The hours passed, swiftly for some, too slow for others, and soon the eastern horizon grew pale with the day's approach.
At that hour, Karil stood in his map room, his commanders by his side, discussing the first villages of Gondor that would be destroyed when his army began its march. In the valley below them, the restless Orcs were making the last refinements to their machines of war and complaining to each other about the maddening delay.
In the dungeon chamber of the Fortress, the Haradrim interrogators were completing their preparations, overlooking the condition of their tools with varying degrees of satisfaction. As the two men studied the blades, whips, and instruments, they felt ever more confident that they would not disappoint their Prince.
Nearby, in the eternal shadows of his cell, Faramir still slept, his untroubled spirit far away from the agony and darkness. Earlier, the Orcs had tied his hands with rope in preparation for taking him to the chamber. They had been sorely confounded to find that, instead of being awake and utterly terrified, the prisoner was slumbering as peacefully as a child. Unable to rouse him, they had bound his wrists together and left him in the cell, laughing as they locked the door over the rude awakening the man had in store for him.
Across the mountains, deep in the pass that led into Mordor, Eowyn stood with the other healers by the wagons, her eyes staring anxiously down the path into that black land.
Moving silently up the other end of the pass was the army of the West, horsemen of Rohan and Gondor on one side, soldiers of Gondor and the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth on the other, as well as the regiments of Elves and Dwarves. Many Elves went before them, seeking out and dispatching all Orc sentries who might give warning of their approach.
And at the head of the armies rode Aragorn, clad in his kingly armor, sword in hand, his hazel eyes peering at the bright opening of the pass that grew nearer with every soft-trodden step. Beyond lay the forces of Karil, and the remaining legions of Sauron, a mighty host but not invincible. And not least of all, Faramir awaited them, doubtless weary and ill, having suffered much to gain them the time they needed to come and end Karil's madness.
An iron resolve braced Aragorn's heart. His brave Steward's sacrifice would not be in vain.
They drew closer to the mouth of the pass. In ancient times, a tall iron gate had been built to guard its entrance. On the rocks above the gate, the King could make out the dark forms of several Orcs, walking back and forth as they patroled the area.
Elvish bows sang, and the Orc sentries fell silently dead. With silent steps the swiftest of the Elves dashed forward and pulled open the towering metal doors, as quickly and quietly as possible. The guards had had no time to sound an alert, so their actions had as yet gone unnoticed.
They marched rapidly now to the end of the pass. Aragorn could see the plains opening before them, the thousands of Orcs moving against the gray landscape like swarms of ants. He could see one of the siege towers, and hear the growing babble of their monstrous creators as they worked. A dim, gray light hung over it all, heralding the near arrival of the morning.
The King's heart pounded as he lifted his sword. He glanced over at Eomer who led the horsemen, and Imrahil who rode beside Legolas and Gimli at the head of the footsoldiers. They knew their orders; the time had come to fulfill them.
Behind Aragorn, several of the Rohirrim had raised their horns to their lips.
Aragorn spurred forward a few feet, until he was at the mouth of the pass. He could see the entire valley now; before them spread the Prince's army, and to the south - some distance off, with most of the Orcs in the way - lay the fortress, nestled in the jutting foothills of the mountains. He stared briefly at the sight, astounded at the enormity of the evil Karil had gathered there.
It lasted but a moment, before he drew a deep breath and raised Anduril on high, his gaze becoming hard as steel.
The sun climbed above the mountains, its first rays striking his sword and setting the gleaming blade aflame.
A few Orcs happened to glance in that direction, and froze, mouths agape, too stunned to move.
It would have availed them naught, for in the next moment Aragorn uttered a single cry that echoed across the valley, mingled with the music of the horns of Rohan.
"FORWARD!"
And they surged ahead with a roar, a mighty rumbling arising as thousands of men and horses spilled at once into the valley, the air ringing with the war cries of Man, Elf and Dwarf.
In the valley, the Orc, trolls, and few Haradrim looked up from their labors in utter surprise, at first not understanding as they saw enemy soldiers pouring from the mountain pass. Then cries of alarm were raised, orders shouted, and the Orcs bellowed in wordless fury as they snatched up sword, pike, arrow and bow against the invaders. Many ran to block the way between the foe and the fortress; soon a solid wall of Orcs surrounded its perimeter. Others rushed to meet the enemy head on, but not before the full force of the Western armies had moved through the pass. They had fully taken to the field, and they charged forward towards the Orcs, until the two armies met in a shattering collision of flesh and steel.
The dawn had come.
---------------------
Karil had just been marking the map to indicate the doomed cities of Gondor when the first horn-blasts echoed throughout the room.
