A/N: The final chapter of my story Courage. This is told through the eyes of Damrod (no one ever said he was an old man). Please review! And if I got the lyrics of the song wrong, please forgive me. And another thing... this is a mix of book and movie because the book is kind of hard to do... sorry!
Disclaimer: (Damrod climbs up onto a podium) Ahem. (Unfurls a scroll and begins to read mechanically) FANofFARAMIRdoesnotownanyofthecharactersinthisstoryasmuchasshewouldliketo. ShedoesnotownDamrod--me--orPippinortheCross-roadsoftheFallenKingorFaramirthoughshedreamsofthemeverynight. IfanyoneaccusesherofstealingcharactersshewouldpersonallyhuntthemdownandteachthemthemeaningofPAIN.
The Black Gate Opens
We were assembled on the Pelennor. The ground was still slightly burntfrom the bloody battle the Rohirrim and the enemy had fought not a week past. The host of Orcs and Easterlings had turned back out of Anorien, but harried and scattered by the Rohirrim they had broken and fled with little fighting toward Cair Andros. According to my sources, scouts and reported that no enemies remained upon the roads east as far as the Cross-roads of the Fallen King. All was ready now.
I had left my lord Faramir in the House of Healing. He was not fit to ride out to battle; and he must stay in the City and make ready for the Lord Elfstone's coronation if we are the victor of this battle. If... How I hate that word! That tiny, two-lettered word brings so much doubt to one's mind.
I wished for a companion. My dear friend Mablung was still in Henneth Annun; Anborn, my cousin, was in Minas Tirith, seeing to the rebuilding of the City.
The Prince Imrahil led the us Gondorian soldiers; Éomer of Rohan led the Rohirrim; and all followed the Lord Elfstone, Legolas of the Fair-folk, Gimli the dwarf, the company of Dunedain, and the two sons of an elven lord named Elrond.
Pippin, the halfling, was next to me. My cousin Ingold was the man who had seen him first, riding with Mithrandir out of the North. Ingold had been slain during the siege of Gondor. I had wept when I found his body in the streets, crushed and maimed by the enemy. Pippin was valiant, despite his size. I have long since learned never to doubt his heart.
"Company, forward march!" the Prince Imrahil cried, raising his sword. He followed the line of Rohirrim and the Lord Elfstone's company. A cloud of dust rose behind us. When we were about three miles from the City, Pippin turned back and whispered, "Farewell, Merry!"
I knew Merry was another of the halflings. He came out of the North with the Rohirrim and had fought in the battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Lord Éomer had made him an esquire of Rohan. Right now, he was resting in the House of Healing, for he had been wounded while trying to aid the Lady Éowyn of Rohan.
The spring sun shone down on us, making our armor glint silver and gold. Banners fluttered in the breeze: the White Tree for Gondor, the golden horse for the Rohirrim, and the Lord Elfstone's standard which is said to have been wrought by an elf-maiden.
Once, Pippin stumbled from exhaustion. I reached out and stopped him from toppling over. He regained his balance and offered me a thank you. Pippin smiled at me. Although I was much taller than him, he was about three years older than me.
Ere noon, we came to Osgiliath. For a time, I had served in Osgiliath with the Lord Faramir's company. In Osgiliath, workers and craftsmen that were spared were busy. They were like healers, healing a body of gaping wounds made by foes. On the eastern side across the River, some were throwing up hasty works of defence. I knew that they would not last very long, if the enemy should attack.
This time, the "if" was rather positive yet negative. If the enemy attacked, that means we had failed to hold them back; yet if they did not attack, that means we were victorious. Just thinking about it made my shudder and smile at the same time.
After resting for a few minutes, we passed on through the ruins of Old Gondor and over the wide River, and on up the long straight road that in the high days had been made to run from the fair Tower of the Sun to the Tower of the Moon, which was Minas Morgul in its accursed valley. Faramir, who is wise in lore and history, told me much about the defences of the old Gondor. About five miles from Osgiliath, we halted and made camp.
