Freed From Darkness, and the Rebirth of Light, Chapter Two
Please note: I do not own LOTR, nor the characters...save Athlorn. He is mine, ya see?!
Behind the Captain and Captain-General the sound of five hundred longbows firing at once could easily be heard, and the arrows seen as they decended down upon the Orcs heading across the bridge. Many fell, only to be trampled by their comrades as they rushed towards the gate. With soldiers massing behind them, Athlorn and Boromir held their swords at the ready, waiting for the gate to be breeched, and combat joined. The Orcs got ever closer, closer to that gate that seperated the two armies. At near last moment, a soldier ran forward, unordered but knew what was going to be done, unbared and opened the gate.
Forth charged the army of Gondor, Captain-General Boromir at their head. Beside him stood Captain Athlorn, fell and feared in battle. Behind them stood the battle tested and hardened companies of Minas Tirith, all charging forth with one cry: "For Gondor!"
From the Orcs came their own cry: "For the Eye!" and battle was joined on the bridge of Osgiliath.
The rain was no longer a factor as Orc and Man alike fell on the bridge, puddles of water becoming puddles of blood. Swords, spears, and axes clashed as the two sides pushed towards the other, hoping to gain ground, and loose none.
In the front, where the fighting was heaviest, was Captain-General Boromir and Captain Athlorn, hacking away at the Orcs that attacked them, steel ringing against steel, steel slicing flesh, and cleaving bone. The battle was all they were focused on, paying not any attention to those about them...and as such, they did not notice when the press of foes began to encircle them.
Still they fought, their swords notched, and weariness began to take its toll as the battle dragged on for hours upon end. When they finnaly took stock of their situation, they realized that their position had been overrun, and the Orcs had surrounded them. Behind the gate, they could see their soldiers, straining in the arms of the Lieutenants that held them back, for unbeknownst to Athlorn and Boromir, a retreat had been called. This did not make them happy.
"Sir! I think it would be best if we dove into the water! They wouldnt follow us there!" Shouted Athlorn to the Steward's Son as they continued to fight.
Nodding, Boromir headed towards one side, Athlorn following him, fighting as best he may with a severly notched sword.
As they struggled towards the side, Athlorn stumbled in his weariness, and the mass of Orcs desended upon him. A cry rose from the soldiers at the sight of this, and they broke through the chain of Lieutenants, won the gate, and with one great cry desended upon the Orcs fighting towards their Captain. The Captain-General Boromir turned at the cry, and whne he saw his Second-in-Command fallen, he gave a shout of his own, and began hacking and slashing towards his fallen comrade and friend.
When the soldiers reached their Captain, it was a sad sight to behold. Blood drenched his uniform, and pooled about his body. His sword lay notched at his side, his hand weakly gripping it.
This fueled the soldiers to new levels of fury, and with one cry: 'For the Captain and Gondor!' they attacked anew the Enemy's forces upon the bridge, slaughtering them where the stood, injured or nay. Such force caught the Orcs off guard, and they quickly retreat back across the brdige to their own side. Though the soldiers wished to persue, the Captain-General held them back, 'for if they persued, the life of the Captain they loved would be forefit, and it would be an ignoble end to a noble Man.'
Seeing this wisdom slowly, the companies fell back, and to the body of their Captain. Slowly, singing songs of sorrow, they proceeded off the bridge with his body, and into the camp.
The shout of the guards awakened the city of Minas Tirith, but they were not shouts of joy. For, riding towards the Great Gate was a solitary horse, and perched upon it were two figures. One was slumped forward, head resting upon his chest. The other rode tall, and all could identify him as the Son of the Steward. The other they could not identify until his head fall back, revealing it to be Captain Athlorn, his uniform soaked in his and his enemies blood, his face with dozens of cuts.
As they approached the Sixth Circle of the City, the guards gasped at the sight of the Captain, staring in shock as they rode past towards the Houses of Healing.
"Healer! Where are the healers!?" Bellowed Boromir as he stormed into the Houses, Athlorn's body in his arms. "Healer!" He bellowed again as he strode deeper into the Houses.
