CHAPTER 3
THE FIELD OF GONDOR
Folcwine had ridden for days upon days to Minas Tirith. He was exhausted and worn, as was Fleetfoot, his horse, but now a new emotion welled up within him as he looked upon the legendary White City: anger. Anger that this beautiful city was being put to the torch before his eyes, anger for the hundreds of women and children penned up in a death pen, anger that the proud though valiant men of Gondor were being mercilessly put to the sword.
His hand tightened around the haft of his spear as Theoden King rode down the line rallying his troops for a charge. Folcwine needed no encouragement. If he could, he would have ridden alone into the entire host of Mordor and when the host of Rohan blew their horns he put it to his lips and blew as loud a blast as he could on it. Folcwine then heard the King scream "Death!" and he bellowed it at the top of his lungs and it was repeated down the line. Theoden King at once charged forward on Snowmane. His troops started behind him still crying, "Death!"
Suddenly a volley of Orcish arrows laced the Rohirrim line. Several men fell, but Theoden King and his Riders of the Riddermark would not be gainsaid. They plowed into the lines of Orcs with a terrible wrath, cutting into the lines of Uruks, trampling with their horses, slashing with their swords, thrusting with their spears. Folcwine's anger turned to joy as the Orcs were pulling back from the Gate of the City and fled before the triumphant men of Rohan.
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Belecthor couldn't have been happier with this outcome, if he had planned it himself. His exhausted and beleaguered men of the City now finally had some relief. He ordered his men and those who were valiant enough to stay in the First Circle forward to aid the Rohirrim and forward they went; yet when they rushed out they encountered not Orcs, but Horselords. They stood face-to-face with their saviours and cried, "Cuio i Rohirrim annan!"* and when the tide of horsemen had passed, the Gondorians rushed behind the Rohirrim to avoid being trampled.
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Folcwine had been hacking, slaying, and chasing the Orcs back to the Anduin, when all of a sudden he saw a monstrous beast on the horizon, or more specifically 20 of them. Huge, lumbering, trampling things, with tusks twice as long as one of his spears, but still he remembered his dream, and Rian, Freawine and Deor, and the suffering folk of the White City and the cold fury welled up once more and when the King ordered the charge, he thundered after him once more and the cry of "Death!" rose up once more on the Fields of Pelennor, yet little did the men of Rohan know that it would be their own death as well as those of their foes. All order dissipated in the face of the fierce mumaks of Harad. Folcwine was fortunate enough to ride between the monsters, but sadly many of his fellow men did not and were lost under the great hooves of the beasts. He rode under one of them, hurled his spear at the knee of the monster, and then hacked its tendon with his throwing axe. He retrieved his spear just as the oliphaunt was stumbling. Several arrows of his countrymen finally brought it down. Yet, even as he emerged unharmed from under the beast. He saw dozens of Southrons scramble out from its corpse and attacked the Lord Eomer and his esquire, a beardless boy, scarce the age of 15. Eomer and his esquire were fighting all but surrounded. Folcwine and his best friend, Goldwine galloped straight for the Third Marshal and they broke upon the Haradrim like a firestorm on the plains. The two men, not only killed every single Southron single-handedly, but also had saved the King's Heir and his esquire. Yet even as the Marshal's life was saved, the other Marshals' lives, Theoden's and Grimbold's were lost. One to a fell beast the other to an orcish sword, yet Folcwine didn't find out until the end of the battle.
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Belecthor and his company had followed the Riders right into the path of the mumakil of Harad. Fortunately he found a stray mount from a fallen rider and took it for his own. He rallied his men to him. If the Riders of Rohan had enough trouble on horseback, the men of Emyn Arnen and Minas Tirith were worse so on foot, but being on foot also gave Belecthor's men a certain advantage, namely: They could scamper under a mumakil and have a greater chance of bringing it down with their swords, then the Riders could with their panicked horses.
