Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Author's Note:
Warning: Concepts contained in this chapter include a battle scene, blood and death. You were warned.
Enjoy!
This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)
~ LXXI: Battle of the Morannon ~
Black Gate of Mordor, 3019 TA, March 25
After the Last Debate, the Men of the West assembled the seven thousand-strong Host of the West, led by Aragorn, who marched on the Black Gate as a feint to divert Sauron's attention away from Frodo and Sam, who were carrying the One Ring through Mordor in order to destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom. It was anticipated that Sauron would believe that Aragorn had the One Ring and was now attempting to use it to overthrow him in Mordor.
The remaining troops of the enemy withdrew to Mordor after being defeated in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Sauron was vanquished, yet he still possessed thousands of Orcs and wicked Men in Mordor. He was cognizant of the proximity of the One Ring to his territory. They had departed from the White City on March 20th and it was March 25th when the Black Gate opened to reveal its terror.
As drums rolled, flames erupted. The massive doors of the Black Gate opened wide once again. A large number of great hosts poured out of it as quickly as water does when a sluice was opened. They focused their attention on the men of the west and their leader. Sauron's legions of Orcs, Trolls, and savage Mannish allies like the Easterlings and Haradrim ranged themselves against Aragorn's troops. The conflict was reported not to have been as huge as the previous Battle of the Pelennor Fields, but Sauron's army was in the tens of thousands at the very least.
The Captains remounted their horses and galloped back, accompanied by a jeer from the Mordor forces. An army of Easterlings, who had waited for the signal in the shadows of Ered Lithui beyond the far Tower, marched up from close, choking the air with a cloud of dust. Numerous Orcs descended from the hills on each side of the Morannon. The warriors of the West were cornered, and all around the grey mounds where they stood, more than ten times their strength would soon encircle them in a sea of enemies. Sauron had seized the given bait with steel teeth.
Little time remained for Aragorn to prepare for his attack. On a single hill, he stood alongside Gandalf, and there the Tree and Stars flag was hoisted, fair and desperate. On the other nearby hill, the flags of Rohan and Dol Amroth, White Horse and Silver Swan were displayed. And around each hill, a ring was constructed, armed with spears and swords and facing in all directions.
However, there was an unexpected surprise, one that neither the Dark Lord nor Aragorn had foreseen. The sons of Elrond with the Dúnedain had arrived in time to join them. In this last great battle, how was it possible that the twins and the Dúnedain would not answer to their Chieftain. In the front towards Mordor, where the first bitter assault would come, there stood the sons of Elrond on the left with the Dúnedain about them, and on the right, the Prince Imrahil with the men of Dol Amroth tall and fair, and picked men of the Tower of Guard.
Imrahil, his sons as well as his daughter had followed the men of Dol Amroth offering their aid to Gondor in this last battle. It was not well known but in Dol Amroth, it allowed men and females to train for war. And in a lethal battle like this one every soldier was requested to follow the commands. Even Lothíriel, the princess of Dol Amroth and youngest daughter of Prince Imrahil. There she was standing on the right side of her father watching as the troops of the enemy were gathering closer and closer for the first attack to take place.
The wind blew, the trumpets sounded, and the arrows whined, but the sun, which was now ascending towards the south, was obscured by the stench of Mordor, and through a frightening cloud it glowed a desolate red as if it were the end of the day or even the end of the whole world of light. And out of the gathering mist came the Nazgûl with their icy voices wailing death, and suddenly all hope was extinguished.
Sauron was presenting all his forces, every single part of Mordor was emptied and the troops were falling orders to attack outside the Black Gate. He believed that the ring was near, and not only the ring but as well Isildur's heir. Having the ring close by increased his belief that victory was near, however, there was one soul who could bring great terror upon the Dark Lord and that was Aragorn.
The drums echoed along the Morannon for one last time as the battle was about to begin. The sound of scraping metal was added as swords were drawn and shields rearranged, the men of the west faced forward, determination and courage fired their eyes. Aragorn thrust his sword into the air, the signal was given and the battle began.
The ground was trembling as thousand of footsteps of the enemy were heard to unleash against the men of the west. The horses were released, allowed to escape the horror that would follow. Luck was on their side and most of the horses galloped away leaving their masters to their doom. The enemy was surrounding them now. They were all pushed but in one circle surrounded by the enemy.
