Summary: The major battles in the Return of the King told through the eyes of young men. Book canon.
A/N: This is the first part of my story. The second chapter The Battle of the Pelennor Fields is under construction. Sorry I categorized this under "Denethor" and "Faramir"; there is no category for "Bergil" or "Beregond".
The Siege of Gondor
My name is Bergil, son of Beregond. I am writing this in Emyn Arnen in Ithilien in the realm of Gondor. It has been many years since the Siege of Gondor. Many men have lived through it; many will tell you a different story. This is mine.
I was one of the few lads who refused to leave the City (that is, Minas Tirith) with the women and children. My mother protested that I would be killed in the fighting. My father, however, said it was all right for me to stay. "We could run errands for the healers when the wounded are in the House," he had said. I did run errands, but that comes later.
On the tenth day of March, 3019 T.A., darkness began to flow out of the land of Mordor. By the eleventh day, there was neither Sun nor light: the darkness had covered it all. All the men said that war was imminent. Ever did they turn North and mutter, "Where are the Riders of Rohan?"
I awoke that dawnless day to find my father dressed in his livery. He bade me to stay in our family apartment. He said it was dangerous for me to leave the apartment, now that the Lord Faramir was not in the City to supervise the defense. "They give him no rest," my father said to me. "The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for himself and for the one that will not return."
I am very sorry to say I disobeyed my father. I went into the streets and found my companions. Peregrin Took, the perian, was not among them for he had taken up his duty in the Tower.My companions and I played marbles and other childhood games until night fell. Only then did a messenger arrive. We crowded around him, waiting expectantly.
"A host had issued from Minas Morgul and is already drawing nigh to Osgiliath; and it has been joined by regiments from the South," he said, "Haradrim, cruel and tall. And we have learned that the Black Captain leads them once again, and the fear of him has passed before him over the River."
Many spirits quailed. My father did not return to the apartment that night. I knew he was standing upon the wall, watching for Rohan and hoping that Faramir could hold the fords for long. I told myself that if my father could be brave, I would be brave. After all, I was his son.
The next day, the darkness reached its full and grew no deeper. Ill news came to us again. The passage of Anduin was won by the Enemy. Faramir was retreating to the wall of the Pelennor, rallying his men to the Causeway Forts; but he was ten times outnumbered.
Mithrandir left to aid Faramir and his men. I watched him ride out of the City on his horse, Shadowfax who was one of the Mearas. His cloak was white in the dark day and watching him made me hope and believe. My father said to me, "Faramir can govern man and beast; he will make it yet."
Soon after Mithrandir returned the next day (he said Faramir was alive when he left him. Despite this piece of news, many doubted), a line of men were seen less than a mile from the City. They were marching, marching, a mushroom of a cloud rising behind them. My father said Faramir had to be one of them, great as a man that he was.
Suddenly, Nazgul appeared. They swooped down upon the line of men, screeching. Hell-hawks grabbing with their talons helpless men who could do nothing to stop them. I bit and wrung my hands in despair. Suppose Faramir did not return! Who then, would the people of Minas Tirith turn to?
The Lord Denethor released a sortie. Prince Imrahil and his swan-knights. Their blue banner at their head, they charged out of the City. "Amroth for Gondor!" they cried. "Amroth for Faramir!" They broke upon the enemy on either flank of the retreat; but one rider outran them all--Mithrandir on Shadowfax. A light started from his upraised hand.
The Nazgul screeched and swept away. They had not expected this. There was a stab of hope in my heart, yet fear still grabbed me. What if Faramir was one of the men who met his doom by hand of the Nazgul? The field was littered with orcs and men. Smoke rose from the field. The calvary rode on. The enemy was cehcked and held back for the moment.
A trumpet sounded and the calvary of Gondor halted. They turned and rode back to the City. I raced down from my spot to the streets in which they will arrive. I cried for joy. I felt no trouble in my heart, though I should have. I was young, immature, and foolish then. I did not know the true extent of war. Faramir lost a third of his men. Furthermore, where was he?
Finally, his men passed in. At the rear was the Prince; and in his arms before him on his horse was his kinsman Faramir, found upon the stricken field. I remember widening my eyes in horror and for a moment, no one spoke.
"Faramir!" we cried. "Faramir!" We wept for our brave captain. He did not reply and men bore him to the Citadel and to his father. Later, I learned a deadly dart had struck him while he was fighting a mounted champion Harad.
There still was no news of Rohan. My father often looked worried and I worried with him. If Rohan did not come, the doom of Gondor was imminent. Had Theoden forgotten the old alliances? Was he angry at us for not aiding him when their land was being attacked? Surely they understood that we had to look to our own borders!
The Gate was shut. My father (one of the watchmen on the walls) watched the orcs digging and digging lines of deep trenches in a huge ring, just out of bowshot from the walls; and as the trenches were made each was filled with fire.
"Fire!" I had exclaimed when I heard this news. "How did they fill the trenches with fire? What devilry or art did they posses?" No one had an answer for me. After all, who knows the secrets of the enemy but the Enemy himself?
The orcs flung heads of the ones who fell at Osgiliath or on the Rammas. They were all branded with the Lidless Eye, sign of the Enemy. Their faces were pictures of horror and fear. A few men of weaker spirit vomited at the sight of them. My father was horrified. Many of these men he knew and respected. He could only shake his fist at the pitiliess foes.
During that black day, Faramir lay upon his bed in the chamber of the White Tower. Dying, someone said, and soon "dying" all men were saying upon the walls and in the streets. I believed them and my spirit quailed. How could he be dead? Was there really no hope for Gondor now?
It was Mithrandir who took up the last defense of the City. The Lord was in his tower, next to his dying son. Tirelessly, Mithrandir rode from the Citadel to the Gate. Prince Imrahil went with me. He and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Numenor ran true. I watched them pass. A man who was standing next to me whispered: "Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago."
The first circle of the City was burning. Many men sat numb, not taking up arms to defend the City. I could only watch, helpless. I wished that I was a knight, riding upon a horse. Or an archer, stationed at the Gate, shooting arrows at the merciless foes. But no, I was a small boy of ten, waiting for my father to return and hoping Faramir was not dying, like everyone said.
Drums rolled and fire lept up. There came great beasts, like moving house in the red and fitful night, the mumakil of the Harad dragging through the lanes amid the fires huge towers and engines. It was against the Gate did the Black Captain put forth his strength.
And then came forth toe wolf's head. Later, men told me they named it Grond, in memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Sometimes, I feel a twinge of jealousy at the men who witnessed all of this. Now, I am grateful I have not seen it.
I remember hearing the Gate fall. There was a loud splintering of wood and ringing of metal. I covered my ears in fear and squeezed my eyes shut. I was so sure that would be the end of Gondor as we knew it. But luckily, it was not.
All night I sat in the apartment, trying to calm myself. I chewed my nails, played with candle wax, bounced my collection of rubber balls against the wall. Still, I felt afraid. I admit I was and am afraid of dying by the hand of the enemy.
At dawn, a cock crowed, oblivious to all that had happened that night.
Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's side they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.
What happened after Rohan came is another story for another time.