catching my attention.
"Marya!"
I looked down from Alayna's back, mind reeling from my own expenditures and the magic the Witch-King had used on the gates. Pippin stood at my stirrup, gasping for breath. I leant down and caught his shoulders. "Breath."
"Can't find... Gandalf. Denethor--" He paused and took a deeper breath. "He's trying to kill himself and Faramir, in the tower!"
"Fuck. Find Gandalf. I'm already on my way up." I prodded Marya into a slow gallop, aiming for the road that wound all through the city until it reached to tower. Even at a gallop, it was gonna take a hell of a lot of time...
::Remember the speed a Companion can use?::
::Yeah.:: I tried to remember teleportation spells, knowing I had to get to Denethor NOW. Also knowing I was in no shape to even attempt such things. But I had to go. Denethor killing Faramir was not in my plans.
::Remember how I can be fed by my rider?::
::Yeah.:: Not that one. Too much time to set up. And, besides, I didn't have virgin's blood, or a cockatrice.
::Remember the tight twists and turns of Minas Tirith?::
::Yes.:: I replied impatiently, wishing she'd stop distracting me.
::Don't complain if we hit anything.::
::Wha--:: "FUCK!" I cried into the sudden wind. We were a blur of speed, dashing from the bottom of the city to the top. Recovering my equilibrium, I fed energy to her through our link, clinging and bent over to minimise my wind resistance. I trusted we wouldn't actually hit anything on the way up, especially since Alayna doesn't like pain.
Chapter Eighteen: Whiskey in the Jar
by Galadriel Tolkien
A small body lay at my feet, mouth opened in a soundless scream of pain. Or sadness. It was hard to tell, at this distance. Being ten feet tall and all that. It's so difficult.
Perspective changed, though, and I was somewhere else, a small stooped figure creeping along a rock shelf, watching below as two young hobbits journeyed through this land of washes and gullies. They were close, now, I could almost see them pausing for a supper, then slipping into a doze. And then, oh, then, it would be mine. My Precious.
Golden shiny circlet of power and lust. And it was mine. Should be mine. Had been, once.
I shuddered away from that mental touch, fighting with something.
My mind slid sideways, and I was suddenly hobbit-size, watching as Stinker and Slinker argued amongst himself as to when the best time to kill the nice little hobbitses was.
Sam.
I was Sam. Or Frodo. And I had been Gollum. As if I'd flipped a switch, I realised I was dreaming and couldn't affect the events. As if I was seeing the past as it had already happened.
We walked the marshes, the lights of old death and pain trying to lure us with promises that meant nothing. To be smothered in fogs and old cloaks, waterlogged and bloated faces peering from pools. Their eyes a bright green, hungry with want and need for a soul again.
Gollum led us, and I had no time to wonder at this puzzle. For he swept us through the marshes, and almost up to the Black Gate. Gazing at it through Sam's eyes, I shuddered. When the armies of Gondor marched--if they survived the coming battle for Minas Tirith--they would confront that huge edifice, and fall. I wasn't looking forward to it.
They turned south, skirting the walls, and entering the lush glades of Ithilien. Away from the evil taint of marsh and gully, they relaxed.
I shifted, then, the dream fading out of Sam, and fading into somewhere else. A desert, the winds slow and scorching as they shuffled sand against my legs. I turned onto my stomach and slowly got onto my hands and knees as sand began flowing upwards, pooling over my fingers and toes, whisps blowing up into nostrils.
Coughing doubled me over, my lungs rebelling at this treatment. More sand wrapped around my body, as if the wind were attempting to bury me from sight.
But I was so tired, so exhausted. There was no energy left to fight. I had to let it wash over me, cuddle me as I collapsed into it. Warmth slowly wrapped me, and I slid from consciousness.
And into a volcano.
Molten lava had buried me, but I bubbled to the surface in an air pocket, breaking free only to have a pronged stick shove me back under, catching in my hair and holding me there.
