Chapter 8
The overpowering sense of lost hope and depression that had begun to settle upon the company of the West soared away when the first sound of the Eagle cry filled the air. The great Golden Brown Eagles dived and swooped upon the host, pecking and ripping with beaks and talons. Some would soar high into the sky with one or two orcs dangling beneath the feathered body and with a cry the long clawed talons would open and the orcs would fall to their deaths many feet below, broken and twisted upon the rocks.
The arrival of the eagles caused Sauron to pause in his battle. He knew what this meat, he turned and saw them approaching, their voices lost in the commotion of battle.
A bizarre group they made, a Man, a Wizard, an Elf, a Dwarf and a Hobbit forcing their way through the cowardly number of creatures that had begun to retreat from the thickest of battle.
It sent shivers down the normally unruffled spine of Sauron, the sword that bought his downfall rose and fell with all the power and destruction he could recall. He was not going to allow the last and broken line of Kings ruin him once more.
Tightening his grip upon his mace the bulky figure of Sauron turned his back upon the army of the West and hurried to greet the new threat that ha emerged out of his own land. He cursed himself for not swatting the Elf and Dwarf earlier, now he may pay for it.
Elrond snapped his head around at the sound of the new arrivals of Aragorn, Gandalf, Sam, Legolas and Gimli and did something he had not done properly for many months. He smiled.
But his joy did not long. Sauron was on the move – moving towards them in long purposeful strides, his shoulders square and his body rigid. Then he understood as his eyes caught the violent movement of battle beyond Sauron's bulk. Aragorn's sword forged with the Shards of Nasal and Aragorn himself, Isildur's heir, last of the Dúnedains. Sauron did not want history to repeat itself. He was fearful of Aragorn, of what he had become and what he wielded.
Elrond broke into a fast run, every strand of his mind and body focused. He knew what he must do – he must reach Sauron before he reached Aragorn. Like a father protecting his son, but this was far more serious then just love. It was the life of the future that was at stake.
He was here on the battlefield because of his love for Estel, his adopted son which he had protected and bought up like his own. He was rushing to confront the darkest enemy of all time for Estel, for his life and the people he loved and fought for.
Elrond had seen Estel's death, and he had to interfere and give his Hope life.
To give the world Hope.
If it were not for the determined and lionhearted friends around him Sam would have stopped dead at the sight that met his eyes. Carnage was the only way to describe it. Men, Orcs, Elves, Dwarves, Eagles, Wargs and Trolls – everything mixed into one each fighting desperately hard.
But the sight that filled with the most fear was the large form of Sauron he had just witnessed sending Men and Elves flying through the air as if they were just leaves caught up in a strong wind. But he found himself going along with the pace of the others beside him and strangely he felt protected and at ease. He didn't have time to think or pause as he stroked Sting fatally upon the creatures that stood in his path. This was the Final War and on the behalf of all Hobbits and Halflings he fought on as strongly as any solider would do.
This was more then just a matter of life and death; this was about domination, existence, love, power and freedom. Freedom from a dark and terrorizing future where hope would not reach them, where the sun would never rise and the sound of laughter would be only a memory. A life without greenery and laughter, no hope and joy was not worth living for Sam thought. He might as well die trying to stop that becoming then to live with the depressing and bleak future under the evil watch of Sauron.
The once snarling sounds of the orc host were screeching in fear and running blindly. In front of them stood the army of the West still fighting strongly even after everything had been thrown at them, above the Eagles swooped and soared, their path of retreat was now blocked by the strange party of Man, Elf, Dwarf and Hobbit driven into a frenzy. They were trapped with no escape but to accept their own death.
The once organized and confident host army were disorientated and petrified, the only one that had kept a cool head was the powerful and frightening bulk of Sauron.
The sheer size of Sauron alone was enough to make any living thing turn and run or freeze in fear. But Sauron did not have that affect on Aragorn and his company nor Elrond who ran full pace to catch him. The King of Gondor turned his attention to the enemy his ancestors had feared and felt strangely calm. He raised his sword to his shoulder height taunting Sauron with the weapon that ruined him before, and Sauron mirrored him with his mace holding it his shoulder height some way above Aragorn's head.
The two were about to exchange blows in what could have been a very short battle when something with lightening speeds intercepted.
With all the might his wearily body could produce Elrond threw his weight and power behind his elven blade and with a jarring blow broke the mace of Sauron in two.
Slowly it seemed the towering metal head of Sauron turned and looked at the elf that out of nowhere had disabled his weapon. Recognition flickered across his mind and savagely lashed out at Elrond with the stub of his weapon knocking him sprawling to the ground.