The Captain of Gondor still had the now tattered banner he had grabbed in the City and even as Eowyn of Rohan dispatched the Fell King of Morgul, Belecthor encountered one of the several Orc captains riding a Warg. He watched him trying to rally the Orcs and Easterlings to his banner. He tucked the White Tree under his arm and grabbed a spear from a passing rider and hurled it at the Warg. It found the wolf's eye. It howled in one last yelp of pain and came crashing down. The Orc chief was unharmed however and with a wail of fury flung himself at the Captain of Gondor, flinging him from his horse and pinning him to the ground. The Orc raised his scimitar and growled fiercely.
Folcwine was shocked when his spear was suddenly grabbed from his hand and saw a Gondorian with a flowing black cape ride by and hurl a spear into the face of a Warg. Folcwine saw the man go down and an Orc throw him from his horse.
He drew his throwing axe, and with a keen yet swift aim hurled it at the Orc's head.
"So," thought Belecthor as the Orc raised his sword with a hideous howl of triumph, "This is how it ends: At the end of an Orcish blade. Perhaps it is good that I join my sons in death." But then the fateful stroke never came. He looked up and saw the Orc fall to the ground with an axe embedded in its skull. Just then a rider rode up. "Good captain!" he said, "Pray avail you of my axe and spear." Belecthor stood up in a daze. He pulled the axe from the dead Orc's head and grabbed his spear from the Warg's head and tossed them to the rider. In a daze, he grabbed his sword and dagger and pulled himself back onto his mount and pulled up beside the young Rohirrim.
"What is your name, young man?" asked Belecthor.
"Folcwine of the Westfold," replied the young man.
"I am in your debt Folcwine of the Westfold." Replied Belecthor.
"I believe that were I in your situation and you in mine you would have done the same for me, sir. What is your name?"
"Belecthor, Captain of the Company of Emyn Arnen, sir."
"Ah, a Captain. Are you sure you should be consorting with me, a common soldier, sir?"
"Well, soldier, let us commence to attack, shall we say, that company of Easterlings over yonder?"
"Good!"
"Soldiers of Emyn Arnen and the Westfold, forward!"
They charged, but as they came over to the ridge the Easterlings were on, they saw a sight that amazed and horrified the Captain of Gondor and Man of Rohan ever after: not Easterlings but an army. Wraith-like they were, ghostly shadows of what they once were. Belecthor and Folcwine had to calm their panicked horses.
"What is it?" said Folcwine.
"I know not," Replied the Captain, "I have heard tales from my youth of the Dead of the Mountain of Dunharrow, but I never thought to see them here visible before my very eyes."
"Are they for us, or against us?" "They seem to be cutting down our enemies with brutal precision, but- look over there! That mumak!" They watched as the ghoulish army spread over the beast and almost seemed to devour it. They then saw their leader. He was no ghoul or wraith, but a man, clothed in grey and green, as Belecthor had seen some Rangers of the North in his youth, yet his bearing was kingly, lordly, and he carried a sword of strange design, then he remembered sketches of Narsil, the Sword of Kings, he had seen in the Great Library and it dawned on him. "They are for us, Folcwine. They are fulfilling their oath to gain their rest." "Oath? Their rest?" "Back in the Second Age, these men swore an oath to Isildur to aid him in the fight against the enemy. They then rejected him when the time came to war, so the tales say and the King cursed them never to rest until they fulfilled their oath." "So there is something unique about this man." "He can be no other than Isildur's heir, Folcwine! Only the King of Gondor could bring these men back from the Accursed Mountain." "The King!" cried Folcwine. "Let us ride over to him and show him the power of the steel of the West!" "I do not think that this man needs any teaching about the power of steel, Man of Rohan, but you are right. We shall ride over to him and join him in the fight." "But, Captain, the Dead are moving straight towards us." Folcwine was right. They were like the wind over the Fields and when they came to them, they seemed to recognize their heraldry and moved over or around them. All they had to do now was stand and watch as the armies of Mordor fled, and fell, and died. The Dead seemed not to even use their swords; they seemed to pass through their enemies. Folcwine was particularly impressed when one of the King's elvish companions hauled himself onto a mumak and brought it down with three arrows. Belecthor looked rather nonplussed. "It's been done," He muttered. The battle ended soon afterwards, with the total destruction of Sauron's army and the victory of Gondor. Belecthor watched as the King dismissed the ghostly army. Amazed was he as he watched the spectral army vanish as speedily as they had come.