He stood sharply, his eyes wide as he turned to gaze through the large window at the other end of the room. Then the pen in his hand was thrown down, and in three steps he had charged across the space, followed closely by his commanders.
At first, the sight that met his eyes was too horrific to be believed. Thousands of enemy soldiers were pouring from the northern pass, men on horse and on foot, and there was no mistaking the figure riding at the head of all of them, his sword flashing in the sun. A tremendous roar reached his ears, the clashing of metal on metal as the first of the invaders met the front line of the vast sea of Orcs surrounding the fortress.
Karil began to shake as an unspeakable rage consumed him. At first, he could not force a single sound from his mouth, for what he saw was too horrible to articulate. He had been betrayed; somehow, Gondor had learned of his plan; and they had dared to come upon him in secret, like the cowards they were, to further their blasphemy upon the land of his Master.
The fury built inside him, until he uttered a choked exclamation of Haradrim profanity and whirling dashed away from the window, his silken robes billowing with the speed of his stride.
"To your regiments!" he spat at the Haradrim commanders as he moved quickly by them.
They bowed and hurried away.
Karil's steps soon took him hurtling from the tower room and down the nearest flight of stone steps. Masrak and the young boy who served as the advisor's scribe ran after him, hastening to keep pace.
"Summon my attendants to the royal armory at once," Karil snapped at Masrak. "I shall meet these dogs in battle. Send archers to the battlements; they must kill all who draw near."
Masrak nodded. "At once, sire," he said hastily. "Sire, the prisoner...he must have known this would happen..."
Karil stopped and turned to glare at Masrak.
"What he knows is now worth nothing to me, Masrak," the Prince replied in a voice quivering with rage. "When you have issued my orders, attend me at once in the armory. There is still a way that piece of filth may be of use to us."
Masrak bowed, and they parted.
--------------------
Faramir was dreaming of thunder.
He was a young child again, lying half-asleep in Boromir's arms. A summer storm had banished them to the nursery, and they were waiting there for it to pass. Their mother had warned them far away from the window, and they rested now on Boromir's bed. Boromir liked storms, but he knew his little brother was still frightened of them, and had not refused when Faramir curled up against him in fear of what was coming.
The thunder had started, far away but steady.
Faramir's eyes were closed, so all was dark, but he could feel Boromir's arms holding him tight. He smiled, knowing he was perfectly safe. A cool, clean-smelling wind blew across his face, bearing upon it the restless scent of the approaching rain.
The thunder was growing louder.
He felt Boromir give him a small hug.
"Don't worry, little brother. The storm will pass soon, you'll see," he heard his brother gently say.
The thunder grew louder still, and it was strange, but Faramir noticed that it never stopped, but kept on rolling, getting closer with every passing second.
Then it all began to fade, and he felt himself pulled out of Boromir's arms. The cool, pleasant breeze turned still and bitterly cold. He began to ache, and the ache turned quickly to pain. He couldn't move his hands.
But the thunder continued.
Faramir drew a breath, coming awake. For a few moments he blinked in the darkness of his cell, his spinning mind slowly settling back to full awareness. He lay on his side, trying to be still, bracing himself as the agonies of his wounds stung him with every movement.
Gingerly, he twisted his hands. Rope bit into his raw wrists, and he pressed his lips together with concern. They had bound him again for a reason, and he suspected he would soon know what it was.
But he yet heard the thunder of his dream, and he frowned, certain that he no longer slept. It was faint, but there was no mistaking the constant rumble that reached his ears; it rang through the floor and walls of his cell, which had been carved from the depths of the earth. Faramir stayed still, too weakened bu pain and exhaustion to move, listening, puzzled.
Then his eyes widened. He knew that sound, had heard it countless times upon the battlefield. Often it had echoed in his dreams of past days, as he swept across the Pelennor towards Osgiliath.
It was the sound of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of charging horses.
Holding his breath, Faramir became aware that the ground was trembling beneath him as he lay on the cold floor of his cell, the motion increasing until the entire room seemed to shake.
He gasped, tears standing at the corners of his eyes as he stared into the blackness. His mind was without words, overwhelmed by a formless surge of blinding hope.
A shout came from the other side of his cell door, and the voice of one of the Orcs reached him, muffled through the heavy wood but completely distinct.
"You, there!" it screamed. "Grab your swords and come up! We're bein' invaded!"
"What, all of us?" replied an incredulous voice, one of the Orc interrogators.
"Prince's orders!" was the snarled answer, spoken as if its owner was already halfway up the stairs and out of the anteroom. "He wants all Orcs on the battlefield. Looks like all of Gondor an' Rohan is out there! Move it!"