The darkness had grown, and everyone and everything felt it down their bones. Especially, Legolas and the twins, that the darkness of Sauron was too close to them now, too close to affecting their sanity. However, they stood strong, to stand for Middle Earth, to fight against the Dark Lord, and to have him answer all the painful memories his minions brought when they tortured their mothers. It was time for Middle Earth to be saved from all evil.
Aragorn stood behind his banner, motionless and grim, as though buried in long-ago or distant thoughts. Gandalf stood on the hill, he was white and cold, and no shadow fell over him. Mordor's assault swept over the besieged hills like a tidal wave, with voices yelling like a tidal wave among the destruction and clash of arms. The battle of the Morannon had just begun.
The Eye of Sauron remained focused against the men of the west, it was lingering in the shadows waiting to be part of the battle, urging itself to take a form to fight. It had been too long, millenniums the Dark Lord remained in the Shadow World, and there he plotted his return. He would not allow this time the heir of Isildur to win. Victory would be his.
Elladan, Elrohir, and the rangers of the North marched first into combat, making them difficult targets for hunters. Elladan regarded his twin brother as the two drew their swords and exchanged smirks. They both provided last words of encouragement before the orcs struck with a powerful force, destroying everything in their assault. The numbers increased in front of them, emptying the land of Mordor.
Elladan counted ten orcs in close range, though it was dark as the sun was blocked by clouds and the smock of the fire, so there could be more than ten. His Brightmail and silver-grey cloth waved against the wind as he sprang to face the first orcs who attacked him. Two forward strikes slew the first two orcs and two more followed as Ellandan's attack was solid.
A short punch followed, with a spinning kick and a few dodging moves as the rest of the orcs forward the attack. Metal stroke against rusted metal, punches and kicks were delivered and the fight had begun. Next to him, Elrohir managed to avoid two flying arrows and answered by shooting arrows with his bow and watching the first orcs to fall to their death.
The foggy atmosphere made the rangers more careful about their surroundings. Each was fighting in a different way, though there fighting as one. It was clear they were not common warriors they had fought together plenty of times. They knew each other's weaknesses and strengths. If one ranger would lose his footing and stumble forward, the one next to him covered him. If one fell, the next skipped and delivered the attack.
Battle cries and blasts covered the area between Elladan and Elrohir. The flames of the burning fires increased, and the smoke rose higher covering every corner of Morannon. The dim gloomy sky and the thick clouds slowly covered like a dark mist aiding the enemy to proceed forward. Soon the battlefield was mixed with dust and blood, making breathing impossible.
A few yards away from them was fighting Éomer with the Rohirrim covering the sides, the men stood larger, husky and handsome, fighting the enemy in the bravest and strong way possible. Shields were broken, swords swang and cut through flesh, bodies of orcs were slain and the fields in front of the Black Gate were governed with a bloody and gore sight of numerous bodies of the enemy and their own.
Éomer stumbled forward, reeling from the hit, swinging blindly. His attack was fruitless and the troll was about to strike down the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. He closed his eyes waiting for the spear to penetrate his chest. But the hit was never fulfilled, as a soldier of Dol Amroth had thrown her spear killing the Troll. The wind had been knocked clean out of him; as he lay gasping on the rocky ground gazing at his saviour.
To his surprise, it was not male. Rather it was a brunette maiden, he had never seen before. He would find later on that his saviour was the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. He felt like he would never breathe again from the wild gaze of the maiden that had captivated him. Lothíriel offered him her hand aided him to stand back, and both of them arose to strike back the enemy.
The armies of Gondor, led by their king, also participated in the battle. The elf and dwarf, two former foes who were now battling side-by-side as allies, resumed their battle while counting the victims killed by the elf's double-long knives and the dwarf's axes. Until Xena emerged, everything looked to take on the familiar scent of their battle. She had flipped and landed in front of them, slicing through the enemies as she added her war cry and counted with them.
Behind them, in long, rapid lines, came all of their vassals from the northern highlands as the wind picked up. Straight down onto the Nazgûl, they bore, descending abruptly from the lofty airs, and the rushing of their broad wings as they went above like a wind. However, it was when the White Wizard called out in a loud voice and his wishes were heard that the far sky began to clear.