He saw Mithrandir and his men finally emerge from the City to greet the King, his companions, and the Rohirrim. He rode over to the Istari. Mithrandir looked shocked to see him. "I never thought see you alive again, you foolish Captain. You are an arrogant stubborn fool, but you are a good and brave man, Belecthor, Captain of the 5th Company of Emyn Arnen." Indeed, to the other men of the City the shattered remnants of Belecthor's Company seemed as those that have come back from the Dead and emerged alive but not unscathed. Indeed, out of the 150 who rushed out with Belecthor, 75 lay dead on the field. 25 were injured and being carried back to the city.
Belecthor looked across the Field of Pelennor and saw the ruined City of Osgiliath and the banner of Minas Morgul flying high in the breeze and a passion welled up within him. This was the ancient capital of his Kingdom and to see the banner of a defeated army over it broke his heart. He rode over to the King with Folcwine at his side.
"Your majesty, my name is Belecthor, Captain of the 5th Company of Emyn Arnen. I wish to lead a contingent of men to retake Osgiliath."
"How large a contingent?" came the voice of Eomer of Rohan.
"About 2,000 men, m'lord."
"Gandalf," said the King, "Can we spare 2,000?"
"I believe we can," replied the Maia . "You have your 2,000 men," said Eomer.
"You do," said the King, "But Belecthor, do not force anyone to ride who does wish to. Today has been a long day, as you well know."
"My Lord," said Belecthor bowing. "Folcwine, are you riding with me?"
"Indeed," said Folcwine, "I am far from weary today. I just need to find Goldwine."
He rode across scouring the battlefield for his friend. He found his crushed body near the corpse of a mumak. The appearance of his friend was so hideous that he scarce bring himself to look upon it. "At least he experienced little pain," he thought.
He then heard a voice: "It never gets any easier. We try to tell ourselves that this is war, that this is to be expected, but when you lose your sons, friends, your brothers in arms... I found this," he said. Folcwine turned and saw Belecthor holding an ornate helmet. "Folcwine, this belonged to Faramir. He was a dear, dear friend of mine. He was also a very valiant man. I have lost more in the past two days, than I have in all 25 years of my military service, however, Goldwine's death, Faramir's death was not in vain. Minas Tirith is saved, because of you and your heroic riders of the Riddermark. Take comfort in that. Will you ride with me to retake Osgiliath and avenge his death upon the swarthy men and Orcs who now occupy it? "Yes," Folcwine answered thickly, "I shall." Belecthor then rode into the White City and implored all valiant, unhurt men, who would to ride to Osgiliath and retake the ancient capital of Gondor to do so. In all, 1,000 Gondorians (including Belecthor's 50 men of Emyn Arnen) and 500 Rohirrim were available for the task. The other captains had ceded command of this expedition to him. The King's Elvish and Dwarvish companions had great desire to retake Osgiliath and the King consented. He learned their names as Legolas and Gimli and they received several strange glances from the men of Gondor and Rohan at seeing an Elf and a Dwarf together in the City. They had up to this point been helping Hurin, Warden of the Keys, clean up the scored and trampled field, but now they were ready for battle once more. Belecthor gave command of the Rohirrim to Folcwine, who was astonished beyond measure at assuming such a responsibility and when other more experienced Rohirrim soldiers protested, Belecthor said, "He has proven his mettle on the battlefield and that is all the evidence I need of his abilities. I shall say no more." He split the Gondorians into two large companies. He would have direct control over the first and seeing no other captain of Rohan or Gondor in sight, gave command of 500 Gondorians to Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. "Have you led men in combat before?" asked Belecthor. "I have been conducting the defence of my land since before you were in your mother's womb," replied the Elf. Belecthor smiled. "Very well then," he said, "Do we have any complaints of superiority in rank?" No one protested. The plan was simple: Belecthor would lead his 500 in a direct drive for the city with Folcwine and Legolas serving as flankers. His scouts had reported that there were a battalion of 500 Easterlings and about 200 Orcs and 900 Southrons remained in Osgiliath with one Nazgul. Folcwine would hit them from the left and Legolas on the right. Once within the city they would converge on the bridge and drive them from the eastern shore. Belecthor rode in front of the line of men, ready for battle once more. He held in one hand the banner of the White Tree and in the other his faithful sword, Uruksbane. Faramir's helm he had strapped to his saddle. "Men of the West," he cried aloud, "But two days ago, Faramir, Captain of the White Tower was slain with 200 of our finest knights! Their blood still soaks on this field and their heads have fallen into the Walls of our Sacred City and will this insult go unavenged? Shall Rohan and Gondor stand idly by, while the banner of the Foul Moon flies flapping in the breeze?"
