~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)
I like the idea of quoting Tolkien and sticking it into the story, so some bits may seem familiar.
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"These we will take!" cried Gandalf, exerting power like a being greater than any human. Not for the first time, Aragorn wondered who exactly Gandalf was. "These we will take in memory of our friend. But as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves. Begone!"
The Mouth of Sauron obeyed; horns blew at his retreat and the Black Gate opened. A great host poured onto the field; the Captains of the West withdrew and the Orcs laughed.
A great shadow fell across Aragorn's heart and his hope died. He had expected this, but with barely six thousand men, it was certain death. The shock smote Aragorn like a bolt of lightning; he looked down to see an arrow lodged in a flow of his mail. It had not driven though, but he winced. There would be a bruise there tomorrow. If tomorrow came. Aragorn sent up a silent prayer, asking Manwë to speed Frodo and Sam to Orodruin.
He raised Arwen's banner, for though he no longer feigned love for her, the banner was indeed beautiful. Obscured by dust were the symbols of Rohan and Dol Amroth.
As always, Aragorn and his company made up the vanguard; the Dúnedain of the North and South - men of Arnor, Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth stood beside the fair sons of Elrond. The host of Mordor advanced, Orcs and Easterlings, led by innumerable arrows - and Nazgûl.
They screamed, so that the hosts of both East and West cowered and flinched, but the Orcs were slowed by the hillocks and foul pools they encountered ere they reached the hills upon which Aragorn stood, so the first attack was not so powerful as the enemies intended.
Therefore Host of the West were ready for the onslaught, with pikes and halberds slicing and skewering ten feet away from them; but they knew this tactic could not endure for very long.
In the van were numerous trolls of Mordor, screaming in their enslavement; dull-witted and yet armed, and no weapon could pierce their hide from afar. Huge hammers and axes they wielded, but no weapon was so deadly as their hands; helms were of no use against the Hobbit-sized fists of the trolls. At last the Orcs broke through, for the trolls had stunned many of the Host of the West; gateways into the heart of the defence.
Aragorn stood still beneath his banners. He knew that he would die here today, and he thought of Éowyn. How would she take the news of his death? He had betrayed her. He would die.
The fighting spirit of the Dúnedain awoke suddenly within Aragorn. "Not yet!" he yelled, and the men around him wondered. Their hillock was as an island in an ocean of foes. Aragorn drew Andúril and raised it above his head, when suddenly he heard Gandalf: "The Eagles are coming!"
Heads were thrown back and others took up the cry. Soon the battlefield rang with Orc shouts and Easterling curses, but above it all was the clear call of the Host of the West: "The Eagles are coming!"
And they chased the Nazgûl from the air, a great wind sweeping the multitudes below them, and the hosts of Mordor trembled. They were possessed of a great fear and hesitated as they fought. The Host of the West took them to pieces in this moment of uncertainty.
Aragorn waved Andúril and charged forwards, screaming, "For Middle-earth!" The companies burst out from beneath their banners, reinforcing their front lines; an ever-widening circle formed in the midst of the foul hordes.
He ducked and weaved, the familiar dance of battle coming easily to his feet. He slashed at the Orcs before him as more rushed to fill the voids he created. The forces of goblins from the Misty Mountains were spent and great Uruks of Mordor came to the fore. They wore superior armour, but it was no match for Andúril and black blood stained Aragorn's feet, drenching his armoured boots.
And the host paused. Gandalf threw up his arms, Glamdring pointing skywards, and he cried, "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"
The earth quivered; the Mountain of Doom rose up, far behind the open gates. It was wreathed in flowing flame. Narchost and Carchost, the Towers of the Teeth that flanked the Black Gate, trembled and collapsed inside columns of dust. The Morannon blasted backwards, and the earth roared in the distance.
"The realm of Sauron is ended!" said Gandalf, and as he spoke, a massive wind-borne shadow blotted out the clouds, and it was gone.
But there were those who did not flee: men of the South and East, who had not been enslaved by Sauron, who had joined in pursuit of wealth and power. Their leaders banded together for a final assault on the Captains of the West.
Aragorn laughed, and he slew many of these evil men. Inwardly he rejoiced, for he had almost two lives of Men before him, and he would be King, and Éowyn would be his queen; the remnant of Sauron's forces was tiny.
And it was as these thoughts passed through Aragorn's head that he faced the king of a country on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn. Andúril created only tiny notches in the king's breastplate. The newcomer grinned evilly and his sword drove straight through Aragorn's mail...
