The six riders marched along the path in silence. The high rock walls around them seemed to radiate pure malice. Not a sound could be heard but the blowing of the wind- no birds, no deer, nor any other animals that usually inhabited mountains. Gimli, on back of Legolas' horse, shivered. "What kind of army would linger in such a place?" He asked.

"One that do not mind being around rock for an age, doubtless." Elegost mumbled.

"Or one that is cursed," Legolas added. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor. To come to his aid, to fight." He explained. The horses began to toss their heads strangely, and neighing softly as thought frightened. Idrial attempted to calm her horse as she continued.
"But they didn't. When the time came to fight, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they fulfilled their pledge." Hadhod sniffed.

"Since when could Isildur perform curses and the like?" He asked. "He was no wizard."

"Righteous anger can produce great things my friend," Aragorn said. "Great and terrible things." Legolas was looking around apprehensively now, as was Idrial. Something was just not right.

"'Who shall call them from the grey twilight?'" Legolas muttered to himself, recalling something he had heard once. "'The forgotten people. The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North he shall come. Need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead.'" Here, the path became steeper, and Elegost had to urge his horse on a bit harder. It led into a narrower path with dead and scraggly trees lining the sides. Up ahead, there was a hole in the massive mountain rock. The door.

The riders dismounted their horses, and led them through the path, having to duck many branches that scraped across the tops of their heads. "The very warmth of my blood has been stolen away," Gimli whispered, his eyes flickering back and forth.

"Aye- as has mine," Hadhod muttered, keeping an iron grip on his axe. "This is indeed a cursed place." They all stopped before the door.

"The way is shut," Legolas said. "It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it." Idrial stepped forward and reached a hand up to the top of the doorway. Her fingers brushed over an eye that had been carved there, along with several small drawings etched off to the side and bellow. Farther off, on the wall surrounding the door, human skulls were imbedded into the rock. Just then, a chilling, haunting wind blew out from the door, and Idrial jumped back in surprise.

Ironically, she crashed right into Legolas. Blushing, she mumbled an apology and moved away. The horses, spooked by the wind, whinnied loudly in fright, reared, and turned tail and fled back down the path. "Brego!" Aragorn yelled to his horse. But none of them returned. The wind did, though. And this time, it brought mist with it. Aragorn, a defiant look on his face, turned to the door. "I do not fear death," He hissed. Drawing Anduril, he went through the doorway and was plunged into darkness. Elegost drew an arrow from his quiver and went after him.

Legolas and Idrial exchanged a glance, and then they followed the two Rangers. Gimli and Hadhod were left standing there. "Well," Gimli said. "This is a thing unheard of. Elves would go underground, while dwarves dare not." Hadhod shook his head.

"We'd never hear the end of this," He added. And with that, they pursued their companions, disappearing into the darkness of the mountain.

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Back at the camp ground, everyone was getting ready to ride off. Fires were being put out, armor was being strapped on, and horses were being prepared. Morwen was currently looking for Berethor and Eaoden. She'd feel better if she rode in beside them. She turned a corner to look behind a tent- and could not believe her eyes. There stood Lady Eowyn, in full battle gear! "My Lady?" Morwen asked. Eowyn whirled around, and went slightly pale.

"Morwen," She gasped, realizing she was caught. Morwen took a step forward in amazement.

"You're riding out?" She whispered. Eowyn looked frantic, but then surrendered to the fact she had been discovered.

"Yes. I am." Her eyes took on a pleading look. "Please, Morwen, tell no one about this. I have my reasons for fighting. Please." Morwen gaped for a moment, but then nodded.

"Not if you don't wish me to, my Lady," She said. Eowyn sighed in relief.

"Thank you," She said. On the other side of the camp, Berethor and Eaoden were packing up along with Merry. The Hobbit wanted to fight alongside them and the King.

"You really want to fight, Merry?" Berethor asked interestedly. Merry nodded.

"Everyone else is doing their part," He explained. "Gandalf and Pippin are in Minas Tirith, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Hadhod, Idrial and Elegost are trying to get reinforcements, you two and Morwen are going into battle, and Frodo and Sam are getting the Ring to Mordor."