"Nay!" came the cry from the troops. Belecthor then sheathed his sword and grabbed Faramir's helm and held it aloft for all the men to see. "Then, remember Faramir, men! Remember Faramir and reclaim this city, not merely for Gondor alone, but for the honour of the Westfold and Fenmarch! Forward!" He thrust Faramir's helm into his saddle and drew his sword and thundered forward. Folcwine's and Legolas' men followed swiftly behind him.
It was nighttime. The Easterlings and Southrons were conducting their now routine night watches and then all of a sudden, they heard loud cries and shouts and hooves and many feet thundering in their direction and before they could even get any sense of what was happening, many met their ends at the point of a Rohirrim spear or a Gondorian sword or an Elf arrow or a Dwarf axe.
It was a short and swift fight. Belecthor's men being the attackers and knowing the city as well as they did swiftly overwhelmed the men of Rhun and Harad, when all of a sudden they heard a horrible shrieking cry and the Captain of Gondor saw a Nazgul flying overhead, but it was a subdued cry, for its Lord was destroyed and its comrades scattered. It rushed for Belecthor, but Belecthor side swept it and plunged the tip of the flagpole into the beast's chest. The Nazgul fell and would have been overborne, had it not been for a shield wall of Easterlings that formed around him as Belecthor moved in for the kill. As Belecthor moved on, he noticed several of his men rush up behind him and hack and swipe at the beast's carcass, for this had taken the lives of their friends, brothers, fathers, and other relatives. Folcwine and Legolas rode to Belecthor and reported that the enemy was flying for the river and safety. "Folcwine, seal off the fords! Legolas, advance your men across the bridges the enemy has fashioned and cut them off from the eastern side. My men and I shall make a direct push for the main bridge! Any man who surrenders, take prisoner, slay any and every Orc! Move out!" The two rode off, Legolas to the right and Folcwine to the left.
The enemy was bewildered, tired, and trapped. Desperately looking for an escape they found none and either surrendered or died where they stood. In all, Belecthor, son of Vorondil and Captain of Gondor, with his men killed 200 Orcs, 450 Easterlings and 700 Southrons, captured 200 Southrons and 25 Easterlings, and captured 8 banners of Morgul, Rhun, and Harad. Belecthor had lost only 50 men killed and 25 wounded. Only 25 Easterlings and the Nazgul escaped the city alive and that through hard fighting. Belecthor rushed to the topmost, easternmost wall on the eastern side of Osgiliath, cut down the banner of Minas Morgul, and thrust the banner of the White Tree, stained with the blood of the Nazgul beast into the wall and cried, "The banner of Gondor is stained with the blood of Mordor! Sons of Gondor, men of Rohan, Elf, and Dwarf, the City of Osgiliath, once and through all the ages has been reclaimed for Gondor!" and thunderous cheers and clanking of sword and spear upon shield rose up on high throughout the Citadel of Stars.
*Means: "Long live Rohirrim!" in Gondorian
A/N: Chapter 4 coming later. Please read and review.