I fought, trying to breathe, to get away, pain reaching unbearable levels as my skin slowly crisped and flaked away.
The mountain erupted, and I was born along on a lava flow, only my bones left, falling bits of ash becoming my hair in an odd way as I sledded down the rockface, tendons crackling like fried chicken.
Water hit me, frying into steam in milliseconds, and I screamed, the mountain behind me echoing that cry.
Pain sent me awake, and I rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a thump. Cold stone lay under one cheek, one hand half curled in a fist, the other flat against it. The sheet was tangled around my legs, and I sneezed as dust slid into my nose.
For a moment I lay there, then I pulled myself to my feet. And the world lurched sideways, the walls and me turning into odd swirls of colour on the canvas of the universe.
"My Preciousss."
Gollum, again. Creeping along stealthily as the hobbits approached the mouth of something that felt incredibly old and evil. Then Gollum and I skittered ahead of them and were gone.
I shrieked in frustration against the past as Gollum and the creature Shelob made a pact against the approaching halflings. Shelob was a massive spider, bloated and horrible with power and age. She'd probably make seven of Alayna, with spare left over for seven of me.
Nothing helped, as I struggled against the sense-memory of the land of Mordor. I realised that's what I was getting as I hung there, absorbing these horrible images, fighting to not see them. Mordor was haunting me. Shelob stalked the two, and stung Frodo. But she was interrupted in her quest for food by Sam, who stabbed her deeply with something that hurt.
An elf-blade, I was betting, as we dragged ourselves back to the lair, to hide and recuperate.
The conscious side of me put a note to myself about destroying that lair.
I fell out of that and into somewhere else. A calm place, light and cool air wrapping me gently. A hand touched mine. ::Marya.::
Galadriel's voice sounded concerned, and I curled up on it, drinking in the rest and salve for the pain in my soul. ::I may fail.::
::You shall not, my dear.:: Amusement.
::These are only dreams.::
::Are they?::
I shuddered, ::I could hope they were.::
::Yes.:: A soft hand touched my forehead, and real sleep began shrouding me in its hold. ::You shall do well. Rest and regain thy strength.::
True sleep wrapped around me, then, and I dreamt no more.
--
When I finally awoke, the sun was nearly gone again. I yawned, stretching out the kinks as the world around me resolved back into reality. There was no one nearby, so I decided to laze about in bed. After all, even the 15 or so hours I'd had hadn't completely restored me. But I did feel rested.
And I'd dreamt. Odd things. And Galadriel. That part must have been real.
::Morning, lazy.::
::Evening, surely. And. Coffee?::
Alayna snorted, ::As if.::
I sighed. ::Don't wanna get up.::
::Food?::
My stomach rumbled in response, and I sighed again, ::Stop that.::
::You're going to get such a reputation.::
I dodged that, ::How goes the siege?::
::Not bad. There've been a few forays out there, but most haven't done more than just keep the army off the battlements down there.::
::Good, good.:: A piece of memory touched me, ::He'll try to break the gates tonight.::
::Why?::
::Properly Gothick. I don't know, it's just the thing--the Witch-King seems to enjoy things like that. The proper Atmosphere and all that.::
She snorted.
I ate. Evening deepened into full darkness, and I slowly disgorged myself back into blood-encrusted chainmail and sword. There weren't any knives left, but someone would be willing to loan me a bow. I hoped.
My mind wandered for a time, recalling dreams and nightmares. Undercurrents of things to come. I turned away from that, concentrating on the present. On the tangible things I could do here and now. One thing my body had done was heal the slash across my palm where I'd blocked the sword earlier. A lifetime ago. My ankle still twinged, though. Bones were harder to heal.
As for things to do, sadly, that was currently nothing.
Oh, the siege was going apace, but there was no need for me anywhere yet. Gandalf and the commanders had the troops in hand, and they were happy. Mostly.