"And you want to do something to help," Eaoden said. "But Merry, won't you have trouble? I mean, no offense but you're…" he paused, trying to find the right words so as not to offend the Hobbit. "…smaller than most others." Merry shrugged.

"In a worst case scenario, I can always duck." He said. Berethor nodded.

"All right… Have you checked this with the King? He may have another purpose for you to serve." He explained. "He's over there, if you wish to ask." Merry nodded, looking pleased, and went to speak to the King. Berethor and Eaoden heard every word of the conversation.

"Little Hobbits do not belong in war, Master Meriadoc." Theodan said. Merry sounded hurt.

"All my friends have gone to battle," He protested. "I would be ashamed to be left behind!"

"It is a three day gallop to Minas Tirith," Theodan said coolly. "And none of my riders can bear you as a burden. Not even your friends." Merry glanced back at Eaoden and Berethor, who gave him sympathetic looks. Then he turned back to the King.

"But I want to fight," He said desperately. Theodan was unmoved.

"I will say no more," He said stiffly before galloping off. Merry hung his head, and Eaoden winced.

"Ouch," He muttered. Just then, Morwen and a stranger came up to them. The stranger was a soldier, with a helmet over at least ninety percent of his face, and in full battle attire. Berethor was quite certain he had never seen this man before, but there was something about his that was familiar.

"What's going on?" Morwen asked, not bothering to explain the stranger's presence.

"King Theodan won't let Merry fight," Eaoden explained. "He said none of the soldiers could bare him as a burden. Sad, really. He really wants to fight." The stranger straightened up.

"I will abide him," The stranger offered. Berethor could have sworn there was something feminine about that man's voice. Morwen's eyes flickered to the stranger apprehensively, but nodded.

"Merry!" Berethor called. Merry trudged back to his friends looking dispirited.

"Yes?" He asked sullenly.

"This rider has agreed to bear you to Minas Tirith," The Gondorian explained. Merry's head shot up in surprise.

"But sir," He said. "Would you not find it annoying to have to deal with the additional burden of carrying a Hobbit?" He asked. The stranger shook his head.

"I do not mind." Again, Berethor sensed something amiss about this man, but could not quite put a finger on it. The stranger motioned for Merry to follow him back to his horse, where he mounted first, and then pulled Merry up after him.

"If no other shall bear you, then I shall." The stranger whispered, and Merry suddenly realized that he had heard that voice before. He grinned.

"Lady Eowyn!" He whispered. Eowyn smiled, and shushed him before someone could hear. "Does anyone else know?" He asked. Eowyn nodded.

"Morwen does. But no others do, so keep it private- my Uncle would not be pleased if he found out about this." She said. Back with Morwen, Berethor and Eaoden, Eaoden turned to Morwen.

"Who was that?" He asked. Morwen smirked mysteriously.

"A friend," She said innocently, mounting her horse. Berethor and Eaoden exchanged confused looks, but then shrugged it off. Up ahead, Theodan could be heard calling out orders.

"Form up! Move out!" Last hugs were exchanged between family members, and the soldiers mounted their horses and followed after their King. Eomer was repeating the orders after his Uncle as they rode through the camp. "Ride!" The King cried. "Ride now to Gondor!" Several flanks of soldiers joined from different parts of the camp into the line behind Theodan, and then they were off for Minas Tirith, where the battle was already beginning.

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Back on the Paths of the Dead, the paths had fallen silent again. No gusts of wind. Just the sound of the six warriors steps through the mist. Strangely enough, a torch was found on the wall. Aragorn pulled it off, and then waved it toward an opening in the wall. A pile of human skulls, black and rotted from the decay of time stared out at them with unseeing eyes. Idrial unconsciously took a step back, and folded her arms tightly across her chest. Legolas saw her discomfort and took a step closer to her. She did not notice.

"What is it?" Gimli whispered hoarsely towards the back with Hadhod. "What do you see?" Legolas looked around at the various skeletons scattered around.

