FIRST KNIGHT BY ASHA DREAMWEAVER
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: BtVS/LotR. Buffy is sent to Middle Earth to help bring down Sauron. Her duty, like the Istari, is not to confront Sauron directly but to help those fated to face him bring him down. More specifically, she has to help the King of Gondor get on his throne. Will Arwen and Aragorn's love stand against the shadow? Will Legolas be able to keep a secret, which if revealed, could shatter the lives of those he cares for? Will Buffy be able to fulfil her duty? Will Denethor be able to put aside his animosity for the man who would supplant him? Will the ringbearer reach Mount Doom, or will he be cut down before he reaches his goal? And will Boromir resist the lure of the ring?
Author's notes: I am back! The exams are FINALLY over! Yay! (FYI, I think they gave me carpel tunnel syndrome from over-writing!) I cannot tell you how happy I am. And so I am back. And on summer holidays. Which means time to write. Updates will be back as scheduled, and I might try to get them up sooner than a week's gap.
Another milestone! This story has now passed the four hundred thousand word mark!
Review responses:
Aleviel - thanks. I think.
Allen Pitt - spot on, my friend! Spot on! You have found a subplot!
Alliana Greenleaf Halliwe - soon. And he makes another appearance in this chapter!
Arcrose - thank you! Yeah, I never fully agreed with Faramir's little suicide charge. Especially considering how totally hopeless it looked in the movie. And the twins are back! About the Witch-king, I kinda have a few more uses for him before we can get to the killing.
BuffyandDracoLover - soon enough!
ChibiChibi - thanks! Updates on Boromir in this chapter! Paths of the Dead are also up. However, I'm not saying anything with regards to Faramir.
D347hbyp45510n - thank you! No, Elrond will not make a personal appearance. Éowyn and Merry are up in this chapter.
Dreamzone - thank you! And welcome! Okay, I have freely admitted that I am Evil and that I love cliffhangers and foreboding sentences! They are pretty much part of the story now!
EoSpHoRuS - thanks! I greatly appreciate all comments made on this story. - They make me go all giddy and happy and well, hyperactive.
EverAfter-01 - very good - and ominous - summary.
Lali-chan - thanks! And considering the litany I have planned for him, yes, fear for Faramir. And don't I just love complicated! And I'm nowhere near done yet! And your vote is acknowledged but let's just say that I have a rather spectacular end for him. Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn are in this chapter. I realise last chapter had a Buffy/Minas Tirith focus but this one has more of an Aragorn focus to make up. And the twins have arrived!
Mari - thank you! And Buffy has more escape holes than you think. Very creative that one. And maybe the necklace is the cause of the problems? And please, Arwen is sister to the twins. Of course she loves vexing people! And no, I have a more evil way to deal with Denethor.
MousXart - thanks! And you have my sympathies!
Reyavie - thanks! And it's okay, I hate Denethor too. Why do you think I write him so unsympathetically!
Santos Black - thanks and welcome! And yes, I am very partial to sarcastic Legolas. Or sarcastic characters in general!
ShawThang - wow! Thanks! Boromir is featuring in this chapter!
Star - thanks! And I personally really like Faramir!
Talina - GCSE'S? Ouch. As a veteran of the Leaving Cert, you have my deepest sympathies. Faramir - lots of pain in future. Éowyn - destiny to fulfil.
Tenshikoneko03 - interesting death scenario. But have my own I am afraid… and no, Faramir is not going to single-handedly try to take back Osgiliath. And you're close with the interfering relations, but it's double trouble!
The Great and Powerful Oz - wow! Thank you! Give me your soul? Sorry, I am not collecting them yet. However, my muse is always willing! Yes, Buffy will face off with Denethor again, to the detriment of them both. And Boromir will be discovered in a major battle.
XinnLajgin - depends on your definition of stupid. And Buffy is a little distracted at the moment to worry about killing Gandalf over her new 'Queen to be' status.
