Chapter 7

-----DURING all this black day Faramir lay upon his bed in the chamber of the White Tower, wandering in a desperate fever; dying someone said, and soon 'dying' all men were saying upon the walls and in the streets. And by him his father sat, and said nothing, but watched, and gave no longer any heed to the defense.

No hours so dark had Pippin known, not even in the clutches of the Uruk-hai. It was his duty to wait upon the Lord, and wait he did, forgotten it seemed, standing by the door of the unlit chamber, mastering his own fears as best he could. And as he watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown. Grief maybe had wrought it, and remorse. He saw tears on that once tearless face, more unbearable than wrath.

"Do not weep, lord," he stammered. "Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?"

"Comfort me not with wizards!" said Denethor. "The fool's hope has failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous.

"I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out."

Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City. "Nay, I will not come down," he said. "I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay."

-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

-----

ERIN followed Gandalf among the soldiers in a half-daze of thought. The message had come a while ago that Denethor had relinquished command of the city, and Gandalf had quickly taken action. It was almost as if he had been waiting for that moment to instigate the plans which he had harbored since the beginning of the battle.

And yet Erin knew the battle had only just begun. The initial bombardment, however horrendous, was but a small part of the Enemy's plans for this city which had frustrated his designs for centuries.

Their Lord having abandoned them when they needed his support most, the men were disheartened and quiet in their posts. Gandalf went from group to group speaking, his words laced with a steel will that offered hope and invited trust. His coming chased away the darkness of both air and heart, as he strode tirelessly from level to level, company to company. Many times Prince Imrahil walked with him and brought further strength to the Gondorians' will.

The Nazgul had not desisted, circling high above the city, out of the archers' reach. Gandalf had sent orders to Vilad and Kalva to hold their arrows until the battle was well and truly begun and they had a surer shot. But the Nazguls' presence did not improve the general depression of the soldiers, who cringed with terror at each passing.

"You are men of Minas Tirith, and this is your city," Gandalf was saying now, speaking to yet another uniformed company. "You will not suffer it to fall into Enemy hands. You will fight even when there seems no hope left. For this is a great city, and does not deserve to be defiled with the filth of Orc boots and dark blood. Today you saw the faces of your comrades who fell fighting valiantly, defiled and dishonoured. Would you have their sacrifice be in vain? Would you let their humiliation go unavenged? No! You will fight to the end, for those dead and for those still living and for your country!"

Then Imrahil stepped up, speaking in the same manner, and Gandalf drew off to the side next to Erin. She saw with some alarm that he was nearly trembling with weariness. "Gandalf, you should rest," she whispered.

He shook his head slightly. "No, I shall not. I am needed too greatly here. The men's strength is sapped by the darkness and the chill cry of the Ringwraiths; their Lord has abandoned them, and I cannot do the same." The wizard's shoulders slumped with a sigh. "They need a hero, one who can whip their hearts into a furor of righteous anger and lead them to victory."

"And then a hero comes along," Erin sang softly, and Gandalf looked at her curiously. "with the strength to carry on…and you cast your fears aside, and you know you can survive…"

Gandalf nodded toward the men with a small smile, the closest of whom had been listening to her soft song. "They are the ones who should hear that," he whispered, and Erin sang more loudly, though her heart was stricken with a sudden fear. Erin did not like excessive attention; she especially hated performing or being on a stage, for whatever reason. No one had ever really praised or criticized her voice, though she liked to say that there was a reason she had joined band rather than choir in junior high. "So when you feel like hope is gone, look inside you and be strong, and you'll finally see the truth: that a hero lies in you…" Her hands were trembling now, as more and more soldiers turned to look at her. She felt as if all eyes were turned solely to her, and judged her every move and word like a prized mare in a competition. "Lord knows, dreams are hard to follow, but don't let anyone tear them away. Hold on, there will be tomorrow; in time, you'll find the way…" Erin turned, holding out a shaking hand toward Gandalf, as if presenting him to the soldiers. "And then a hero comes along, with the strength to carry on, and you cast your fears aside, and you know you can survive." She turned back to face the men, gaining confidence as she neared the end of the song. "So when you feel like hope is gone, look inside you and be strong, and you'll finally see the truth: that a hero lies in you…" she trailed off and gave an awkward bow as several of the soldiers applauded her. "Again!" a few called, and though she tried to edge over toward Gandalf, hoping he would step forth and make another inspirational speech, he just nudged her back towards her audience.