Some of the Lord Elfstone's company rode on. I watched them go into the twilight as Pippin and I made a fire. I soon forgot about the calvary as we ate a meager supper. There was fear in some of our eyes. Pippin entertained us that evening, singing songs from his country--Shire, I think it is called--and stories about his family, the Tooks.
"Master Perian," one young soldier said, "I hear you sang a song for the Lord Denethor while he was still alive. Could we hear it, please?"
A misty look came to Pippin's eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to sing. The song was soft and sad. Many of the men stopped eating to listen to Pippin's clear voice sing the song.
Home is behind,
The world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread.
Through shadow,
To the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and shadow,
Cloud and shade.
All shall fade...
All shall fade.
A few men began to weep. I clenched my fist and looked away. It was like the song was talking about us. And that we shall fade into the realm of death in the battle we are about to fight. Such fear grabbed my heart and I closed my eyes tight.
The next morning we went to the cross-roads. There was a carven figure there. The head had been hewn off and replaced with a hideous orc-head. A red eye was painted in the center of it. A few men began to mutter angrily at the sight of it. I spotted the original head. It was lying against a tree-root, not two feet away. A crown of white and gold flowers had grown around its brow. I smiled at the sight of it.
Then, the Lord Elfstone set trumpeters at each of the four roads that ran into a ring of trees. They blew a great fanfare. Some of us--me among them--had to cover our ears, for the noise was so shrill it was sure to drive away any foe from Mordor. My fellow heralds and I cried out: "The Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take back!"
A few craftsmen took their tools and gently hewed the head off, so as not to ruin the torso of the figure. Then, the old king's head, still crowned with white and golden flowers, was raised and set in its rightful place once more. I could not help but notice the Lord Elfstone was smiling. I was assigned as one of the men to scrub and wash away all the foul scrawls orcs had put upon the stone. By the time we were done, there were only faint marks and unfathomable words.
We, our arms weary, rested for a while. Pippin sat next to me. He was still looking at the newly-cleaned carven figure. He cocked his head and said, "I have this tingle in me that Frodo and Sam passed this way once."
A few men laughed.
"Why is that?" I asked.
Pippin cocked his head further and squinted his eyes. "I just have that feeling."
We did not leave our camp for the rest of the day. Men said we were waiting for the main host to come up. I was afraid of waiting. When I sat under the tree where the old king's head had once lain, I imagined orcs swooping down upon us like vultures.
Finally, the main host arrived. I breathed a sigh of relief. You find safety in numbers, Faramir once told me. We marked two abreast. Once in a while, a man would stumble from weariness. I kept myself upright all the way. I could not stumble. I had to do this. For Captain Faramir, for Gondor, for Middle-earth.
We rested one more night. During the night, I dream I saw a large black wave. It came rushing down on me. I scrambled to draw my sword. A dark hand emerged from the wave and knocked the sword out of my hand with a painful crunch. Clutching my broken hand to me, I watched as a red eye appeared in the middle of the wave. Then... darkness...
We reached it. At last. The dark entrance to Morgul Vale. It was a dead land. It was like the foes of Mordor had heard of our coming and hid within the walls of the land. We soldiers stopped. The Lord Elfstone, the Prince Imrahil, Éomer King of Rohan, and Mithrandir rode to the gate with Pippin.
"Let the lord of the Black Land come forth!" the Lord Elfstone cried. "Let justice be done upon him!"
There was a dreadful silence. Someone began to pray silently; another man squirmed. Time stood still. Only the banners fluttered in the wild wind. I grasped the hilt of my sword. What if no one comes out to meet us? We would not be able to fight the war. Instead, we would be condemned to keep a close eye on Mordor. And if a king was incompetent...
History would repeat itself.
And then, with a dreadful creak, the Black Gate opened. A few men gave great cries. There, on a horse, rode a man. Nay, it was a man yet not a man. Perhaps this was one of the Black Numenoreans I had heard of. I tightened my grasp.