"Pray, what gives you reason to..." The Healer's words cut short as he sees the Lord Boromir and the body of Athlorn.
"What happened?"
"Two days ago, he fell on the Bridge of Osgiliath. He was warmed by Orcs. I fear what his condition would be if we had come any later..."
Athlorn's eyes fluttered upon. Strange were his surroundings. Last he checked, he was not quarted in the buildings of Osgiliath. In fact, he slept in a tent in the field, beside that of his lord Boromir. Blinking, he then realized that he was on a soft bed. This puzzeled him greatly, for ground and stone are hard, and not soft.
"You finally are awake, my friend."
Turning his head sharply, Athlorn found Boromir sitting in a chair, ankles crossed, his hand holding a cup of wine. His uniform was still dirty, and had upon the scent and sight of battle.
"My lord." The Captain tried to move, but pain shot through his body.
"Move not, my friend! You were greavously injured in the battle."
"Wha-what happened? What happened on the bridge, my lord?"
"You fell. Weariness took your body, and you fell. We reached you in time to save you from the worse...You are now in the Houses of Healing, in Minas Tirith."
"I fell? Tha-that is not possible..." Mumbled Athlorn as he looked to his lord.
"As I said, weariness claimed you. The battle had raged for hours, friend, and we in the thick. You fought bravely."
"I fought for my lord. I fought for the Steward's Son. I fought for my friend...my land...and my city." His words now held a deep pride in them, which was reflected upon his face.
To this, the Captain-General chuckled. "Aye, my friend, that you did. I shall see to it my self that the word of your deeds shall long be on the minds and tongues of Men."
A weak cuckle came from Athlorn. "What of the army? Who now commands them?"
"Your lesser, the one from Anorian does. He is a competant man, as Im sure you well know...now, rest now, my friend. You will need all your strength in the days ahead."
"Why?"
"We are holding a feast for you, Athlorn. You shall have the privlage to sit beside myself, Faramir, and the Steward."
To Be Continued...Read and Review!
Please note: I do not own LOTR, nor the characters...save Athlorn. He is mine, ya see?!
Behind the Captain and Captain-General the sound of five hundred longbows firing at once could easily be heard, and the arrows seen as they decended down upon the Orcs heading across the bridge. Many fell, only to be trampled by their comrades as they rushed towards the gate. With soldiers massing behind them, Athlorn and Boromir held their swords at the ready, waiting for the gate to be breeched, and combat joined. The Orcs got ever closer, closer to that gate that seperated the two armies. At near last moment, a soldier ran forward, unordered but knew what was going to be done, unbared and opened the gate.
Forth charged the army of Gondor, Captain-General Boromir at their head. Beside him stood Captain Athlorn, fell and feared in battle. Behind them stood the battle tested and hardened companies of Minas Tirith, all charging forth with one cry: "For Gondor!"
From the Orcs came their own cry: "For the Eye!" and battle was joined on the bridge of Osgiliath.
The rain was no longer a factor as Orc and Man alike fell on the bridge, puddles of water becoming puddles of blood. Swords, spears, and axes clashed as the two sides pushed towards the other, hoping to gain ground, and loose none.
In the front, where the fighting was heaviest, was Captain-General Boromir and Captain Athlorn, hacking away at the Orcs that attacked them, steel ringing against steel, steel slicing flesh, and cleaving bone. The battle was all they were focused on, paying not any attention to those about them...and as such, they did not notice when the press of foes began to encircle them.
Still they fought, their swords notched, and weariness began to take its toll as the battle dragged on for hours upon end. When they finnaly took stock of their situation, they realized that their position had been overrun, and the Orcs had surrounded them. Behind the gate, they could see their soldiers, straining in the arms of the Lieutenants that held them back, for unbeknownst to Athlorn and Boromir, a retreat had been called. This did not make them happy.
"Sir! I think it would be best if we dove into the water! They wouldnt follow us there!" Shouted Athlorn to the Steward's Son as they continued to fight.