Gandalf regarded her with smiling eyes when she finally rejoined him, flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. He escorted her on to the next group, saying, "That, my lady, was truly an unexpected gift. Have you any other songs to sing this night? The men enjoy music and the comfort of your words."

"Perhaps..." replied Erin, trailing off as she mentally flipped through her music case. "Think you could work something about miracles into your next speech? I have another that would tie into that very well."

"I am certain I can, my lady," chuckled Gandalf.

SARAH stared out at the dark mass that was the Pelennor Fields, watching the Orc army. It was like a seething anthill that never rested; even now, when their siege engines were no longer firing, they were not still.

The fires continued to rage through the first and second levels, devouring all in their paths. It made it even more difficult to see the fields through the glare. Every once in awhile Sarah would catch a glimpse of white among the burning yellow and orange and dark charred streets as Gandalf passed among the men.

Gandalf had sent orders earlier that they do nothing against the Nazgul, though the Fell Beasts were swooping over the city, often within a few meters of the battlement where she and Kalva crouched. She had watched with horror and fear as the Enemy bombardment dragged on, though her fear slowly became anger as she saw the breaking of will that the terrible carnage wrought on Minas Tirith's men. She had fought the feelings of helpless anger that made her fingers twitch to grasp a sword as the men's screams of rage and sorrow drifted up with the smoke. The Captain of Despair knew what he was doing, that was for certain. But the fact that he would stoop to such dirty, heinous tactics…it was chilling and infuriating.

And yet at the same time, Sarah thought, he may have underestimated the effect of his tactics. The rage and desire for revenge that that display of butchery had incited among the Gondorians was far fiercer than any words could have achieved. Though Sarah was not by nature a violent person, the looks on some of the men's faces as they passed her on the way to the mess hall had brought to the fore a fierce desire to make the Dark Lord pay for what he had done here. No one had a right to be that cruel, no matter how much power he wielded or how great his hatred for his adversary.

"Sarah, are you well?" Kalva asked softly, coming to stand behind her.

Sarah realized with a start that her fists were clenched, her breathing harsh and fast. She took a few moments to calm herself before answering. "Yes."

Kalva placed a hand atop hers where it rested on the wall. "I too wish the waiting would end," he murmured. Then he was silent, and for a few minutes neither spoke.

"Where is your homeland, Sarah?" Kalva asked suddenly, startling Sarah. "Where are your parents, your family? For certainly you are lonely here, with only your friends."

Sarah hesitated for a moment in her answer, knowing instinctively that she should not tell, that in doing so she risked alienating herself and her friends from the only people in Middle Earth whom they knew well. But even as these thoughts crossed her mind, a new emotion welled up inside her: a need to tell everything and a deep shame at keeping such secrets from Kalva, who had shown her such kindness. She couldn't lie to him, she knew, and she could no longer bear the isolation of not being able to speak of her world.

"I am not from Middle Earth," she began, the homesickness which she had suppressed by sheer force of will over the past few days coming to the surface. "I don't really know how I came to Minas Tirith. Probably magic, since we arrived in Gandalf's room."

"What is your land called?" Kalva asked.

"Earth." Sarah answered. "It's not a place I could show you on a map. It's…another world, basically."

"Another world?" Kalva exclaimed, obviously astonished and bewildered. "Then how are you like us? And how do you know of us?"

Sarah answered Kalva's second question first. "We have books in our world, and they describe the War of the Ring. That's the only reason we've been able to fit in even half as well as we have. But as for how we look human…I don't know. I don't understand all of this. I don't get how Middle Earth even exists." Sarah shook her head, at a loss for words or thoughts to explain. "The only person who might have any idea would be Gandalf." She turned to face Kalva. "Do you believe me, Kalva?" she asked, suddenly feeling it the most important thing in the world that he understand.

Kalva was silent for many long moments. "I don't know," he finally said. "I suppose yes. There was always something different about you girls: your accents, your manner of speech, the way you conducted yourselves…you are not like women of Middle Earth."

"No, we're not," Sarah said with a sigh. "In my world, women are virtually equal to men, and so I guess we would act differently than you're used to seeing women act. We don't see a difference between 'men's jobs' and 'women's jobs'; we do what we're best at, whether it's fighting or construction or healing. In my world, there are even lots of women in the army."