And major thanks to:
Athene Saile, Azraeos, Becky, CharmingStar, FairyQuilan, goldenshadows, homiedude, jumping-jo, Just call me Blue, Lady Meridia, life in SHREDS, Light Spinner, Selene, Tarren, tdk99992000, The Lady Reaper of the Shadows, Wild320,
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: FAMILY BLUES
Dunharrow, Rohan, 3019 TA, March 14. - Night.
When the faint sound of cloth rustling reached his ears, Aragorn spun awake, sword out to face the surprised Rohirrim soldier holding the tent flap ajar. The man gulped nervously even as Aragorn slowly lowered his blade, "Um, the king asks for your presence, my lord." he stammered out after a tense minute.
Silently, Aragorn nodded and grabbed his jacket even as the soldier gladly left the vicinity. Belting on his sword belt, his swift, steady strides soon carried him across the camp, over to where Éomer stood with Gamling and Elfhelm, deep in discussion. Seeing the worried faces of the captains and the carefully blank face of Éomer, he approached them. "What is the matter?"
"There are horsemen approaching at a swift pace," Elfhelm said tightly after a nod from Éomer, "The scouts say that they are riding hard, and he cannot recognise their gear, save that they are not from Rohan nor Gondor. We cannot yet tell whether they be foes or not."
"They are coming here?" Aragorn asked.
"Yes," Éomer replied, "And I have riders ringing the entrance. If their errand is ill, they will find the arrows of Rohan turned against them." As he spoke, Gimli puffed his way over to them, discarding the ash from his pipe and the faintly glowing form of Legolas could be seen standing in the darkness.
"There are perhaps thirty or more riders," the Elf said after a moment, answering Aragorn's silent question, but to the man's surprise, a small smirk twitched at the corners of his lips. "But mayhap Aragorn would be better able to tell us of their intent?"
"What do you mean?" Éomer demanded, turning to the bemused ranger. "Do you know them?"
"He does," Legolas replied cryptically to Aragorn's consternation.
"Will you just tell us what you know Legolas?" Aragorn said crossly, "I am not in the mood to play Elvish riddles at this hour of the night."
"A pity," Legolas said calmly, and Aragorn swore that he could almost hear the smirk in his friend's voice, "Because it seems that Elvish riddles are soon to be the least of your worries."
A sinking suspicion developed in Aragorn's gut, but no, it just was not possible. Even Elrond could not be that cruel…. "Who Greenleaf?"
"'Tis of no matter," Legolas said, "They are here."
Even as the ranks of the Rohirrim closed in about them, arrows notched to their bows, the group of strange riders drew rein. Éomer stepped forward with a glare, despite Elfhelm's hiss of irritation at his liege's reckless behaviour, "Who rides through Rohan without leave? Who are you? And what is your haste?"
A man at the front dismounted under careful watch, "I am Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North," he answered, "We seek one Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan."
At the voice and the name, Aragorn smiled in unabashed joy, "And you have found him!" he cried, seeing one of his best friends, and running forward and embracing the ranger. "Halbarad!" he said, holding the other man by the shoulders, "Of all joys this is the least expected."
"Estel," a disappointed voice said just as a hand landed on his own shoulder, causing him to freeze up, "How rude of you…"
"Not bothering to greet your own brothers," a second lilting voice continued, the unconcealed mischief sending a shiver down the man's spine. "For shame, Estel."
Slowly, he looked at the two he knew he would find, "Elladan, Elrohir," he said levelly, "What in Eru's name are you terrors doing here?"
"That is not an improvement, muindor," Elladan admonished, "Really! A few months in the wilds and he is an uncouth ranger again."
Aragorn glared at Halbarad who shrugged apologetically, "I have thirty with me," he said, "That is all of our kindred that could be gathered in haste; but the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have ridden with us, desiring to go to war. We rode as swiftly as we might when your summons came."
"But I did not summon you," Aragorn answered in puzzlement, "Save only in wish. My thoughts have often turned to you, and seldom more than tonight; yet I have sent no word. Who sent for you?"
"The brethren said that 'twas you." Halbarad replied.
Aragorn nodded, "And you believed them? I do not blame you. They have the art of mischief down to a fine form. Still, other matters now call our attention." Turning to the rather puzzled horse lord, he said, "Éomer King, may I introduce my kinsmen, Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond of Rivendell and Halbarad of the Dúnedain."