THE FIELD OF GONDOR
Folcwine had ridden for days upon days to Minas Tirith. He was exhausted and worn, as was Fleetfoot, his horse, but now a new emotion welled up within him as he looked upon the legendary White City: anger. Anger that this beautiful city was being put to the torch before his eyes, anger for the hundreds of women and children penned up in a death pen, anger that the proud though valiant men of Gondor were being mercilessly put to the sword.
His hand tightened around the haft of his spear as Theoden King rode down the line rallying his troops for a charge. Folcwine needed no encouragement. If he could, he would have ridden alone into the entire host of Mordor and when the host of Rohan blew their horns he put it to his lips and blew as loud a blast as he could on it. Folcwine then heard the King scream "Death!" and he bellowed it at the top of his lungs and it was repeated down the line. Theoden King at once charged forward on Snowmane. His troops started behind him still crying, "Death!"
Suddenly a volley of Orcish arrows laced the Rohirrim line. Several men fell, but Theoden King and his Riders of the Riddermark would not be gainsaid. They plowed into the lines of Orcs with a terrible wrath, cutting into the lines of Uruks, trampling with their horses, slashing with their swords, thrusting with their spears. Folcwine's anger turned to joy as the Orcs were pulling back from the Gate of the City and fled before the triumphant men of Rohan.
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Belecthor couldn't have been happier with this outcome, if he had planned it himself. His exhausted and beleaguered men of the City now finally had some relief. He ordered his men and those who were valiant enough to stay in the First Circle forward to aid the Rohirrim and forward they went; yet when they rushed out they encountered not Orcs, but Horselords. They stood face-to-face with their saviours and cried, "Cuio i Rohirrim annan!"* and when the tide of horsemen had passed, the Gondorians rushed behind the Rohirrim to avoid being trampled.
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Folcwine had been hacking, slaying, and chasing the Orcs back to the Anduin, when all of a sudden he saw a monstrous beast on the horizon, or more specifically 20 of them. Huge, lumbering, trampling things, with tusks twice as long as one of his spears, but still he remembered his dream, and Rian, Freawine and Deor, and the suffering folk of the White City and the cold fury welled up once more and when the King ordered the charge, he thundered after him once more and the cry of "Death!" rose up once more on the Fields of Pelennor, yet little did the men of Rohan know that it would be their own death as well as those of their foes. All order dissipated in the face of the fierce mumaks of Harad. Folcwine was fortunate enough to ride between the monsters, but sadly many of his fellow men did not and were lost under the great hooves of the beasts. He rode under one of them, hurled his spear at the knee of the monster, and then hacked its tendon with his throwing axe. He retrieved his spear just as the oliphaunt was stumbling. Several arrows of his countrymen finally brought it down. Yet, even as he emerged unharmed from under the beast. He saw dozens of Southrons scramble out from its corpse and attacked the Lord Eomer and his esquire, a beardless boy, scarce the age of 15. Eomer and his esquire were fighting all but surrounded. Folcwine and his best friend, Goldwine galloped straight for the Third Marshal and they broke upon the Haradrim like a firestorm on the plains. The two men, not only killed every single Southron single-handedly, but also had saved the King's Heir and his esquire. Yet even as the Marshal's life was saved, the other Marshals' lives, Theoden's and Grimbold's were lost. One to a fell beast the other to an orcish sword, yet Folcwine didn't find out until the end of the battle.
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Belecthor and his company had followed the Riders right into the path of the mumakil of Harad. Fortunately he found a stray mount from a fallen rider and took it for his own. He rallied his men to him. If the Riders of Rohan had enough trouble on horseback, the men of Emyn Arnen and Minas Tirith were worse so on foot, but being on foot also gave Belecthor's men a certain advantage, namely: They could scamper under a mumakil and have a greater chance of bringing it down with their swords, then the Riders could with their panicked horses.
