NOTE TO READER-I know this is another short one, but its important. A longer one hopefully later this afternoon, but I'm doing this before the bus comes, so I'm in a bit of a rush.
When Jnían and Faroth finally reached the gates of Minas Tirith, the legions of Gondor had begun their clash with those of Haradwaith. "We must get as high as we can!" Jnían exclaimed.
"To the top spire?" Faroth questioned her, looking up the large marble front of Minas Tirith.
"I'm afraid so. The longer we linger here, the more Gondorians are going to be killed."
The large gates were left unguarded, seeing as the usual guards were now upon the battlefield with their comrades fighting an impossibly large army being backed up with an invincible weapon. When they entered the city, they saw women and children scattered about, weeping or deep in prayer for the redemption of their city and the survival of their soldiers.
The horses' hoof beats echoed along the marble roads, their heavy breathing mixing with the sound of the people of Minas Tirith crying out toward the heavens. But they were not hindered as they raced against time up the seven levels of the city. Finally they broke through the gates guarding the castle itself and the courtyard of stone.
"Even the castle is left unguarded," Faroth observed without stopping.
"King Eldarion is probably fighting alongside his men," Jnían assumed. "'tis a sign of a good king."
They were forced to dismount at the castle doors. Both horses were now shaking violently, but they remained loyally standing, waiting for their masters. "I can run faster than you," Jnían said as she pulled the pieces of the staff from their saddlebags and began assembling them. "I will take the staff to the top. Follow me."
"Jnían—what if it's dangerous?" Faroth asked, concerned. "We never found anything about what happens to the person wielding the power in the Dáe staff."
"I've grown rather accustomed to danger," Jnían replied, quickly, and then gave him a smile. She turned to run into the castle, but he grabbed her, pulling her back to him. He then kissed her, with more passion than he ever had used, and for a moment time seemed to stop.
But he soon pulled her away from him. "Come back to me, Jnían," he said to her. She couldn't respond; she could only turn and run into the castle and up the stairs toward the spire.
Jnían burst through the doors and was in the spire. She ran to one of the open windows and surveyed the scene. She could see all of Gondor, framed in the background by the foreboding Mountains of Shadow. She observed the two clashing armies spread across Pelennor, and in the distance she could see not only one Black Cloud, but three, all moving with incredible speed towards the armies; towards Minas Tirith.
The staff suddenly felt warm in her grip, and she looked to see it seemed to have an unearthly glow radiating from the gold. All the markings down the length of it were shining with a blinding light, and the large red ruby that marked the top was humming, casting a red tint on her face.
Jnían took the staff in both of her hands, holding it before her, and then slammed it into the hard marble of the floor. The marble cracked loudly, but the staff remained unscathed. The red light of the ruby shone down from the spire and onto Pelennor, landing directly on the largest of the three Clouds, then splitting and piercing the other two as well.
She could see the armies had stopped in their fighting, and were watching the Black Fogs with interest. "Alae! The Dáe staff! Go back to the shadows from whence you came!" she screamed as loudly as her voice could scream.
The staff shook in her hands, and then burned with white hot. But she didn't let go, her fingers fused to the metal. "Alae!" she yelled again, and then felt her strength start to drain from her body.
The Clouds simultaneously seemed to explode from the inside. There was a moment of complete silence in which not a breath taken, nor did a bird cry its song, and then there was a deafening explosion. Faroth threw open the doors to the spire just as he saw Jnían collapse. He had to let her fall, though, as he grabbed the staff, holding it in place. He felt his own strength now being called upon by the power within the staff.
A gust of violent black wind blew in every direction as the Black Fog dispersed through the air, carrying on it the sounds of men screaming in misery. Everyone in Gondor was forced to their knees by the force of the wind, and trees bent to the ground, their trunks creaking in agony. Everyone, that is, except for Faroth. The staff kept him on his feet even as his black curls were blown back from his face and his cloak ripped off, flying into oblivion.
There was another loud popping sound, and suddenly everything was still again. Black dust now covered everything, even blocking the sun in the sky. But Faroth could see that all of the Haradwaith lay on their back, dead. The staff had lost its glow, and was once again back to its normal dull gold. He fell to his knees, dropping the staff loudly to the cracked marble.
He looked to Jnían. She lay limp on the ground, her eyes closed. He cradled her head in his hands as tears ran down his face, making clear stains through the black dust covering his face.