Grond's Appointment
Demi was on the ground, after being knocked down by a rather large orc as he
fled the scene. She slowly sat up, seeing that everyone had gone already,
bodies scattered around her. In the distance she could make out a few
men walking towards her.
"Here my lord! Faramir, the steward's son…and his brother Boromir! And over
there!" a voice called. Demi stood up and saw Prince Imrahil make his way
over quickly,intending to helpher to her feet.
"My lady, are you well enough to walk?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you…I'm none the worse for wear."Demi said as he helped her over
to Boromir and Faramir.
Boromir was thrown over his younger brother; Faramir was unconscious. Boromir
himself was awfully pale and weakened, near death it seemed.
"Boromir!" Demi called and ran over to him, then fell to the ground by his
side, trying to revive him with her words. "Wake up! Please!"
"Get these three on horse back and take them back to the city at once!"
Imrahil commanded to his men.
"Boromir! Faramir!" the men cried, weeping in the streets of Minas Tirith as
the now small company returned, but neither of the sons of the steward
answered the calls. They were brought immediately to the white tower and
brought before Denethor.
"You sons Lord, have returned with the Lady Vairarista after completing many
great deeds." Imrahil said. He then continued the story for what he saw and
Demi filled in the blanks. Denethor's face then grew as pale, likeningthe Lord's face tohis sons as news came that the city had been besieged, surrounded by the enemy.
"My lord, we have seen no Rohirrim. They will not come to our aid now, and
even if they could, foes stand between them and the city." Ingold said, the
man Demi and her friends had met at the outer walls.
The enemy readied itself outside the city, digging trenches andsuch, well
out of bowshot. By the afternoon, peril came to the walls and all those who
could be spared to save the city were setting fiery arrows to the orcs. The
chaos had begun. Heads of the fallen Gondorianswent sailing into the air,
landing beyond the walls, their faces grim or showing great pain, branded
with the token handof Sauron. Few now had the heart to stand against the enemy,
all seemed so lost. The Nazgûl circled above the city and now none stood for
fear, but cowered on the ground hoping the menace would pass.
From within their rooms, the sons of the steward rested, blissfully unawares
in their condition of what evil was befalling their beloved city and home.
Faramir had broken into a fever and was feared to be dying, but the youngest
son was in no worse a condition than his elder brother. Demi sat by his side
as Boromir lay pale, his skin loosing its heat. He had suffered a puncture
to the chest by a hammer from an orc who had attacked Faramir and left him
for dead. Boromir came to save his younger brotherand managed to destroy
his foe, but this valorious act wasnot without consequence. The wound was in terrible condition and few supposed he would survive the night.
Demi sat muttering all the spells she could remember to bring just another
hour of life to her dear friend. Sadly the incatationsstrengthfaded quickly and she was loosing hope. There was nothing more in her power she could do.
"Anírach únad
Egor gurth hen
Han cenin vi chen lín
Egor ú-erin le devi
Tellin men achae
Brennin men anann
Rago! Ú-erich leithio,
Ú-erich o nin gwanno."
She sang slowly, her voice stuttering on occasion as a fresh wave of tears
fell down her cheeks. In her wildest hopes she wanted that to be enough to
revive the son of Gondor, but such hopes were folly. He lay silent and still
on the bed, making no attempts to regain consciousness. A healer entered the
room then quietly and made his way over to Demi, placing a sympathetic hand
on her shoulder.
"Go now, my lady and take rest of your own. I will see what more I can do."
He said.
"I should really stay. What if he wakes up?" Demi said, not moving but
keeping her eyes intent on Boromir.
"Go now. That is my order. You have been injured yourself. You cannot keep
up your strength." The healer said, pointing to Demi's ribs which beneath
her tunic were bandaged. They were badly bruised and her head was also
bandaged. She had a nastygash along the hairline.
"Fine." She said, getting up slowly.
Denethor himself was grieving for his sons and none had ever been so dark
for such loss. The mind of the steward had snapped from his proud, stern self.
Madness seemed to fill his eyes and his very appearance seemed aged somehow.
Pippin tried to comfort his lord but to no avail.
"I sent my sons forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into pointless danger, and
here they lie in their beds, poison in their veins. Curse the one who laid
this upon them! But alas!My line is ending as the house of Stewards
fails. Mean folk shall rule the last relic of the Kings of Men, lurking in
the hills until all are chased out." he said, his head falling into his
hands. He did not leave the room of Faramir unless it was to wander to his dear Boromir's. The men called for him, for his ruling, but he denied them.
Gandalf in frustration took over and commanded the last defence of the
failing city.
Messengers came into the chamber in the white tower, granted leave by Pippin
under the greatest of urgency. They brought word that the city was aflame
and asked for a command; trying to coax the Steward's mind from his own
depression, for verily that is what he was suffering by now.
"Why do the fools run? Is it not better to burn sooner than later, for burn
we must eventually? Go back to your bonfire, sir, and I will go to my pyre…I
will suffer no tomb…nor shall my sons. We shall burn like heathen kings, in
glory, before a ship sailed to these lands from the west, and verily, the
west has indeed failed. Go back and meet whatever end you wish…be it either
bonfire or blade, the choice is yours." Denethor said, with a glint of
madness in his melancholic eyes.
The messengers then left the Steward. They unwisely left himalone with a bow in his youngest son's room.