If the second Orc made a reply, Faramir did not hear it. His whole being was awash in such a powerful sensation of relief that it threatened to carry him back into unconsciousness.
For a long while he stayed motionless, listening to the growing roar, his body trembling as greatly as the walls and floor beneath him. A series of realizations flooded his thoughts, each more joyous than the last.
Henvain, or Legolas, or both, had survived, and returned to Minas Tirith.
Aragorn and Eomer had come.
Karil's madness would be destroyed this day, and never harm his people.
Every moment of agony he had suffered had been worth its cost; he had kept Gondor safe, and Karil unable to move his forces against the West.
Soon, it would be finished.
And soon, he would be with Eowyn once more.
All of this spun through Faramir's mind, and for a short time he regarded it with great elation, thinking of nothing else. Then the tide of emotion withdrew, and he sobered, understanding that his battle was not yet ended. Karil now had no need now to keep him alive, and there was no knowing yet what the Prince would do with him, now that his knowledge was needed no longer.
Faramir sent up a swift prayer for the victory of the West, and braced himself to wait.
---------------
In the valley, the serenity of the morning had dissolved into complete chaos.
Hoarse screams and cries of every tongue filled the air, punctuated by the endless ringing of blade meeting blade. Most of the battle churned before the fortress, where a solid wall of Orcs and their Haradrim commanders had formed a wide ring to drive back the encroaching armies. Out upon the plains, other horsemen and soldiers of the West had aimed for the siege towers and other mechanics of war. The Orcs and trolls were defending these no less ardently than the fortress, their battle howls rising to the sky as they clambered up the wooden structures, determined to fight. Overhead, Elvish arrows hummed through the air, answered by the thick missiles of the foe.
Aragorn drove Brego through the Orcs, his sword slashing at every enemy in his path. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he strove to ascertain their position. The fortress lay before them, but a vast host of Orcs blocked their path. Arrows began to sail from above them, and Aragorn could see lines of archers along the ancient building's highest walls.
He heard a shout, and a mighty rumbling of hooves behind him. Briefly turning his gaze, he saw Eomer and several Rohirrim, followed by Imrahil and a host of Swan Knights, making their way around to the northern side of the fortress to try and break through their right flank.
The King redoubled his efforts against the Orcs before him, resolved that they would not be able to hinder his friends' advance. The soldiers of Gondor who were with him did the same, and the bloodshed continued unabated.
-------------------
By the time Masrak arrived in the Royal Armory, the Prince's attendants had almost completed fitting him with his armor. They were just tying off the chestplate made of thickly woven wicker as the advisor ran through the door, followed closely by his servant.
"The orders have been issued, sire, and our forces have met them," he panted after completing a bow.
"No doubt they will prevail," announced Karil, his young face marked with a wide smirk as his cloth-swathed helmet was settled over his long black hair. "This has made it all the easier for me, Masrak-we shall simply destroy the armies of Gondor here, and march into their land already victorious. Now, as to that Gondorian scum downstairs."
"Yes, sire," Masrak stepped forward, a curious aspect in his expression.
Karil was not looking at him, but was examining his jeweled sword in its sheath. "I want his head and skin mounted upon a pole and born before our troops," he said casually, before handing the weapon to his aide, "so that they will be inspired, and the Western invaders will see it and know my power. The Haradrim interrogators will know how to remove his hide quickly, and in suitable condition."
Masrak considered this. "It will be a mighty trophy indeed to bear before our forces, sire," he agreed, relishing the idea of repaying the Gondorian for his defiance, "although the Orcs will be disappointed at losing their chance at him. It was promised he would be theirs when we were through with him."
Karil snorted as the sword was buckled around his waist by his aide. "I have little concern for what disappointments those empty-headed beasts might suffer," he replied with scorn. "You have my orders. Go at once!"
The advisor bowed and hastened out without hesitation, his steps bound for the lower chambers. behind him, the Prince continued his prepatations to ride out and face his foes, his handsome face wreathed in an anticipatory smile at his coming glorious victory.
-------------------
Although Eomer knew a good deal of Rohirric profanity, the battle had caused him to completely exhaust his vocabulary.
He and Imrahil had moved against the right flank before the fortress, but now were mired there, held in place by the tenacious Orcs who stood resolutely in their path.
The fight was raging all around him now. To his left he could see Aragorn and the Gondorians relentlessly hammering away at the center of the line. Behind him, the rest of the armies were assailing the Orcs on the plains. Elvish arrows tipped with flame arced through the air towards the tall siege towers, their smoke-trails hanging in the morning air. One wooden frame was partially alight. The fight was ferocious there as well; it looked to be a long struggle.