Unhappy were the enemy, of course. Those that were human were frightened of Gondor, sure the giant men of the west were planning to invade and claim their land. Or Mordor itself had bound them to it in some way. I suspected blood sacrifices, as well as kidnapped families. Or even just threats. Fight for us, or we kill everyone.
I slowly made my way down through the city. Re-provisioning at one of the guard stations.
::Pilfering, more like.:: Alayna corrected me smugly while she stood in the forecourt, basking in the semi-darkness.
::Shut up.:: Strapping on the few knives I found, I considered the coming battle and shuddered. I was getting tired of this, but there really wasn't anything else to do anymore. Fight and fight... I gathered a bow and several quivers of arrows, determined to roam the battlements as I had at the Deep.
That moment of death touched me again, and I shied away from it, determined not to allow myself to fall that low.
Of course, that had been out on the field of battle. But I had still let my anger control me, still nearly destroyed myself with darkness. Sauron would have had a good mistress in me.
I shoved that bit of speculation to the side and left to continue down to the battlements. Alayna came with me, and we walked silent as ghosts down through a city of people who expected to die shortly.
Alayna nudged my shoulder. ::They're not as bad as all that. Stop being so hopeless.::
::Bah.:: I wrinkled my nose at her, then sighed. ::You're right.::
We got to the gates and I left Alayna there to wend my way around the battlements, chatting with the soldiers there, making a nuisance of myself, and occasionally letting off arrows in the direction of the milling mass of army below us. They made many attempts to climb, using ladders and siege towers, but it was a half-hearted sort of attempt, as if they were waiting for something.
The night passed swiftly, and as dawn approached, one of the commanders made the decision to run a foray down onto the Pelennor. I joined them, as horses were saddled and orders were given. This seemed like a bad idea, but maybe it would be good.
I was in the middle of the pack, as we filed out onto the plain. The host of Mordor seemed surprised, but set to with us with alacrity.
Soon, the ordered charge fragmented into pockets of fighting that spread across the base of the City of Guard. I was by myself for a time, sword cleaving deeply as Alayna danced under me.
In the midst of the melee, I spotted one of the guardsmen, besieged. We all were, but he was wounded and would die soon.
Not on my watch. With a quick movement, Alayna and I were next to him, and I dove off her back, rolling to come up and slash the legs out from under one of his opponents. He gaped at me, then responded quickly as I boosted him into Alayna's saddle. The enemy surged forward, and I turned away, trusting Alayna to get him out of the battle.
There wasn't much time left, anymore. I could sense that things were coming to a head, but didn't want to worry about it.
::I'll be back.::
I snorted and beheaded three orcs. ::I should hope so.::
Swords flashed in the half light as I fought. Mine was coated in blood, so it was sort of a sparkly red flashing. Again and again I dodged and slashed, trying to take out an entire army by my little self.
I felt very melodramatic.
Blood poured into the dust we churned with our feet, eventually turning to mud and stickier substances. I went down while executing a particularly dodgy move, and rolled, wondering how much brain matter I'd picked up. Morbidly, I wondered if it would affect my mind.
A spear slammed into my back, stopped by the dragon mail. But oh, that bruise was going to be painful.
I was on my feet again, fighting still. Too late, I realised they had drawn back for a moment. Two orcs took me down, one from above, one from below, and a pile of them descended, suddenly. I felt like a football, when the quarterback fumbles.
I slithered out of the pile slicker than any running back, though.
Once standing, I slammed my sword down into them, slicing about halfway through before finally losing my momentum. With a jerk, I yanked the sword free and spun to take out the man behind me.
A frustrated growl echoed in my head as I dodged a club and skewered two odd-looking shambling things that might once have been llamas, but now stood on their hind legs. ::What?::
::I can't get through the mob to you.::
No surprise, really. ::Am I the last one from our side in a--:: I paused to dive, roll, decapitate, rinse and repeat. ::thirty-foot radius? Or so?::
::Yeah. I'd say closer to fifty.::
::Cool.::
::What--Oh. Twit.::
::Am not.:: I spun again, decapitating another orc.