Nodding, Boromir headed towards one side, Athlorn following him, fighting as best he may with a severly notched sword.
As they struggled towards the side, Athlorn stumbled in his weariness, and the mass of Orcs desended upon him. A cry rose from the soldiers at the sight of this, and they broke through the chain of Lieutenants, won the gate, and with one great cry desended upon the Orcs fighting towards their Captain. The Captain-General Boromir turned at the cry, and whne he saw his Second-in-Command fallen, he gave a shout of his own, and began hacking and slashing towards his fallen comrade and friend.
When the soldiers reached their Captain, it was a sad sight to behold. Blood drenched his uniform, and pooled about his body. His sword lay notched at his side, his hand weakly gripping it.
This fueled the soldiers to new levels of fury, and with one cry: 'For the Captain and Gondor!' they attacked anew the Enemy's forces upon the bridge, slaughtering them where the stood, injured or nay. Such force caught the Orcs off guard, and they quickly retreat back across the brdige to their own side. Though the soldiers wished to persue, the Captain-General held them back, 'for if they persued, the life of the Captain they loved would be forefit, and it would be an ignoble end to a noble Man.'
Seeing this wisdom slowly, the companies fell back, and to the body of their Captain. Slowly, singing songs of sorrow, they proceeded off the bridge with his body, and into the camp.
The shout of the guards awakened the city of Minas Tirith, but they were not shouts of joy. For, riding towards the Great Gate was a solitary horse, and perched upon it were two figures. One was slumped forward, head resting upon his chest. The other rode tall, and all could identify him as the Son of the Steward. The other they could not identify until his head fall back, revealing it to be Captain Athlorn, his uniform soaked in his and his enemies blood, his face with dozens of cuts.
As they approached the Sixth Circle of the City, the guards gasped at the sight of the Captain, staring in shock as they rode past towards the Houses of Healing.
"Healer! Where are the healers!?" Bellowed Boromir as he stormed into the Houses, Athlorn's body in his arms. "Healer!" He bellowed again as he strode deeper into the Houses.
"Pray, what gives you reason to..." The Healer's words cut short as he sees the Lord Boromir and the body of Athlorn.
"What happened?"
"Two days ago, he fell on the Bridge of Osgiliath. He was warmed by Orcs. I fear what his condition would be if we had come any later..."
Athlorn's eyes fluttered upon. Strange were his surroundings. Last he checked, he was not quarted in the buildings of Osgiliath. In fact, he slept in a tent in the field, beside that of his lord Boromir. Blinking, he then realized that he was on a soft bed. This puzzeled him greatly, for ground and stone are hard, and not soft.
"You finally are awake, my friend."
Turning his head sharply, Athlorn found Boromir sitting in a chair, ankles crossed, his hand holding a cup of wine. His uniform was still dirty, and had upon the scent and sight of battle.
"My lord." The Captain tried to move, but pain shot through his body.
"Move not, my friend! You were greavously injured in the battle."
"Wha-what happened? What happened on the bridge, my lord?"
"You fell. Weariness took your body, and you fell. We reached you in time to save you from the worse...You are now in the Houses of Healing, in Minas Tirith."
"I fell? Tha-that is not possible..." Mumbled Athlorn as he looked to his lord.
"As I said, weariness claimed you. The battle had raged for hours, friend, and we in the thick. You fought bravely."
"I fought for my lord. I fought for the Steward's Son. I fought for my friend...my land...and my city." His words now held a deep pride in them, which was reflected upon his face.
To this, the Captain-General chuckled. "Aye, my friend, that you did. I shall see to it my self that the word of your deeds shall long be on the minds and tongues of Men."
A weak cuckle came from Athlorn. "What of the army? Who now commands them?"
"Your lesser, the one from Anorian does. He is a competant man, as Im sure you well know...now, rest now, my friend. You will need all your strength in the days ahead."
"Why?"
"We are holding a feast for you, Athlorn. You shall have the privlage to sit beside myself, Faramir, and the Steward."
To Be Continued...Read and Review!