He glanced to his right, where the foothills of the mountains rose above him, their slopes littered with immense boulders that had fallen there over the ages. A few jagged large spurs of rock jutted out high above him, close enough to the fortress to form a proper place from which to assail the enemy. But there was no way to scale the rock in time, and it was clear that any who attempted it would be slain by the bowmen atop the fortress walls.
A roar came up from the Orcs on the far left flank. Eomer saw them part, heard a distant cheer from enemy throats, and knew that Karil had taken the field. From so far away he could not clearly see, but from the way the Orcs seemed to surround and protect the Prince, he thought he could mark Karil's progress as he made his way around the outer edge of the valley. His intention appeared to be to rally his forces around the siege towers, perhaps to then use their might to crush the Western army.
Then the Prince was lost among the mass of warriors, and Eomer turned his thoughts back to the bitter task of gaining the fortress, knowing that Faramir awaited them behind those walls of stone. Karil would have to wait.
--------------------
"It is as the old days, is it not, master Elf?"
Gimli's jocular voice cut through the din even as his axe swiped off the head of an Orc who had been attempting to split the Dwarf in half. They were with Aragorn's forces near the center of the line assaulting the fortress, striving to break through the horde of enemies blocking their way.
"Indeed it is," replied Legolas as he nocked and fired another arrow at the archers atop the fortress above them. "I believe I have slain twice as many as you already."
Gimli snorted and glanced at the Elf's target, who had returned unharmed to the wall. "For now" he said with a grunt as he drove his weapon into another attacking Orc. "But with shooting like that, I'll soon have the lead!"
His friend scowled as he swiftly pulled another arrow from his quiver. "They are high, and protected by that stone wall," he replied, his lilting voice rife with aggravation. "I shall take my forces to that precipice by the right flank, and-"
Gimli heard the Elf bite off his words, and turned to see him staring in the direction of the fortresses' northern walls. Several dark shapes holding bows and arrows had appeared upon the large rock shelf jutting above the right flank, and the Dwarf could see several more behind them in the rocks of the foothills nearby.
"An ambush!" choked Gimli, his eyes growing wide, and he looked around. "Where is Aragorn? We must throw all of our strength to Rohan and Imrahil before they are destroyed!"
He turned and began to hurry off to find the King when he was stopped by Legolas' hand. The Elf was still peering at the new arrivals, his expression more of amazement than horror.
"No," he said quickly, before Gimli could take another step, "Wait!"
---------------------
Eomer felt a good deal of satisfaction as he succeeded in cleaving another Orc in half, but the sensation was short-lived as another took its place. As he fell once more to battle, anger swamped him; it would take hours to break this line, time Faramir did not have.
"Sir!"
The shout of one of his lieutenants drew Eomer's attention. After swiftly slicing the Orc's chest open with his blade, he looked in the direction of the cry. The young Rider was pointing to the ledge Eomer had been eying only moments before, and now many of the men were looking up there.
Wheeling his horse around, Eomer saw with horror that the ledge was now full of Haradrim archers, lifting their bows.
Remarkably, Eomer found one more profanity to spit out, and quickly sought out his captain of the Rohirrim archers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Imrahil struggling to guide his horse towards him through the mass of soldiers.
"Captain!" Eomer shouter. "We are being outflanked from above! All arrows-"
He felt a hand frantically grab his arm, and turned to see Imrahil next to him, covered with sweat and Orc blood, his brown eyes large with urgency.
"Eomer, no!" the Prince cried. "They are not Karil's Haradrim! See where they aim, and who is leading them - it is Jadim!"
Before the words fully left his lips, the mysterious archers had finished lifting their bows, aiming not at the men of the West, but at the archers at the top of the fortress.
"Jadim?" Eomer gasped in bewilderment, staring once more above him. Then he realized that, indeed, among the armor-clad figures was the lean form of Adir's eldest son, who was shouting orders at his men and pointing his sword at the fortress walls.
The men's bows shot as one; a host of arrows soared through the air, and half of the archers atop the fortress fell dead.
--------------------
At the center of the line, Aragorn watched amazed, dividing his attention between killing the Orcs at hand and the scene unfolding to the north. he had seen the archers appear, and his heart had fallen, until their bows were lifted against their enemies and he understood.
"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted, to his friend who stood nearby. "Who is there upon the high rocks? Can you see?"
The Elf fired his bow into the Orcs as he talked. "I see Jadim," he cried in answer, "and many Haradrim with him, but all without Karil's mark, and bearing a white band of truce around their right arms. And there are men there not of his tribe, Aragorn-it seems others of his people have elected to join us!"