===================
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)
I like the idea of quoting Tolkien and sticking it into the story, so some bits may seem familiar.
===================
"These we will take!" cried Gandalf, exerting power like a being greater than any human. Not for the first time, Aragorn wondered who exactly Gandalf was. "These we will take in memory of our friend. But as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves. Begone!"
The Mouth of Sauron obeyed; horns blew at his retreat and the Black Gate opened. A great host poured onto the field; the Captains of the West withdrew and the Orcs laughed.
A great shadow fell across Aragorn's heart and his hope died. He had expected this, but with barely six thousand men, it was certain death. The shock smote Aragorn like a bolt of lightning; he looked down to see an arrow lodged in a flow of his mail. It had not driven though, but he winced. There would be a bruise there tomorrow. If tomorrow came. Aragorn sent up a silent prayer, asking Manwë to speed Frodo and Sam to Orodruin.
He raised Arwen's banner, for though he no longer feigned love for her, the banner was indeed beautiful. Obscured by dust were the symbols of Rohan and Dol Amroth.
As always, Aragorn and his company made up the vanguard; the Dúnedain of the North and South - men of Arnor, Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth stood beside the fair sons of Elrond. The host of Mordor advanced, Orcs and Easterlings, led by innumerable arrows - and Nazgûl.
They screamed, so that the hosts of both East and West cowered and flinched, but the Orcs were slowed by the hillocks and foul pools they encountered ere they reached the hills upon which Aragorn stood, so the first attack was not so powerful as the enemies intended.
Therefore Host of the West were ready for the onslaught, with pikes and halberds slicing and skewering ten feet away from them; but they knew this tactic could not endure for very long.
In the van were numerous trolls of Mordor, screaming in their enslavement; dull-witted and yet armed, and no weapon could pierce their hide from afar. Huge hammers and axes they wielded, but no weapon was so deadly as their hands; helms were of no use against the Hobbit-sized fists of the trolls. At last the Orcs broke through, for the trolls had stunned many of the Host of the West; gateways into the heart of the defence.
Aragorn stood still beneath his banners. He knew that he would die here today, and he thought of Éowyn. How would she take the news of his death? He had betrayed her. He would die.
The fighting spirit of the Dúnedain awoke suddenly within Aragorn. "Not yet!" he yelled, and the men around him wondered. Their hillock was as an island in an ocean of foes. Aragorn drew Andúril and raised it above his head, when suddenly he heard Gandalf: "The Eagles are coming!"
Heads were thrown back and others took up the cry. Soon the battlefield rang with Orc shouts and Easterling curses, but above it all was the clear call of the Host of the West: "The Eagles are coming!"
And they chased the Nazgûl from the air, a great wind sweeping the multitudes below them, and the hosts of Mordor trembled. They were possessed of a great fear and hesitated as they fought. The Host of the West took them to pieces in this moment of uncertainty.
Aragorn waved Andúril and charged forwards, screaming, "For Middle-earth!" The companies burst out from beneath their banners, reinforcing their front lines; an ever-widening circle formed in the midst of the foul hordes.
He ducked and weaved, the familiar dance of battle coming easily to his feet. He slashed at the Orcs before him as more rushed to fill the voids he created. The forces of goblins from the Misty Mountains were spent and great Uruks of Mordor came to the fore. They wore superior armour, but it was no match for Andúril and black blood stained Aragorn's feet, drenching his armoured boots.
And the host paused. Gandalf threw up his arms, Glamdring pointing skywards, and he cried, "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"
The earth quivered; the Mountain of Doom rose up, far behind the open gates. It was wreathed in flowing flame. Narchost and Carchost, the Towers of the Teeth that flanked the Black Gate, trembled and collapsed inside columns of dust. The Morannon blasted backwards, and the earth roared in the distance.
"The realm of Sauron is ended!" said Gandalf, and as he spoke, a massive wind-borne shadow blotted out the clouds, and it was gone.
But there were those who did not flee: men of the South and East, who had not been enslaved by Sauron, who had joined in pursuit of wealth and power. Their leaders banded together for a final assault on the Captains of the West.
Aragorn laughed, and he slew many of these evil men. Inwardly he rejoiced, for he had almost two lives of Men before him, and he would be King, and Éowyn would be his queen; the remnant of Sauron's forces was tiny.
And it was as these thoughts passed through Aragorn's head that he faced the king of a country on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn. Andúril created only tiny notches in the king's breastplate. The newcomer grinned evilly and his sword drove straight through Aragorn's mail...
===================