Instantly Aragorn leapt after them anger and fear mingled into one for his foster father but a sudden tide of fleeing enemies pulled him further away, the unbroken line kept him at bay. His frustrated cries and desperate attempts to break through the line failed. He looked round himself for the familiar faces of Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Faramir or Éomer but found none. A knot tightly formed in his gut.
Elrond was totally alone, and was about to die.
The blow knocked the air out of him and he lay still for a second trying to gain his breath, his chest inflating painfully. Elrond tasted blood but bravely stood again to accept more pain as Sauron stepped towards him. Gripping his curved sword in a vice like grip Elrond stared ahead without fear, nor did he flinch when the large bulk of Sauron raised a metal fist and beat him cruelly.
Pushing himself from the ground once more Elrond raised his long sword with a steady hand and quickly flashed the blade before his enemy, his blows bounced weakly off the thick, heavy armour of his foe. With a powerful blow with the handle of his metal mace Sauron bought a heavy hand across his body and with a gentle tinkle Elrond's blade shattered leaving only the hilt remaining in his hand.
Not in the slightest bit ruffled Elrond threw the hilt where it ricocheted off Sauron's horse head shaped helmet and he slipped his hands behind his back freeing the pair of lightweight knives he always kept for desperate measures. Sauron took a step forward and raised his mace to sweep it in the face of the Elven Lord, but he was faster and nimbly ducked underneath Sauron's extended arm and slipped behind him, his knives nicking the thick armour hunting for weak points. Sauron snapped round, twisting at the waist and dealt a blow. Instantly Elrond crumpled but caught himself before he fell completely, a sharp strong kick to the gut put him down. Again the metal foot of Sauron drove into his tightly curled body.
Aragorn's hoarse cries reflected the pain Elrond must have been in but he held onto his pride and did not let his agony show by keeping his lips firmly closed even under the beatings from his foe. Finally the kicking stopped and Elrond slowly rose to his feet, beaten and bloody.
The mace staff came down quickly but Elrond dug deep and pared the blow, ducked beneath Sauron's long, heavy arms and rammed his small blades into a chink in the armour that suddenly showed when Sauron moved. The gap in between the plates where chest plate met the armour if his upper body. Sauron stumbled backwards his jaw clenched with pain and swept his arms across his metal body which shone with spilt blood. Wearily Elrond ducked the mad flying arms but felt himself becoming drained with each passing moment. A lapse in concentration ended the duel between him and Sauron. A hard armoured arm smacked into the side of his head painfully hard. Immediately his senses began to spin out of control and darkness swallowed him, the ground leapt up to embrace him hungrily.
An agonizing roar ripped from Aragorn's throat as he watched helplessly as Elrond fell and remained still, unmoving upon the battlefield. He felt his blood boil and his skin burn with pure hatred as his eyes turned to Sauron, his armour strained with blood. Bloodlust began to cloud his vision and his judgement, fuelled with explosive anger and energy he barged through the thinning line of retreating enemies on a direct, one way line to Sauron. The enemy of the Free People of Middle-Earth, the one his foster father had died trying to save him from.
Aragorn's agonizing cries went fell upon every set of ears on the battlefield. Thranduil spun upon his heel in the direction of the pained cry and felt tears form in his blue eyes. A blur passed him and he threw out his arms to catch his flying son. His arms connected and he battled to hold the fiery aggression and deep set love for his friend that urged his son into a battle that was way above him
"No, Legolas!" Thranduil panted, "It is not your battle, please be still"" he pleaded. The strength of his once broken son was unbelievable.
"No, I have to help him!" Legolas protested both in voice and in strength, "I must he needs me!"
"He does not need his friends to suffer the same fate as the ones before him!" Thranduil dug his heels into the soil to keep himself from being dragged away. "This has to happen, it is fate. They must battle unhindered!"
"No, no! I won't let him die alone, I must help him!"
"Legolas please! Stay; there is nothing you can do!" Thranduil felt his grip begging to slip and he knew if he did not hold on his son would die. "No, stay, don't, no Legolas, please!" he pleaded.
Legolas roared and increased his struggles as ahead of him the pair began to exchange blows, but Thranduil's grip held him at bay: "Estel!" he screamed.
Sauron's first blow soared over Aragorn's head as he ducked, the pair were determined to out do the other and live. Sauron: to end the forever haunting loss to Isildur and for total domination. Aragorn: for revenge for the death of Elrond and for the Free People.
His sword scraped the armour and skidded away. Spinning round Sauron clubbed Aragorn upon the shoulder.