We argued while I fought, one hand occasionally weaving a quick sigil into the air around me. It was a spiral. Sort of. Actually, it probably was much more odd-shaped, like a freaky trapezoid. But, in the end, I got to the center of the tootsie pop, and paused to check that all of the strings met properly. They did.
I pulled my shields tightly around myself, then added a layer of physical ones. An instant later, I struck a match.
The explosion shattered the air and melted the ground into glass in a good-sized section of the Pelennor. Charred grass and bits of bone and metal fused into a whole.
Moments passed and I realised I'd fallen to my knees, as if huddling with my arms over my head would keep the fires from touching me. I dissipated the physical shield, then retched as the stench of charred flesh reached me. Heat shimmered on my skin, and considering what had been there moments before, I was probably lucky it only shimmered. The dragon mail probably helped, too. My boots were smoking.
Clicking sounds came to me hazily, and then Alayna's nose touched the back of my neck. I shivered.
::We have to get back.::
I scrambled to my feet, using her legs and the stirrup as a crutch. Another wave of shivering hit me, and I swayed into her side, sweating. ::Where's my sword?::
::In your hand,:: she replied testily. ::Now will you mount before my hooves melt along with your boots?::
"Oh." I sheathed my sword and mounted slowly, then croaked out, "Can I die now?"
::No. Now hush.::
The fireworks had sent the army of darkness scattering away from the gates of Minas Tirith, for the moment. Which was all to the good, since I couldn't do more than cling to Alayna's back and hope no one wanted me to do anything useful. That last burst of magic had taken more than it should have. Probably because I'd been in the center of it.
::It's closed.:: She sounded surprised.
With effort, I looked ahead of us at the main gate. ::Odd.::
::Hang on.:: Alayna put on a burst of speed, and I grumbled and hunched over, clinging tightly as she jumped. We rose in the air, up, up, up, then I felt the walls passing beneath us and we were falling, landing with a stagger that sent me half out of the saddle.
Gravity hit me like a ton of bricks, and I folded, allowing that it had the stronger hand. A guard caught me, and it all went sort of grey for a moment.
Too soon, something smashed against my waning brain, tingling against my shields. I looked up, staring at the great gates. From the other side I sensed a presence, malevolent and powerful. I knew what it was an instant before the gate of Minas Tirith shattered inwards.
The Witch-King gave a cry of triumph, and stared through the opening at me.
Energised by the impending sense of Doom, I remounted hastily, and then paused, something else catching my attention.
"Marya!"
I looked down from Alayna's back, mind reeling from my own expenditures and the magic the Witch-King had used on the gates. Pippin stood at my stirrup, gasping for breath. I leant down and caught his shoulders. "Breath."
"Can't find... Gandalf. Denethor--" He paused and took a deeper breath. "He's trying to kill himself and Faramir, in the tower!"
"Fuck. Find Gandalf. I'm already on my way up." I prodded Marya into a slow gallop, aiming for the road that wound all through the city until it reached to tower. Even at a gallop, it was gonna take a hell of a lot of time...
::Remember the speed a Companion can use?::
::Yeah.:: I tried to remember teleportation spells, knowing I had to get to Denethor NOW. Also knowing I was in no shape to even attempt such things. But I had to go. Denethor killing Faramir was not in my plans.
::Remember how I can be fed by my rider?::
::Yeah.:: Not that one. Too much time to set up. And, besides, I didn't have virgin's blood, or a cockatrice.
::Remember the tight twists and turns of Minas Tirith?::
::Yes.:: I replied impatiently, wishing she'd stop distracting me.
::Don't complain if we hit anything.::
::Wha--:: "FUCK!" I cried into the sudden wind. We were a blur of speed, dashing from the bottom of the city to the top. Recovering my equilibrium, I fed energy to her through our link, clinging and bent over to minimise my wind resistance. I trusted we wouldn't actually hit anything on the way up, especially since Alayna doesn't like pain.