Kalva pondered this for a moment. "Were you in the army?" he finally asked.

Sarah laughed. "No, I wasn't old enough to join. But I probably wouldn't have anyway. I don't like guns."

"Guns?" Kalva asked, confused by the new term.

Sarah grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I forgot you don't know what those are. They're the weapons we use…they are much smaller than bows and shoot tiny pellets of metal called bullets really, really fast. They do a lot of damage. There are worse weapons too, that can destroy entire cities. But we used to have swords and bows and stuff. We just…evolved."

Kalva was silent for several moments, and then changed the subject. "And what of your family? Have you one?"

Sarah felt tears rising as their faces paraded through her mind. "Yes, I do," she answered finally. Normally she would not be so homesick; she had spent a week at a time away from home during several church trips. But the stress and exhaustion and fear of the past few days broke down her emotional barriers. "They're still there in my world, as far as I know. They're probably worried sick about me. Except for Adam. He's probably jumping up and down."

"Adam? Is he your brother?" asked Kalva.

"Yeah…my little brother. He's eight years younger than me, and he's the most annoying creature God ever created. I honestly don't even think he's human sometimes. He gets endlessly spoiled, and never does anything except play video and computer games."

"What are those?" Kalva asked.

"Umm…games we play in my world…" Sarah thought for a moment but couldn't come up with any clear way to explain. "I don't really get how they work; they use technology I don't understand."

"What about your home? What is it like?" he questioned.

At that moment both Sarah and Kalva heard footsteps behind them, and turned quickly to find a slightly embarrassed messenger, who obviously thought he had been interrupting something. "Lord Gandalf bade me warn you that the next battle nears and you have orders to fire upon the Fell Beasts," he recited.

Kalva nodded. "Thank you," he said, and the messenger returned to the lower levels and the impending battle. Kalva and Sarah readied the giant crossbow in silence, their reminiscent mood broken. Soon all thoughts of home were banished from Sarah's mind by the furor of battle and cries of the hungry Nazgul.

-----MESSENGERS came again to the chamber in the White Tower, and Pippin let them enter, for they were urgent. Denethor turned his head slowly from Faramir's face, and looked at them silently.

"The first circle of the City is burning, lord," they said. "What are your commands? You are still the Lord and Steward. Not all will follow Mithrandir. Men are flying from the walls and leaving them unmanned."

"Why? Why do the fools fly?" said Denethor. "Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! And I? I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!"

The messengers without bow or answer turned and fled.

Now Denethor stood up and released the feverish hand of Faramir that he had held. "He is burning, already burning," he said sadly. "The house of his spirit crumbles." Then stepping softly towards Pippin he looked down at him.

"Farewell!" he said. "Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service has been short, and now it is drawing to an end. I release you from the little that remains. Go now, and die in what way seems best to you. And with whom you will, even that friend whose folly brought you to this death. Send for my servants and then go. Farewell!"

"I will not say farewell, my lord," said Pippin kneeling. And then suddenly hobbit-like once more, he stood up and looked the old man in the eyes. "I will take your leave, sir," he said. "for I want to see Gandalf very much indeed. But he is no fool; and I will not think of dying until he despairs of life. But from my word and your service I do not wish to be released while you live. And if they come at last to the Citadel, I hope to be here and stand beside you and earn perhaps the arms that you have given me."

"Do as you will, Master Halfling," said Denethor. "But my life is broken. Send for my servants!" He turned back to Faramir.

-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

-----

ERIN stared with growing horror at the approaching army. They had left cleverly disguised passages through the trenches of fire, upon which they now marched in endless file. The catapults had been silent for many hours, and now the Dark Lord was unveiling his next assault. Siege towers rolled forward through the darkness, great wooden constructions built in Osgiliath only a few days past, dragged by giant trolls.

Erin readied her crossbow. Gandalf had ordered her to find one earlier, when she had asked to be allowed to fight. Though fear clutched at her stomach with icy fingers, she forced herself to bring to mind thoughts of the men of Gondor, the ones she had sung to and whose disillusionment she had marveled at only a few hours past. Many of them stood beside her now upon the outer battlement, and they allowed no hint of their terror to show upon their faces. A desperate courage shone in their eyes, lit by the knowledge that they most likely would not survive the battle, but would die fighting. She remembered their expressions of rage and despair during the Enemy's gruesome shower and felt the same determination rise in her. Any commander who would condone such carnage did not deserve to fly the flag of victory.