A distinct crack reached his ears followed by a painful gasp uttered from Aragorn's lips. The man stumbled for several paces feeling strangely lopsided and the grip on his sword was slipping. The long hilt and heavy blade needed both hands to pare and fight properly even with gritted teeth and all his willpower he could not make his left hand respond.
Again the hand of Sauron rose and fell and as Elrond before him, the ground seemed to leap up and grasp him.
Above the dim of battle and the thumbing of his heat within his ears he heard Legolas' pained scream of his name. And through the dullness that was creeping into his mind Aragorn rolled over onto his back as Sauron towered over him his hands reached to crush him. Instantly his hand groped for his sword but it was just out of fingers reach. No amount of stretching or praying would bring his hand any closer, cruelly the very tips of his fingers lightly touched the rounded hilt and it slipped further away from his grasp.
The metal gloved hands fell upon his tired body and pulled him from the ground, further away from his blade and salvation. The strong fingers tightened a torturing grip, one hand around his throat causing him to gasp and splutter the other crushing his sword arm painfully.
Darkness crept into his vision and the once desperate and paining cries of his fiends were fading as he struggled to breath. He was dying; this was the end he thought dimly.
Like a serious of paintings his life flashed before his eyes: the earliest memory of his father, his arrival in Rivendell, the death of his mother, Elrond telling him of his ancestors, his first meeting with the Mirkwood Elves, the first kiss he and Arwen shared, the long and arduous journeys he made as a Ranger, the first meeting with Gandalf. The fight on the Weathertop; the Ring around Frodo's neck, his own crowing ceremony, and then the Final Battle flickered before him.
Exhausted beyond all reckoning he dimly allowed himself to drift away, to accept death. But then a familiar face filled his mind, one he did not want to leave behind.
Across the miles between Minas Tirith and the Black Gate of Mordor Arwen's voice travelled strong and true like an arrow from a bow. Her sweet voice carried on the wind and fell upon the ears of all those across the world. Her words bought comfort to those crying and fearful children being comforted by their mothers, to those who where too sick and weak to fight, to those upon the verge of death, and to those upon the battlefield at Mordor.
Through the cloudy sky sun beams broke through and fell around her enhancing her words and her message which fell upon the innocent.
Her lips did not move, but her eyes shone and her heart bleed out her compassion, love and bravery: "Though all seems lost in this hour of darkness, Hope shall not fail us." She said, "By the power of the Valar the evil will be overthrown. The blade that was once Broken shall sing again."
"The blade that was once Broken shall sing again" Arwen's words bought his fading mind back into sharp focus again. He felt himself falling, the fatal grip around his neck and arm missing.
Opening his eyes in the dazzling light he shielded them with his bruised but usable arm. The overcast sky had been broken by the powerful grace of the Sun. Sauron and his creatures stood rooted to the spot blinded by the light, their arms wrapped about their heads trying to black out the suns light from their eyes.
Suddenly Aragorn knew what he must do.
He lunged for Andúril, the Flame of the West and swung the long blade towards his enemy as Isildur had done before him.
History was being repeated.
Finally Thranduil's grip on his fighting son fell away and Legolas ran to his friends' side. Above the clouds were breaking and the sun's beams were falling upon the dirt and blood streaked tired faces of the armies from the West.
The enemy had fled deep into the land of Mordor, its Gate stood deserted and open.
Tears fell steadily from Aragorn's eyes as he cradled Elrond's limp from in his own. A crowd gathered around him, his closest friends and step brothers knelt alongside, their faces grave and their eyes moist with unshed tears.
Though the armies from the West gained victory it had come at a very high price, many lives had been lost, and the most sobering death was that of Elrond's. He was the one who bought them all together to stand up and fight for the Free People, for their families and loved ones. Yet they lived and he had died. His death signalled the end of his race for the direct years afterwards the harbours were filled with vessels heading West. Filled with those who had lived through the battle and who had chosen to sail away from grief and pain to live an eternal and blissful life across the Sea.
After several minuets of weeping Aragorn rose and faced the crowd that surrounded him. His step brothers could see a change in him, they guessed the death of Elrond had unseated something within him, but then they caught the strange glitter in his eyes. He was set upon something, determined and focused.
Only when Gandalf moved aside could the crowd see the smouldering ring finger of Sauron lying between Andúril and Sauron's helmet. The crowd watched with held breath as Aragorn lifted the disintegrated finger in his hands leaving behind the Ring of Power upon his palm. The weight of the Ring was easing as its Master had passed away, but its strong and tempting whispers still remained. The glowering engraving began to fade upon the band and Ring began shrink to a size that would fit his fingers comfortably as if tempting him further.