The fortress bowmen who survived the first barrage had now turned their weapons upon the Haradrim on the ledge. before many of their arrows had flown, Jadim's men had cut more of them down.
The Orcs on the plains below them seemed stunned and confused, and fought all the harder against the Western armies trying to get past them. Their anger only increased when the bellowing sound of several Haradrim horns pierced the air behind them, and from the great rocks of the foothills behind their lines came pouring several Haradrim men on horseback, bearing long spears and swords. They were led by Adir, his long red and gold war robes flowing as he plowed his horsemen directly into the huge mass of Orcs.
Aragorn paused, astonished and exceedingly grateful, to watch the Haradrim horsemen pour onto the field and into the Orcs, amid many fierce war cries and the blasting of deep-throated horns. He could see that it was as Legolas stated-there were men there not only of Adir's tribe, but of other tribes as well, distinguished by their varied armor and the colors of their war-robes. But none bore the blue mark of allegiance to Karil, and all wore a white band upon their right arm, a sign Aragorn at once recognized as one to set them apart from Karil's Haradrim followers.
Then the King redoubled his efforts, for he sensed the tide had turned.
-------------------
For a moment, Eomer found that he could not move, as he watched the Haradrim horsemen, nearly two hundred in all, charge into the unprotected rear flank of the Orcs who assaulted them. His mind spun, not simply with the noise and confusion of the battle. What was happening? Was this some strange trick-would the Haradrim turn and slaughter them next? Yet not a single one had raised a weapon against them, despite many perfect chances to do so...
Then an Orc battle-cry called him back to himself, and Eomer swiftly awoke and drove his sword through the head of the foul beast charging him. Then Imrahil was at his side once more, grinning like a madman.
"Forward, my friend, forward!" the Prince of Dol Amroth cried. "The way before us is almost clear!"
He then rode forward, the Knights behind him, and Eomer looked and saw with great surprise that it was true. Of the masses of Orcs who had stood in their way, many had now been pushed off to the center or slain where they stood by the Haradrim, and the enemy's right flank had nearly collapsed.
Resolved to fight now and try to understand it all later, Eomer hefted his sword aloft and charged ahead.
------------------
Inside, the fortress seemed eerily vacant as Masrak moved down the stone steps to the depths of the building, followed by his young servant. Here and there, soldiers ran out to join the defense of the structure, but for the most part, all was still and silent.
He reached the landing that led to the final set of stairs into the cellar. A large window onto the valley opened there, and he paused before it, studying the chaotic scene below.
The forces of Gondor were pressing mightily to reach the fortress. On the plains beyond, he could see the remainder of the enemy laying siege to the towers and war machines, and doing battle with the rest of the Orcs. It was a scene of madness, and there was no knowing yet who would be triumphant.
Then as he watched, hordes of Haradrim horsemen streamed into his vision from behind the Orcs, smashing into their rear lines, demolishing all in their path. Masrak gaped with shock, recognizing at once who they were. His blood ran cold with rage.
A figure appeared on the steps above him.
"Lord Masrak!"
He turned to look. It was one of the Haradrim bowmen that had been at the top of the fortress, his right arm hanging limp and covered with blood.
"Traitors from Adir's tribe have slain most of our archers, my Lord!" the man declared. "What are the orders now?"
He hesitated, then glared up at the young warrior.
"All who are left must defend this fortress," he replied. "I shall join you soon."
The archer nodded and vanished.
Masrak then paused, glanced once more out the window, then walked on, intent on his mission.
They had not lost yet.
---------------
The scene before the fortress had dissolved into a churning sea of Orcs, Haradrim horsemen in robes of many colors, Gondorians, Elves, dwarves, Rohirrim, and Swan Knights. A deafening clamor filled the air, screams of men and horses, thrums of bowstrings, and the endless din of sword meeting sword. Blinding clouds of gray dust filled the air, mingling with streams of red and black blood.
Somehow in this confusion, Aragorn found Adir. The Haradrim leader was coated with dust, his robes torn and bloodied, his helmet gone so that his long gray haired flew about his broad shoulders. Upon seeing the Gondorian king, Adir smiled and offered a quick salute.
"Greetings, King of Gondor," he said, before plunging his horse forward and hacking an Orc across the neck.
"And to you, Chief of the Seventh Tribe," replied Aragorn as he fended off a tenacious opponent. "I see you and your men did not quite reach Harad."
Adir laughed slightly as he hefted his bloodied sword. "That is not quite the truth of it," he responded. "When we have delivered your brave Steward to safety, I shall tell all. For now, we must only fight!"
With those words, he dove back into the battle, and Aragorn followed, his heart in complete agreement.