"Alas, my youngest burns before he has met the flame." Denethor said with a
glance of mourning upon his son, and then he turned to Pippin. "Farewell
Peregrin, son of Paladin. While though your service unto me and Gondor has
been short-lived, it is ever drawing to an end. I release you from my
service henceforth. Go now and die win which ever manner best suits you and
your people. Send for my servants, then go. Farewell!"
"Farewell I will not say my Lord, but I will take your leave for I desire to
see Gandalf. He is no fool. I will neither think of dying-not while there is
hope left." Pippin said.
"Do as you will, Master Peregrin, but my life is broken. Send for my
servants!" Denethor responded, then turned back to Faramir.
After Pippin left, he summoned the Steward's servants to their
lord. It was therethey covered the sons of Denethor in heavy blankets and carried
them out of the White Tower. Slowlytheypassed through the courtyard and halted
beside the withering White Tree. Pippin followed his lord and Boromir with
Demi after him. They then continued on through the Citadel Gate and came at
last to a door named Fen Hollen, for it was always shut, lest be there a
funeral. Inside were the tombs of the Kings of the past who ruled over
Gondor and their Stewards.
Once inside the tomb chamber, Denethor ordered his servants to prepare a pyre
then laid his sons upon the bed of death. Finally he turned to Pippin.
"Here we will wait. Bring wood and oil, lay it about us, then set a torch to
it, Do this and speak no more to me. Farewell!" he said.
Pippin nodded andleft the tomb quickly; mourning for Boromir and
Faramir with Demi by his side.
"Denethor has lost it! They aren't dead yet for the Valar's sake!" Demi said
as she ran.
"We have to find Gandalf, but where do we start?" Pippin asked.
"We'll split up. We can save time that way or else Denethor will have
started the fire without us and with no way for it to be stopped." Demi
said. "Make haste!" she said, turning left down to the lower levels of Minas
Tirith.
Pippin went swiftly as he could and eventually through the second gate.
Great fires were upon the walls and a cry was sounded through what seemed
like silence followed by a great shock and a boomthat echoed through his
ears. He pulled himself together and continued on into a wide place that was
beyond the gate where he saw Gandalf in a corner but he stopped in his
place.
The assault struck in the middle of the night with fury in its veins and
continued on with the enemy attacking from the northern and southern walls.The enemy came withfiercebeasts and great, fearsome, moving tall buildings that held orcs firing flaming arrows. Among the enemy were also the mûmakil of the Harad. And yet their captains cared only that their purpose was carried out, not for how
many lives were lost.
Drums were sound loud and clear to keep time in the march, fires grew higher
and a huge battering ram ran up the centre; carved as a snarling wolf they
called Grond, drawn by large creatures that looked like a hybrid of a
rhinoceros and a bull but largely overgrown, past anything natural. It
crawled on, protected by orcs that surrounded it while drums played wildly,
picking up the pace.
Then over the hills a horseman appeared. It was a
repugnant sight to behold with his tall body hooded and cloaked by a black
fabric; crushing the fallen as he went then he stopped and withdrew a long,
ashen sword of malevolence from its sheath. Fear fell on the hearts of all,
even his allies and for a moment, all stopped and gazed at him in a silent
terror.
The drums picked up again and with an immense precipitate, Grond was hurled
forward into the gate. A rumble echoed through the city, but the gate stood
firm, withstanding the blow. The dark rider than stood up in his stirrups
and cried out in his voice of malice in a language that has long been
forgotten. They were words of power that destroy both heart and stone. He did this
three times and those three times Grond rammed the gate as if by a spell.
With the third and final stroke the gate broke open with a flash of
lighting that sent it to fragments that littered the ground. Then in rode
the dark rider…the Lord of the Nazgûl.
He was a great black shape against the fires like an infinite danger and
desolation with all fleeing before him. All save one.
"You cannot enter here!" said Gandalf sitting tall upon Shadowfax before the
shadow. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Fall into the nothingness
that awaits you and your master! Go!"
The Lord of the Nazgûl with a laugh that could freeze the heart of any threw
back his hood showing a crown of a high king upon nothing but where a head
should be.
"Old fool, this is my hour. Do you not know death when you see it? Die now
and curse in vain!" and with that he lifted his sword to strike,
red flames running down the blade.
Gandalf stood in place and at that moment beyond the courtyard of the city a
rooster crowed shrilly welcoming the rising dawn. In answer from further
away another note was played,many horns echoing the first call. Rohan had come…
AE: Sorry about the wait on this one, i've been kinda weighed under by
assignments and stuff.
Disclaimer:
Don't Let Go (featured in The End of All Things)
Anírach únad
Egor gurth hen
Han cenin vi chen lín
Egor ú-erin le devi
Tellin men achae
Brennin men anann
Rago! Ú-erich leithio,
Ú-erich o nin gwanno.
English translation:
You want nothing more
Than this death.
I see it in your eye.
But I cannot let you
We have come too far
We have held on too long.
Reach! You cannot let go,
You cannot leave me.
Levanna: Thanks for your kind review and your services. They are very much appreciated. I wrote Denethor this way because I don't care for the over the top portrayals that can be written and that I have read. It's a little too melodramatic, even in light of the circumstances. He was no doubt suffering from depression so I preferred to show him a lot more withdrawn as a man would be when his hope had run out and as though he was deciding how to end his suffering. He hadn't lost his mind that much that he couldn't make an informed decision, even if it were a little far-fetched for some. I'm glad things are working out. It'll get better, have faith in that. Not all things are as dark as they seem.