Below them, behind the great Gate and the small company of men who guarded it, Gandalf sat upon Shadowfax. When Erin glanced at his stern yet determined countenance, further resolve filled her heart. Gandalf did not yet despair and was still alive; that alone counted for something.

Suddenly he called, "Light your arrows!" Erin watched as bowmen on either side of her lit the tips of their arrows, lifting the bows into position. She did nothing; this was the hour of the longbows. "Fire at the siege towers!" Gandalf yelled, and a great flurry of fire-tipped arrows rained down upon the towers. Three of the five burst into spectacular flame, glowing like giant candles against the night. One of the remaining two was directly ahead of Erin.

"Again!" Gandalf called, and again the archers lit their arrows. Again the bright display was launched into the darkness. This time no siege towers survived the assault, but the army came on about them. Now was the time for crossbows, not fire-tipped but silent and deadly in the darkness.

"Crossbows—" Gandalf called, and Erin drew hers back, adrenaline lending her unnatural strength. She aimed at one of the shifting shapes in the darkness just as Vilad had taught her. "Fire!" came Gandalf's voice, gruff and loud, and Erin released her bolt. She knew not if it flew true, for it was too dark to tell, but many squeals and screams rose up from the plain below as the hail of bolts dropped noiselessly.

"Fire at will!" Gandalf yelled, and Erin hurriedly nocked another bolt from the quiver at her right hip. She had just let fly her fourth when a near silence descended over the approaching army, which had stopped its march mere feet from the walls. The quiet was broken only by the solemn, ominous beat of drums and a few mailed feet. With growing dread Erin turned her gaze toward the Gate and beheld the reason for the Orcs' strange behavior.

"ANOTHER arrow! Quickly!" called Vilad softly. Adrienne raced to grab one, swiftly slipping it into its groove. Vilad's hands flew over the crossbow as he nocked the arrow and adjusted various parts, drawing back the string with a winch. Adrienne stared into the darkness with wide eyes, trying vainly to catch a glimpse of the Nazgul at whom they were to fire. Every once in awhile, always far off, she would see a brief flash of black wing, or hear a sound like tent canvas flapping in the wind.

Suddenly a shrill cry came from directly in front of them. Adrienne could see no clear form, nothing at which to shoot in the darkness, but it seemed Vilad had much better eyesight than she. Vilad peered for a moment, following the swooping movement of the Nazgul with the crossbow, looking almost like an anti-aircraft gunner. But unlike the gunner, Vilad only had one shot before he had to reload. They had tried once before and missed; this was their second attempt, and Adrienne hoped it succeeded so that they could do some good before they were discovered.

With a sharp twang and a sound of air being slashed apart, the arrow was shot. A few moments later an enraged shriek split the night, and there was a sound of frantic flapping as the Nazgul retreated. They had scored their first hit.

A triumphant grin on her face, Adrienne retrieved a third arrow, and Vilad returned her smile as he readied it. But it disappeared when his ears caught the sound of more wings. "They've discovered us," he whispered, returning his gaze to the darkness. Adrienne felt a chill run through her.

Suddenly there was a violent swish of wings directly above them, and a Nazgul's shrill scream split the air. Adrienne dropped to the ground with a cry, her hands over her ears, as the howl persisted. It grew steadily louder and more piercing, until she felt as though her eardrums would burst. Fear wracked her body with helpless shivers, keeping her frozen to the ground like a rabbit hunted by a hawk. She thought she heard a man's scream and the sound of breaking wood. Then the Nazgul was gone, disappearing silently into the darkness.

Adrienne remained crouched for several seconds, looking up only when she heard a soft groan from the other side of the courtyard. The first thing she saw was the ruined crossbow, splintered wood littering the street. "Vilad?" she called quietly, and was answered by another groan. She rose to her feet, scanning the street for movement as she made her way toward the other wall.

Suddenly her foot came up against something solid, but not as hard as stone. As her foot made contact, she heard another groan, from right at her feet. She had found Vilad.

She knelt beside him. "Vilad! Vilad! How are you hurt?" she whispered. There was no answer.

She felt his face, and found his eyes were closed. He was still breathing, and still had a pulse, but both breath and heartbeat were faint. He was not conscious.