"I see shapes of men," He paused. "And horses. Pale banners, like shreds of cloud."

"The skeletons of the soldiers," Idrial realized. "Perhaps this army is bigger than I first surmised." Gimli seemed slightly jumpy.

"Where?" He asked. "Where do you see them? I see nothing." Hadhod noticed the change in his companion and, for once, decided to take advantage of it. He trailed behind the other dwarf unnoticed for a moment, and then tapped him on the shoulder.

"Boo," he hissed. Gimli jumped a mile, and very nearly took off Hadhod's head with his axe. Hadhod snickered. "Jumpier than a doe, you are." He commented. Gimli grumbled something fierce.

"Be nice, Hadhod," Elegost said from up front.

"Spears rise," Legolas continued softly. "Like winter thickets through a shroud of mist.(1)" he voice then took on a note of urgency. "The Dead are following," He whispered. "They have been summoned." His pace quickened so that he was up next to Idrial again. Neither of them seemed to notice that the distance between them was growing shorter.

"The Dead? Summoned?" Gimli was panicking again. He jerked his head in a comprehending manner. "I knew that." He added.

"Control yourself, Gimli. And you as well, Hadhod," Elegost said in a warning tone to the latter of the two. Hadhod shrugged and continued on. Gimli, with his back turned, did not notice his companions going offf without him.

"Good, very good," He mumbled to himself. He turned, and saw that his companions had disappeared around the upcoming corner. "Hadhod! Legolas!" He yelped, running after them. The company was now wading through a pool of mist. The mist seemed to take on the forms of hands, grabbing at Legolas and his bow, and Idrial with her sword.

A mist-hand appeared next to Gimli's face, and he blew at it. It collapsed for a moment, and then re-stabilized. Gimli frantically blew at the hands, now also waving it away until it was completely gone. Aragorn noticed a crunching sound whenever he moved, and signaled to Elegost to look down. The other Ranger obliged- and jerked his head back up almost instantly in disgust. Idrial and Legolas were also looking displeased with what they saw.

"Do not look down." Aragorn muttered, now keeping his eyes straight ahead. So, of course, Gimli and Hadhod looked down. Beneath their feet were skulls. Human skulls. Every time someone, even Legolas and Idrial, stepped somewhere, the skulls would crack and break. Hadhod groaned in disgust, and Gimli shut his eyes. He leaned forward and winced as a skull beneath him cracked. Gritting his teeth, he pressed on through a stomach-turning series of sickening cracking sounds.

Finally, they escaped the pool of skulls and mist and were able to move at a faster pace. The narrow passage opened up to reveal a large cavern with a stone castle embedded into its walls. Everyone went stiff. The malice that seeped from the rock seemed to grow stronger. A low, hoarse, hissing voice echoed through the cavern.

"Who enters my domain?" The voice hissed. Aragorn whirled to face the castle, and a glowing green figure appeared on the steps leading into the castle. He was a skeleton garbed in a King's attire, complete with a crown and a floor-length cape. Dead white hair flowed from his head, and his eye sockets had no eyes, but small, white-green pin-points. Aragorn drew himself up.

"One who would have your allegiance," He said. The Dead King chuckled evilly, and Idrial felt several chills run down her spine all at once. The hairs on the back of Elegost's neck stood up, and Hadhod raised his axe.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," The King whispered. Aragorn shook his head.

"You will suffer me," He replied. The King laughed out right now, and the company seemed to tremble merely from his voice. Even Idrial, usually so good at hiding fear, now trembled and backed up a bit. Legolas put a hand on her back, and she saw that he too was shaking a bit. Only Aragorn did not falter.

The walls began to glow an ethereal green, and thousands of shapes began to unfold from them. They were the shapes of the men that had died so long ago. They carried swords, shields, scythes and axes. They began to move toward the company, which tightened their grips on their swords.

"The way is shut," The King hissed tauntingly. "It was made by those who are dead… and the Dead keep it." In seconds, a myriad of ghosts had emerged from the wall and gathered around the company, blocking any and all exits.

They were trapped.

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(1): What, does he write poetry for a hobby?