As the horse lord had seen the way that Gimli had coloured and then blanched as the twin Elves snuck up on Aragorn, whereas Legolas has merely smirked through it all, he felt he had a right to be wary. Still, rangers were rangers, and any men were welcome in these dark times. "Since they are your kin, Aragorn, then they are welcome. However, I know not whether I should be grateful or wary."
"Wise man," Gimli muttered, glaring violently at the two dark-haired Elves, who smirked promisingly back at him.
Aragorn's long suffering look told the young king all, and he cautiously studied the twins, who seemed to be trying to look innocent, "Then what is your errand?" he said, asking the pressing question, "Why come you here to Aragorn if he did not ask you?"
The identical Elf-lords shared a meaningful look, "We only answered the summons," one replied, "Word came to Rivendell, a note that said 'Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dúnedain ride to him in Rohan!' And so we come to our brother bearing news and counsel, to remind him of his path."
"One that lies not with me?" Éomer surmised at their tone. When none replied, the young king sighed, "The hour is late, and much work lies ahead in the morn. Speak to your brother then, just tell me what you have decided ere you do anything."
The twins seemed to look at the Horse-lord with some new respect. They had obviously not expected him to see or acknowledge the undercurrents of tension between them and their mortal brother. "As you command, lord." Elladan said and Éomer and his advisors left, the ring of Rohirrim soldiers drifting away.
The twins wasted no time. While Gimli was taken aback as they unceremoniously hauled the ranger away, Legolas did not look the least bit surprised. Gimli gave him a considering look, "What are they up to now, squirrel?" he asked gruffly.
But the cursed Elf only smiled, or rather smirked, enigmatically, "I think even the Valar themselves would not want to know," he replied, "Just pity Aragorn, Master Dwarf."
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Aragorn found himself brusquely dumped on his bedroll inside his tent with one twin standing over him and the other closing the tent flaps.
Very annoyed, he pushed himself to his feet and glared at them. "What was that for?" he demanded.
"Oh shush Estel," Elladan said, waving his hand in dismissal of the admittedly fun act of dumping their foster brother on his ass, "You have more important things to worry about?"
"More important than insane family members?" Aragorn said dryly, "Lucky me."
Elrohir gave his little brother a placating look, "We do not jest, Aragorn. The time has come for you to choose your path. You have set yourself upon it already but now is the time to do your duty, to reclaim what is yours."
Elladan nodded in agreement, pulling out a roll of parchment from inside his cloak, "Our father sent this word," he said, handing the roll to the ranger, "To bid you remember the words of the seer, and the Paths of the Dead."
Aragorn started at the words, fingers tightening their grip on the parchment as he remembered ghostly words and green smoke. He did not need to be reminded of the danger.
Unfolding the parchment, he saw the words written on it, in Elrond's flowing hand. There were no missives, only what he had half expected to see.
'Elessar,' it began,
'Thus spoke Malbeth the Seer, in the days of Ardevui, last King of Fornost, - know his words for their meaning.
Over the land there lies a long shadow Westward reaching wings of darkness, The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings Doom approaches. The Dead awaken; For the hour is come for the oath breakers; At the Stone of Erech they shall stand again, And hear there a horn in the hills ringing. Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them From the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him; He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.'
Aragorn shakily closed the letter. He knew what Elrond wanted him to do. "Did he say ought else?" he asked, voice steady.
"He said that you ride to war, but not yet to victory." Elrohir said softly, "He has seen something of import. As you know, Sauron's armies march on Minas Tirith and we must place our trust in Gandalf and Buffy, that they can hold the White City. But adar has seen that, in secret, the Dark Lord sends another force to attack from the river and so overwhelm the city. Aragorn, a fleet of Corsair ships sails from the south. They will arrive in two days. And if they succeed, the numbers against Minas Tirith will be so great that they will not be able to hold. Even if the Rohirrim get there in time, there will not be a city left to save because the Corsairs will get there first. You are outnumbered and racing against time. You need more men and a faster way to the city."