As Adrienne moved her hands down his body, she encountered something large: a great piece of the weapon had fallen upon his leg, pinning it and perhaps crushing it. Vilad had probably passed out from the pain, Adrienne decided. She tried once, but could not lift the wood section that trapped his leg. She needed help.

"Healers! There is a wounded man on the fourth level!" Adrienne cried the moment she was within the doorway of the Houses of Healing. She had no time to marvel at the place, which for her was almost a legend. Great things would happen here in the next few days, perhaps even the next few hours.

She gasped breaths of hot air filled with the scents of blood and sweat, trying to ignore the stench. Two men ran to her side, one significantly taller than the other. "Lead us to him," the taller healer said.

Adrienne spoke no further, and they asked no questions, even when they reached the darkened courtyard where Vilad had been injured and saw the remains of the giant crossbow. It took them many terrifying minutes to locate him again among the wreckage. The healers managed, though barely, to lift the section of wood from Vilad's leg; it was several feet long, dense and thick. Vilad's condition had not improved; he was still unconscious.

The healers lifted him with some difficulty and carried him to the Healing Houses, stopping twice along the way to rest their arms. Adrienne was seething with impatience by the time they finally reached the Houses. He was placed in a room near the rear of the Houses, where the soldiers too grievously wounded to return to battle were being treated. Adrienne watched helplessly as two healers immediately began cleaning and setting the smashed bone, others moving from cot to cot around her. A woman carrying a bucket of fresh water bumped her on the right, then a man with bandages on the left, and another with a second bucket nearly spilled it on her when she stepped suddenly into his path.

Adrienne quickly saw that there was no use in remaining here. Much as she would have liked to watch the healers work, she was only in the way. She didn't know enough about medicine to be much aid.

As she stepped out of the Healing Houses, the distant, flickering fires on the Pelennor Fields caught Adrienne's eye, and she was struck with a sudden idea. She could still be of help! Adrienne raced down the street, disappearing into the darkness.

-----PIPPIN left Denethor and called for the servants, and they came: six men of the household, strong and fair; yet they trembled at the summons. But in a quiet voice Denethor bade them lay warm coverlets on Faramir's bed and take it up. And they did so, and lifting up the bed they bore it from the chamber.

Out from the White Tower they walked, as if to a funeral, out into the darkness, where the overhanging cloud was lit beneath with flickers of dull red. Softly they paced the great courtyard, and then they went on through the Citadel gate, where the sentinel stared at them in wonder and dismay as they passed by. Turning westward they came at length to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Fen Hollen it was called, for it was kept ever shut save at times of funeral, and only the Lord of the City might use that way, or those who bore the token of the tombs and tended the houses of the dead. Beyond it stood the mansions of the dead Kings and of their Stewards.

A porter sat in a little house beside the way, and with fear in his eyes he came forth bearing a lantern in his hand. At the Lord's command he unlocked the door, and they passed through. Their slow feet echoed as they walked down, down, until at last they came to the Silent Street, Rath Dinen, between pale domes and empty halls and images of men long dead; and they entered into the House of the Stewards and set down their burden.

There Pippin, staring uneasily about him, saw that he was in a wide vaulted chamber, draped as it were with the great shadows that the little lantern threw upon its shrouded walls. And dimly to be seen were many rows of tables, carved of marble; and upon each table lay a sleeping form, hands folded, head pillowed upon stone. But one table near at hand stood broad and bare. Upon it they laid Faramir and his father side by side, and covered them with one covering, and stood then with bowed heads as mourners beside a bed of death. Then Denethor spoke in a low voice.

"Here we will wait," he said. "But send not for the embalmers. Bring us wood quick to burn, and lay it all about us, and beneath; and pour oil upon it. And when I bid you thrust in a torch. Do this and speak no more to me. Farewell!"

"By your leave, lord!" said Pippin and turned and fled in terror from the deathly house. "Poor Faramir!" he thought. "I might find Gandalf. Poor Faramir! Quite likely he needs medicine more than tears. Oh, where can I find Gandalf? In the thick of things, I suppose; and he will have no time to spare for dying men or madmen."

At the door he turned to one of the servants who had remained on guard there. "Your master is not himself," he said. "Go slow! Bring no fire to this place while Faramir lives! Do nothing until Gandalf comes!"

Pippin sped back out through the door, and on, till he came near the gate of the Citadel. The sentinel hailed him as he went by, and he recognized the voice of Beregond.