They were talking, though we could not hear what they were saying. The neogotiations were long. After a while, I began to tire. The Spring Sun glared down at me. Sweat trickled down my brow and burned my neck. Or was I simply nervous?
The man from Mordor rode back into the Black Land, as if afraid of something. The Lord Elfstone and his entourage rode away from the Gate. It was then I realized it was opening. Slowly opening, creaking and whining.
And then it greeted us. The largest host I had ever seen. Orcs, trolls, Southrons, and the Nazgul circled overhead. This was death for us. This was suicide. I drew in a sharp gasp and whispered, "May the Valar protect us." A few men began to shiver and shake. The Lord Elfstone rode up to us and shouted, "Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"
I held my ground.
"Sons of Gondor," the Lord Elfstone cried, "of Rohan, my brothers!" He looked at us one by one in the eye. I felt so inferior to this great lord of Men. "I see it in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me." He paused to let the words sink in. Then he continued: "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of Men comes crashing down, bit it is not this day." He gave a grim smile. "This day we fight!" He drew his sword. Encouraged, we followed suit. The sound of ringing swords filled my ears. "By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"
His horse reared.
By all that you hold dear on this good earth...
I thought of the Captain Faramir, of Minas Tirith, and of the little boys that play soldiers in her winding streets. They should not die because one soldier's heart was afraid, because I was incompetent and not valiant like the kings of old. Yes, I would fight for them.
"I will fight," I whispered.
The host advanced toward us, their black feet stamping upon the ground. The ground shook. A Rohirric man began to chew the strap of his helmet to keep his wits about him.
Thump...
Thump...
Fire and drums! The enemy began to cheer. They were confident they would win the battle. And what about me? I was afraid. If I did not fight, I would die. No, I would not die. I would fight. I will help all of us win. May Eru Iluvatar--if he willing--protect us all.
Suddenly, someone in the front line gave a great cry. To my surprise, Pippin began to run, his small sword drawn. It shone in the light of the Sun. Soon, he was joined by many men. The calvary overtook him; the footsoldiers then overtook him.
"Fight!" I screamed at the top of my voice as I joined the charging host. I was panting. "We will win!" I cried.
A few unlucky men were run through with the pikes. But not me. With my sword, I hacked the point of a spear and ran my sword through the nearest enemy. It was an orc. He spat out black blood--into my face--and died. With one hand, I wiped the blood away. It burned my face and my hand. But I did not care. I was going to help win this battle.
Suddenly, an arrow pierced my arm. Sudden pain. A numbing chill passed through my body and made my head ring. I drew the arrow forth and threw it down. There was no time for pain. Ithrust my sword through another enemy--a troll's thigh.
The troll looked at me. He seemed indifferent that my blade was sticking out of his thigh. I pulled it out and backed away. He growled and grunted. The troll raised his hammer. The ground shook as it collided with the earth.
"Die!" I shouted and drove my sword into its thick hide. Black blood rushed forth like a river. The troll swayed and then collasped, sending up a cloud of black dust. Its blood continued to rush and seep into the earth. I gave a disgusted grunt.
I grunted again when an arrow hit my shoulder. I quickly pulled it out. It was blackened--poison. I bit my lip and dropped the arrow. Suddenly, my bravado halted. I felt afraid. Was I going to die of poison? I thought of the Lord Elfstone's speech again.
This day we fight!
So I lifted my sword. My limbs were on fire and my legs felt like they were made of lead. I could not do it. I dropped my sword with a clatter. Then, I fell.
"The eagles are coming!" someone cried. "The eagles are coming!"
And the words gradually faded into a distance.
-----
When I awoke, I thought I smelt flowers. I opened my eyes and saw a stone ceiling. It was greyish-white, like the walls of Minas Tirith. In the silence, I thought I heard soft voices coming from somewhere. A door opened. A voice said, "Welcome home, Damrod."
I sat up, though my shoulder ached. It was the Captain Faramir. He grinned at me. For some reason, he looked happier and more relaxed than he usually did.
"My captain," I said.
"Welcome home, Damrod," he repeated, "man of courage."
The End