The Captain of Gondor still had the now tattered banner he had grabbed in the City and even as Eowyn of Rohan dispatched the Fell King of Morgul, Belecthor encountered one of the several Orc captains riding a Warg. He watched him trying to rally the Orcs and Easterlings to his banner. He tucked the White Tree under his arm and grabbed a spear from a passing rider and hurled it at the Warg. It found the wolf's eye. It howled in one last yelp of pain and came crashing down. The Orc chief was unharmed however and with a wail of fury flung himself at the Captain of Gondor, flinging him from his horse and pinning him to the ground. The Orc raised his scimitar and growled fiercely.
Folcwine was shocked when his spear was suddenly grabbed from his hand and saw a Gondorian with a flowing black cape ride by and hurl a spear into the face of a Warg. Folcwine saw the man go down and an Orc throw him from his horse.
He drew his throwing axe, and with a keen yet swift aim hurled it at the Orc's head.
"So," thought Belecthor as the Orc raised his sword with a hideous howl of triumph, "This is how it ends: At the end of an Orcish blade. Perhaps it is good that I join my sons in death." But then the fateful stroke never came. He looked up and saw the Orc fall to the ground with an axe embedded in its skull. Just then a rider rode up. "Good captain!" he said, "Pray avail you of my axe and spear." Belecthor stood up in a daze. He pulled the axe from the dead Orc's head and grabbed his spear from the Warg's head and tossed them to the rider. In a daze, he grabbed his sword and dagger and pulled himself back onto his mount and pulled up beside the young Rohirrim.
"What is your name, young man?" asked Belecthor.
"Folcwine of the Westfold," replied the young man.
"I am in your debt Folcwine of the Westfold." Replied Belecthor.
"I believe that were I in your situation and you in mine you would have done the same for me, sir. What is your name?"
"Belecthor, Captain of the Company of Emyn Arnen, sir."
"Ah, a Captain. Are you sure you should be consorting with me, a common soldier, sir?"
"Well, soldier, let us commence to attack, shall we say, that company of Easterlings over yonder?"
"Good!"
"Soldiers of Emyn Arnen and the Westfold, forward!"
They charged, but as they came over to the ridge the Easterlings were on, they saw a sight that amazed and horrified the Captain of Gondor and Man of Rohan ever after: not Easterlings but an army. Wraith-like they were, ghostly shadows of what they once were. Belecthor and Folcwine had to calm their panicked horses.
"What is it?" said Folcwine.
"I know not," Replied the Captain, "I have heard tales from my youth of the Dead of the Mountain of Dunharrow, but I never thought to see them here visible before my very eyes."
"Are they for us, or against us?" "They seem to be cutting down our enemies with brutal precision, but- look over there! That mumak!" They watched as the ghoulish army spread over the beast and almost seemed to devour it. They then saw their leader. He was no ghoul or wraith, but a man, clothed in grey and green, as Belecthor had seen some Rangers of the North in his youth, yet his bearing was kingly, lordly, and he carried a sword of strange design, then he remembered sketches of Narsil, the Sword of Kings, he had seen in the Great Library and it dawned on him. "They are for us, Folcwine. They are fulfilling their oath to gain their rest." "Oath? Their rest?" "Back in the Second Age, these men swore an oath to Isildur to aid him in the fight against the enemy. They then rejected him when the time came to war, so the tales say and the King cursed them never to rest until they fulfilled their oath." "So there is something unique about this man." "He can be no other than Isildur's heir, Folcwine! Only the King of Gondor could bring these men back from the Accursed Mountain." "The King!" cried Folcwine. "Let us ride over to him and show him the power of the steel of the West!" "I do not think that this man needs any teaching about the power of steel, Man of Rohan, but you are right. We shall ride over to him and join him in the fight." "But, Captain, the Dead are moving straight towards us." Folcwine was right. They were like the wind over the Fields and when they came to them, they seemed to recognize their heraldry and moved over or around them. All they had to do now was stand and watch as the armies of Mordor fled, and fell, and died. The Dead seemed not to even use their swords; they seemed to pass through their enemies. Folcwine was particularly impressed when one of the King's elvish companions hauled himself onto a mumak and brought it down with three arrows. Belecthor looked rather nonplussed. "It's been done," He muttered. The battle ended soon afterwards, with the total destruction of Sauron's army and the victory of Gondor. Belecthor watched as the King dismissed the ghostly army. Amazed was he as he watched the spectral army vanish as speedily as they had come.