"Whither do you run, Master Peregrin?" he cried.

"To find Mithrandir," Pippin answered.

"Tell me quickly, if you may: what goes forward? Whither has my Lord gone? I have just come on duty, but I heard that he passed towards the Closed Door, and men were bearing Faramir before him."

"Yes," said Pippin. "to the Silent Street."

Beregond bowed his head to hide his tears. "They said that he was dying," he sighed, "and now he is dead."

"No," said Pippin. "not yet. And even now his death might be prevented, I think. But the Lord of the City, Beregond, has fallen before the city is taken. He is fey and dangerous." Quickly he told of Denethor's strange words and deeds. "I must find Gandalf at once. But, Beregond, if you can, do something to stop any dreadful thing happening."

"The Lord does not permit those who wear the black and silver to leave their post for any cause, save at his own command."

"Well, you must choose between orders and the life of Faramir," said Pippin. "And as for the other, I think you have a madman to deal with, not a lord."

He ran on, down, down towards the outer city. At last he was through the Second Gate, beyond which great fires leaped up between the walls. Yet it seemed strangely silent. No noise or shouts of battle or din of arms could be heard. Then suddenly there was a dreadful cry and a great shock, and a deep echoing boom. Forcing himself on against a gust of fear and horror that shook him almost to his knees, Pippin turned a corner opening on the wide place behind the City Gate. He stopped dead. He had found Gandalf; but he shrank back, cowering into a shadow.

-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

-----

A GIANT battering ram was being drawn to the Gate by the huge, lumbering forms of the oliphaunts, hung from its frame by mighty chains. Orcs surrounded it in a cluster of guards, and mountain trolls followed to wield it. The ram was at least a hundred feet long, and its head was shaped of black steel in the image of a great, ravenous wolf. It was named Grond.

Erin felt dread and defeat rising in her heart. A clattering of hooves on the stairs behind her drew Erin's attention, and she turned to find Gandalf mounting the battlement upon Shadowfax, come to find out the reason for the silence. He regarded the scene below for a matter of moments before issuing orders.

"Stand not silent and dumb! Archers, light your arrows and burn the ram! Crossbowmen, fire upon the beasts!" he called, and they responded without hesitation. But no fire would catch upon the ram; Erin remembered now that it was enchanted. Several of the oliphaunts were driven mad by the aerial assault, but more replaced them and the Orc guards they trampled in their terror. And still Grond crawled on.

"Gandalf!" Erin called, and he came to her. "It's called Grond, and it's enchanted by the Nazgul Lord!" she told him softly. He regarded her quizzically, but before he could reply his attention was drawn back to the field.

A single dark form rode silently over the hills of fallen Orcs, and though she could not see his face nor any other part of him clearly, Erin knew immediately who he was: the Lord of Angmar, Captain of Despair. He came abreast of the great battering ram and drew his pale sword, pointing it directly at the roiling clouds above, and as if signaled, the mountain trolls came forth to bear the ram. All activity inside and outside the walls of Minas Tirith ceased as the trolls took it up and with a great cry thrust it at the Gate. All held their breath, and time seemed to slow as Grond neared the apex of its stroke.

A great thunder trembled through the walls, but the Gate held against its mighty blow.

Now the Black Captain stood in his stirrups and spoke a spell in the evil tongue of Mordor. The second time the Gate withstood the ram's blow, but the third time, with the aid of the Morgul Lord's terrible words, the Gate was riven asunder with a sound more terrible than any thunder that ever shook the earth. There was a flash of lightning as the Gate burst apart and fell in pieces to the street, and for a brief moment of astonishment there was silence within the walls.

Then Gandalf rode down the stairs and to the archway, and, as if startled awake by his movement, the rest of the men went into action. Like a great wave, they fled off the battlements and toward the next level, and Erin was carried with them, powerless to fight against the rush of alarmed cries and the crushing press of men. She craned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Gandalf, but aside from a flash of white too brief to tell she could make out nothing as she was swept away in a thunder of pounding feet.

-----IN RODE the Lord of the Nazgul. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of the Nazgul, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and all fled before his face.

All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dinen.

"You cannot enter here," said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!"

The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came deadly laughter.

"Old fool!" he said. "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 high his sword, and flames ran down the blade.

Gandalf did not move. And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.

And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.

-Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

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