Aragorn raised his head, "I know what I must do" he said. He also knew how difficult it would be for him as the weakness was already there in his blood, but he had to fight it. He had no choice.
Gandalf stepped forward his eyes watching Aragorn closely: "This is your test, every path you have trodden trough wilderness, through war has lead to this road"
Aragorn straightened himself, "I do not know what strength is in my blood but I will not allow myself to fall into the same trap as Isildur" he said.
Legolas stood beside him, "I will help you carry this burden" he said before anyone could stop him.
Aragorn turned to him and smiled, "I thank you my friend"
"I too will go with you Strider" Sam stood, "For I wish to see the end of this all"
Again Aragorn smiled and he gently ruffled the hobbits hair. "I will need your directions Sam. I have never trodden path so deep into Mordor, nor do I wish to again."
Instantly both Merry and Pippin leap into loud arguments commanding that they should also accompany them, but Gandalf waved a hand over them: "You two have had quite enough adventure and troubles for the moment" he said half finishing his sentence when he caught the glint in Gimli's eye, "And to you master dwarf I'd advise you do not go into Mordor either"
Gimli turned a sympatric face towards the wizard. "I owe you all my respect for a life time for what you have done, but I cannot let you go in your present state." Gandalf said very gently, his eyes trailing down the dwarf's blood streaked body and wearily face. "Your path runs alongside Legolas' for many years I am sure, but not for the moment, Gimli, my friend"
Admitting defeat Gimli finally stepped down and silently exchanged best wishes with envious glares towards Aragorn, Legolas and Sam.
Of course there are dangers with taking friends into hostile lands, though he did not say them. One was that they would encounter the enemy on a large scale and fall before they could even reach the mountain. Secondly, the others may be drawn to the power of the Ring and one by one they would fall under. The Ring would be desperate as it neared its place making, and would fight as hard as it possible could. With Legolas being mortal he would find it difficult to disregard the Rings beckoning's and Sam also as he had carried the Ring this far may suffer from some sort of withdrawal symptoms, but no one else would have the courage to join him.
Gandalf moved closer and placed a gentle hand upon Aragorn's shoulder: "The Ring will challenge you with every step you take. It will fight strongly as you near the mountain. It will call all evil to it to save it from its fate. Are you ready to take such a quest, my friend?" he asked.
Aragorn nodded, "I am ready. It is time for me to face my destiny one last time."
"The Ring will play with the minds of all three of you" Gandalf continued his eyes falling upon Legolas and Sam, "Be extra vigilant in your journey and good luck to you all"
Gwaihir the Windlord and Landroval his brother, greatest of all the Eagles of the North offered to fly the trio into the dark country over the enemy and set them down upon the mountain but Aragorn turned down their invitation.
"It would be all too tempting to fly away into the horizon never to come back" he said, "I thank you for your offer my comrades but you have already done more then we could have asked of you" he bowed his head.
They fluttered their brown feathers and replied; "You are indeed a noble man Elessar. May good fortune grace your path and give you a long, blissful life as King of Gondor" they said. "Farewell my friends, may we met again in happier times I hope"
With the remaining Eagles just behind them Gwaihir and Landroval spread their wings and took flight into the sky. They soared overhead several times, screeched farewells before turning north and vanishing out of sight.
As Aragorn, Sam and Legolas moved away towards the broken Black Gate guilt set in onto the remaining company as they watched them walk away. Only his closet friends who had been through more then anyone could ever imagine had volunteered go with him, once again on a dangerous quest. Faramir watched his King and friend walk away, his heart feeling heavy with guilt. Aragorn, who had been through so much had to carry on, exhausted and battered while he did nothing but watch. He couldn't even help his King when he was broken and exhausted. He felt dirty, useless and called himself a coward under his breath as the company turned their back upon man, elf and hobbit as they retreated to the comfort of Minas Tirith.
The hairs on back of Éomer's neck tingled strangely as he rode away with the remaining company. He felt uneasy about leaving Aragorn, Sam and Legolas alone again in the dark and dangerous land to fight for themselves doing the near impossible. Each pace led him further away from the King of Gondor the more he began to fear for his safety.
Their journey would not be easy and uneventful he was sure.
AN: A short chapter compared to some of my others but there is a lot for you all to take in. What do you think? Is it too far fetched? Am I too mean to the characters? All responses are loved and taken seriously.
And just to say sorry I've given you the next chapter too! I really should have updated along time ago…
Ringmarciel: Yes… ummm update – sorry! But thank you for telling me you liked my work I just feel ashamed that I haven't updated sooner…