He saw Mithrandir and his men finally emerge from the City to greet the King, his companions, and the Rohirrim. He rode over to the Istari. Mithrandir looked shocked to see him. "I never thought see you alive again, you foolish Captain. You are an arrogant stubborn fool, but you are a good and brave man, Belecthor, Captain of the 5th Company of Emyn Arnen." Indeed, to the other men of the City the shattered remnants of Belecthor's Company seemed as those that have come back from the Dead and emerged alive but not unscathed. Indeed, out of the 150 who rushed out with Belecthor, 75 lay dead on the field. 25 were injured and being carried back to the city.
Belecthor looked across the Field of Pelennor and saw the ruined City of Osgiliath and the banner of Minas Morgul flying high in the breeze and a passion welled up within him. This was the ancient capital of his Kingdom and to see the banner of a defeated army over it broke his heart. He rode over to the King with Folcwine at his side.
"Your majesty, my name is Belecthor, Captain of the 5th Company of Emyn Arnen. I wish to lead a contingent of men to retake Osgiliath."
"How large a contingent?" came the voice of Eomer of Rohan.
"About 2,000 men, m'lord."
"Gandalf," said the King, "Can we spare 2,000?"
"I believe we can," replied the Maia . "You have your 2,000 men," said Eomer.
"You do," said the King, "But Belecthor, do not force anyone to ride who does wish to. Today has been a long day, as you well know."
"My Lord," said Belecthor bowing. "Folcwine, are you riding with me?"
"Indeed," said Folcwine, "I am far from weary today. I just need to find Goldwine."
He rode across scouring the battlefield for his friend. He found his crushed body near the corpse of a mumak. The appearance of his friend was so hideous that he scarce bring himself to look upon it. "At least he experienced little pain," he thought.
He then heard a voice: "It never gets any easier. We try to tell ourselves that this is war, that this is to be expected, but when you lose your sons, friends, your brothers in arms... I found this," he said. Folcwine turned and saw Belecthor holding an ornate helmet. "Folcwine, this belonged to Faramir. He was a dear, dear friend of mine. He was also a very valiant man. I have lost more in the past two days, than I have in all 25 years of my military service, however, Goldwine's death, Faramir's death was not in vain. Minas Tirith is saved, because of you and your heroic riders of the Riddermark. Take comfort in that. Will you ride with me to retake Osgiliath and avenge his death upon the swarthy men and Orcs who now occupy it? "Yes," Folcwine answered thickly, "I shall." Belecthor then rode into the White City and implored all valiant, unhurt men, who would to ride to Osgiliath and retake the ancient capital of Gondor to do so. In all, 1,000 Gondorians (including Belecthor's 50 men of Emyn Arnen) and 500 Rohirrim were available for the task. The other captains had ceded command of this expedition to him. The King's Elvish and Dwarvish companions had great desire to retake Osgiliath and the King consented. He learned their names as Legolas and Gimli and they received several strange glances from the men of Gondor and Rohan at seeing an Elf and a Dwarf together in the City. They had up to this point been helping Hurin, Warden of the Keys, clean up the scored and trampled field, but now they were ready for battle once more. Belecthor gave command of the Rohirrim to Folcwine, who was astonished beyond measure at assuming such a responsibility and when other more experienced Rohirrim soldiers protested, Belecthor said, "He has proven his mettle on the battlefield and that is all the evidence I need of his abilities. I shall say no more." He split the Gondorians into two large companies. He would have direct control over the first and seeing no other captain of Rohan or Gondor in sight, gave command of 500 Gondorians to Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. "Have you led men in combat before?" asked Belecthor. "I have been conducting the defence of my land since before you were in your mother's womb," replied the Elf. Belecthor smiled. "Very well then," he said, "Do we have any complaints of superiority in rank?" No one protested. The plan was simple: Belecthor would lead his 500 in a direct drive for the city with Folcwine and Legolas serving as flankers. His scouts had reported that there were a battalion of 500 Easterlings and about 200 Orcs and 900 Southrons remained in Osgiliath with one Nazgul. Folcwine would hit them from the left and Legolas on the right. Once within the city they would converge on the bridge and drive them from the eastern shore. Belecthor rode in front of the line of men, ready for battle once more. He held in one hand the banner of the White Tree and in the other his faithful sword, Uruksbane. Faramir's helm he had strapped to his saddle. "Men of the West," he cried aloud, "But two days ago, Faramir, Captain of the White Tower was slain with 200 of our finest knights! Their blood still soaks on this field and their heads have fallen into the Walls of our Sacred City and will this insult go unavenged? Shall Rohan and Gondor stand idly by, while the banner of the Foul Moon flies flapping in the breeze?"
