Hey everyone! I know the first chapter is kinda (o.k. really) slow, but I need to build the foundation before I can take this fic to the next level. I will try *cough, cough* to update every Sunday, and so far, I have been very good about that.
Also, when you see teenie little numbers next to words or sentences, refer to the bottom of the page (you don't necessarily have to, but in some cases, I feel I must explain myself). Please r&r (thank you Amanda!). I am so alone!
Disclaimer- Tolkien is the genius here, why do I even have to tell you I DID NOT COME UP WITH THIS!!!!
The Fall of Middle Earth
"38" was the last thing that Gimlee had heard from the elf. Now, the battle raged around them, and Gimlee had lost count of the number of Orcs he had killed a couple of hours ago. From the glimpse of Legolas he had gotten before the battle had separated the, he could tell the elf was fairing badly. He had a gash on his right cheek, and his shirt was in shreds1. Aragorn, on the other hand, was far ahead of Gimlee and even now fighting his way through the chaos of blood, flesh, and flailing limbs. Merry was nowhere to be seen, but Gimlee knew he was close by.
Gimlee took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn't. The air tasted of rot and sulfur. He swung his axe high over his head in a single, fluid movement. Catching a glimpse of long, golden hair2, he fought his way over to Legolas. The elf was dragging something away from the center of the battle. With a surge of recognition, Gimlee realized that the "thing" was the body of Merry Brandybuck.
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It seemed like a lifetime go when Aragorn had shouted the word that sent the alliance forces of elves and men surging over the hill and towards the enemy. Swinging his sword high above his head and urged his horse forward, Aragorn had felt the adrenaline of battle once again surge through his veins like liquid fire3. He slashed left and right, then charged head-on as he felt his sword bite flesh. This was truly where he belonged; fighting at the head of their army. There was a pause, in which the battle around him continued, yet he was left untouched. Suddenly, he found himself gazing at the sickening orange sky. As if in a dream, he kicked his horse and rode towards the spot where he had caught sight of Gimlee and Legolas at the outer-edges of the throng.
As he reached them, Aragorn swung himself down from his horse and knelt beside Legolas, who was tying strips of his shirt around Merry's arm, which was bleeding excessively. Merry seemed to be having some sort of fit4. His eyes were rolling as his body twitched convulsively. All of a sudden, he went as stiff as a board. Through parched lips, his last words were muttered, without feeling or tone. "He has the ring."
Legolas recoiled as if he had been stuck, and Merry's body hit the ground. The elf, the dwarf, and the man bowed their heads as one, but now out of sorrow. All around them, people were falling to their knees as if some invisible hand had pushed them to the ground. Fighting it with every fiber in his body, Aragorn finally stood. But his words were not his own. "All of Middle Earth must bow to the Master. We must bow to The Lord of the Rings."
Superscripts!!!!
Legolas's shirt in shreds, 'tis a happy thing, 'nuff said. Yes, I know it is not golden, but when the sun catches it just right I hope excessive drooling will not cause my keyboard to malfunction. This is a LOTR fic, but I had to put a little tribute to LeStat in there, I mean come on, does he not look dds when he says "Her blood is like liquid fire" in that accent?! For all of you out there who are not British, it means seizure. Get with the program.