Aragorn's face was steady even if inside, he was reeling. Two armies? The odds had just gone from bad to near impossible. "There are no more." he said quietly, "This is all the men that can be mustered."
Elladan looked at the parchment in Aragorn's clenched hand, "There are more," he said meaningfully, "There are those who dwell in the mountain. They will come if you call."
Aragorn again heard the echoing voice in his head, 'Who shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead?…. Do you dare, ranger?….' He suppressed it viciously, "They are murderers and traitors." he pointed out levelly, "Centuries ago, they reneged on their sworn oath. Cursed though they may be, what makes you think they would even answer? Call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, in no one. They will not answer."
"It is because they reneged in the past that you have your power, Elessar," Elrohir replied, stressing the name he would take if he became king, "They will answer to the King of Gondor. They have no choice. 'Twas Isildur's curse. Use Andúril, Elessar."
Elladan backed his brother up, "You wield the Blade That Was Broken, Muindor. The man who can wield this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. I know this goes against what you want. But if you do not become who you were born to me, the White City falls. And how long do you think Middle Earth will stand then? Rohan cannot stand another attack. War already marches on all the Elven and Dwarvish lands."
"The battle that could decide the course of this war will be fought in Minas Tirith," Elrohir added, "Your destiny awaits, brother. Do what you know is right. Take the Dimholt road. Take the Paths of the Dead."
Aragorn was silent for a long while, thinking of the promise he had made to Boromir ere he fell. He thought of three of his friends and one much more, that were even now behind the walls of the White City. He thought of the brave men and women even now knowing that they rode to war, or waited to endure a siege, that they would most likely lose. And he knew what he had to do.
Come what may, the Paths of the Dead called him.
And he would answer.
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"I do not wish for you to come!" Aragorn said, frustrated in the face of his friends' unwavering will.
"Have you learned nothing, laddie?" Gimli huffed, hand planted on his axe, "We are going with you."
"The road is too dangerous." he protested, but Legolas just rolled his eyes.
"As was Moria. I scarcely think that there is a Balrog hiding in the Dimholt, - much too noisy for their liking. I do not fear the ghosts of Men, Aragorn. And why should we leave you, when we three have stayed together against all odds?"
Aragorn smiled despite himself, "I am not going to win this, am I?"
"Of course not!" the Dwarf blustered as if it should have been obvious; "We are not leaving you now, Aragorn. Never let it be said that a Dwarf is afraid of adventure!"
"Then you are most welcome indeed," Aragorn said, "Friendship in dark places is worth its weight in gold. I fret enough over dragging Halbarad in with me."
"As if they would let their chieftain go alone!" Legolas said wryly, "They know you and your penchant for trouble too well, mellon nín!"
As Gimli and Legolas saw to saddling Arod, and Aragorn saw to his own mount, he was stopped by the insistent pressure of Éowyn's arm on his. "Why do you go?" she demanded, eyes flashing with disappointment and ire, golden hair reflecting moonlight, "Why do you abandon us? We go to war! You cannot leave on the eve of battle. You cannot abandon the Men. They trust you. Why do you do this? Why do you let their courage falter?"
Aragorn had not been oblivious to the dismayed stares and the heated whispers that followed him around the camp, but he had had to steel himself not to mind them. This was to be his path.
"This must be done, my lady," he said softly, entreating her anger to subside, "Else all we do here will be for nought. I must take this path or I will not reach the city in time."
"Are you saying that we will not?" Éowyn asked stiffly.
"I am saying that we all must do what we must," Aragorn said firmly, determined not to let her accusing words sway him, "Surely you understand the call of duty. I swore to do all in my power not to let the White City fall. I cannot fail in that."
She released him, but her eyes were downcast, "Just tell me this," she asked quietly, "Does Éomer ride to his death?"
Aragorn wished that he had a reassuring answer, "I cannot say, my lady. Who can?" he said softly, "I can only hope for the best."
"It would seem that hope deserts us," she said pointedly, "Our riders will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor, will they?"