As if a sudden vision had been granted to his eyes, Gandalf awoke and turned to face the north, where the sky was pale and clear. Then he raised his hands and said in a volume that could be heard over the clamour, "The Eagles are coming!" Straight down onto the Nazgûl, they bore, descending abruptly from the lofty airs, and the rushing of their broad wings as they went above like a wind.
Gandalf smiled lightly, knowing that having the eagles fighting on their side would lead to the Nazgûl's destruction. But the Nazgûl turned and fled, vanishing into Mordor's darkness, upon hearing a sudden dreadful cry from the Dark Tower; and at that same instant, all of Mordor's armies shuddered, uncertainty gripped their hearts, their laughing ceased, their hands shook, and their limbs loosened. The power that propelled them and filled them with hatred and rage was waning, its will was taken from them, and when they looked into the eyes of their foes, they saw a terrifying light and were terrified.
Then, all the Captains of the West wept openly, because their hearts were once again filled with hope among the gloom. Out of the besieged hills, the knights of Gondor, the Riders of Rohan, the Dúnedain of the North, and close-knit companies charged their faltering opponents, piercing the press with the thrust of their stinging spears. Aragorn yelled out "Stand, Western Males! Attend and stand! Now is the time of disaster!"
Even as he spoke, the ground began to shake under their feet. Then, rapidly ascending far over the Towers of the Black Gate and far above the mountains, enormous, soaring blackness erupted into the sky, ablaze. The eye showed a shadow, which solidified as it flew over the realm of Mordor and fell against the Black Gates, hitting Aragorn from behind.
The fight of Morannon was not proceeding as planned, which was a plan for every man in the west. Gandalf was focused on the eagles who were now attacking the Nazgûl from the sky. Fear had overtaken the Rohirrim and Gondorians, and the King was attempting to fortify them for battle. However, everyone had felt it; the darkness now separated them. The Dark Lord had looked solid and prepared to kill Isildur's only heir.
"Aragorn!" the elf yelled, his voice as deep and as loud as Xena had ever heard. He had notched and discharged two arrows from his bow. Both penetrated the shadowy figure, but neither inflicted any harm. Nonetheless, it was sufficient to alert Aragorn. Elessar drew Andúril, and the shadow simply trembled at the sight of the forgotten sword. The king advanced while struggling against the dense darkness.
The ground moaned and shook. The king and the man of the west had reached their end, darkness had overtaken them, and with Sauron intervening, all hope has vanished. Every soul, human or otherwise, was harmed, some fatally, others less severely, and many died. Aragorn uttered a mighty shout and drew his sword against the rising gloom. Without allowing any of the enemy to approach Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Xena rotated around setting up a shield for them to battle with.
The Towers of the Teeth trembled, tottered, and collapsed; the huge rampart disintegrated; the Black Gate was flung into ruin; and from a distance, now obscure, now increasing, now ascending to the clouds, came a pounding rumbling, a roar, and a long reverberating roll of destructive sounds. There it was the end had come but it was not for the men of the west but for their enemy.
Land of Mordor, it seemed to them that, against the haze of clouds, a vast, impenetrable, lightning-crowned shadow loomed, engulfing the whole sky. Huge, it towered over the globe and extended a giant, menacing hand towards them, but it was powerless; because as it leaned over them, a powerful wind swept it away, and it was blown away and vanished; and then there was silence.
Then, King Elessar wielded Andril through the Dark Lord's shadow, and it merged with the nothingness. Aragorn did not sure if it was because the Ringbearer had completed his Quest or because of Andúril. However, Sauron would recall how the same weapon cost him the victory and his life in Middle-earth. The enemy was in flight, and Mordor's strength was dispersing like dust in the wind. The creatures of Sauron, whether orc or troll or beast enslaved by a spell, wandered aimlessly and eventually died feebly, just as ants do when death strikes the swollen brooding thing that inhabits their hill and controls them all. Some of them killed themselves, threw themselves into pits, or fled wailing back to hide in holes and dark, hopeless places.
The kingdom of Sauron has come to an end! Gandalf, leaving Aragorn and the other lords, took off with the eagles in quest of Frodo and Sam.
On that day, western men reclaimed hope in their world. The destruction of Sauron diminished the disparities of the adversary across Middle-earth, yet there were still hostile warriors standing. However, the war was won, and Middle-earth was saved from the advancing darkness. It quickly gave harmony to the western men. In the aftermath of the war, they must now collect the injured and return to Gondor.
((Upcoming Chapter Seventy-Two))
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