"Nay!" came the cry from the troops. Belecthor then sheathed his sword and grabbed Faramir's helm and held it aloft for all the men to see. "Then, remember Faramir, men! Remember Faramir and reclaim this city, not merely for Gondor alone, but for the honour of the Westfold and Fenmarch! Forward!" He thrust Faramir's helm into his saddle and drew his sword and thundered forward. Folcwine's and Legolas' men followed swiftly behind him.
It was nighttime. The Easterlings and Southrons were conducting their now routine night watches and then all of a sudden, they heard loud cries and shouts and hooves and many feet thundering in their direction and before they could even get any sense of what was happening, many met their ends at the point of a Rohirrim spear or a Gondorian sword or an Elf arrow or a Dwarf axe.
It was a short and swift fight. Belecthor's men being the attackers and knowing the city as well as they did swiftly overwhelmed the men of Rhun and Harad, when all of a sudden they heard a horrible shrieking cry and the Captain of Gondor saw a Nazgul flying overhead, but it was a subdued cry, for its Lord was destroyed and its comrades scattered. It rushed for Belecthor, but Belecthor side swept it and plunged the tip of the flagpole into the beast's chest. The Nazgul fell and would have been overborne, had it not been for a shield wall of Easterlings that formed around him as Belecthor moved in for the kill. As Belecthor moved on, he noticed several of his men rush up behind him and hack and swipe at the beast's carcass, for this had taken the lives of their friends, brothers, fathers, and other relatives. Folcwine and Legolas rode to Belecthor and reported that the enemy was flying for the river and safety. "Folcwine, seal off the fords! Legolas, advance your men across the bridges the enemy has fashioned and cut them off from the eastern side. My men and I shall make a direct push for the main bridge! Any man who surrenders, take prisoner, slay any and every Orc! Move out!" The two rode off, Legolas to the right and Folcwine to the left.
The enemy was bewildered, tired, and trapped. Desperately looking for an escape they found none and either surrendered or died where they stood. In all, Belecthor, son of Vorondil and Captain of Gondor, with his men killed 200 Orcs, 450 Easterlings and 700 Southrons, captured 200 Southrons and 25 Easterlings, and captured 8 banners of Morgul, Rhun, and Harad. Belecthor had lost only 50 men killed and 25 wounded. Only 25 Easterlings and the Nazgul escaped the city alive and that through hard fighting. Belecthor rushed to the topmost, easternmost wall on the eastern side of Osgiliath, cut down the banner of Minas Morgul, and thrust the banner of the White Tree, stained with the blood of the Nazgul beast into the wall and cried, "The banner of Gondor is stained with the blood of Mordor! Sons of Gondor, men of Rohan, Elf, and Dwarf, the City of Osgiliath, once and through all the ages has been reclaimed for Gondor!" and thunderous cheers and clanking of sword and spear upon shield rose up on high throughout the Citadel of Stars.
*Means: "Long live Rohirrim!" in Gondorian
A/N: Chapter 4 coming later. Please read and review.