In that moment, Aragorn cursed her sharpness for the pain it would cause her, but he could not lie to her. "No, it will not be enough."
She nodded as if she had expected it and her eyes were hard, "But we will meet them in battle nonetheless," she surmised, "Thank you then, for telling me the truth. May your journey be safe, my lord Aragorn."
Aragorn could only watch her go.
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Long did she stand on the hill, staring down at the massing horses and men, still active despite the late hour, until Éomer, espying her there, joined her.
"Do not let the despair take hold of you, sister," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "We can do this."
"And you expect me to stay here and tend to the children, and find food and bedding for the men if they should return," Éowyn said bitterly, "What glory is there in that?"
"What glory is there in anything where people do not see it?" Éomer said, "Do you think the people respect you any less because you rule them well instead of riding to war? Strength in arms and valour in battle are not always the most important things, Éowyn. Think you any of us would ride out to war and death if we had a choice? So many of us long for peace, and yet you long for war. You cared for them well at Helms Deep, though you fought when you had need. You are not left behind because you are not qualified for battle, Éowyn; you are left here to lead the people if all this should fail." He paused, "I have left instructions. The people are to follow your rule in my stead and you are to take up the King's seat if none of us should return. Long may you defend Edoras if the battle goes ill. I wager even the Dark Lord would think twice ere crossing you."
"Duty seems to be all that is left to me," she replied, not looking at him.
"Have hope, Éowyn. There is still a chance for us all."
As they stood in silence, Éowyn surveyed her brother from the corner of her eye. She did not like deceiving him, but to stay here was impossible.
She would find her glory.
For the first and last time.
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Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien, 3019 TA, March 14. - night.
"They come."
Her voice froze Celeborn in his tracks, and he turned slowly to face his wife, who was standing on the balcony, looking out, towards the borders. He knew of whom she spoke. He had long known that Sauron would not let them sit out this war. "How many?" he asked softly.
"Too many," came her calm reply, vivid blue eyes meeting his, "Sauron throws the might of Dol Guldur against us and Thranduil. If we do not meet him, he will resort to burning the wood down around our ears. He will stop at nothing to get what he desires."
Celeborn took her hand in his, "Is it really so bad?"
"It could have been," Galadriel admitted, her gaze drifting down to Nenya, glinting brilliantly on her finger, "But not now."
The glow increased so that Celeborn could see the Ring of Adamant, and knew her plan at once, "Is it safe for you?" he demanded, not willing to risk her.
"Safe enough. Especially with Vilya as Nenya's aid," she replied, smiling softly and reassuringly, "It will be well, hervenn nín. For so long have we been forced to endure and hide. Now, we can finally fight back as we once did. The Ringwraiths are abroad, Khamûl has left command of his fortress to a human lieutenant. The Golden Wood will not fall."
Whatever reply Celeborn might have made was lost as Orophin, standing in as Chief Marchwarden for Haldir, burst into the talan. "My lord, my lady!" he cried, "Orcs are massing on the border!"
"Then it has begun," Celeborn said but Galadriel was already moving back to the balcony, to stare at the borders.
"Let them come…."
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The mountain halls of Dunharrow, Rohan, 3019 TA, March 14 - night.
In the privacy of the halls of Dunharrow; well away from any of the gathered riders who might spot her actions, Éowyn set her plan into motion.
She could not stand back and let her brother and her people ride out to war, while she remained in the safety of Dunharrow. She could not conscience it. If this was to be the last war of the age, then she was not going to sit this out. They needed every able body at their disposal.
Telling the ladies that sought her direction that she had a headache and sought her rest, she had retreated into her rooms and locked the door. Pulling out the pre-prepared pack from behind the thick chest of drawers, she checked it quickly to make sure she had enough supplies and everything she needed and then crossing to the clothes-chest, she pulled out her sword and its belt, and the change of clothes needed.
Gratefully peeling off the light dress of functional wool, suited more for work than fashion, she threw it carelessly on the bed. And in quick succession, she pulled on the breeches, tunic and cloak that she had procured, strapping her sword belt around her slim waist when she was done. Looking in the mirror, she busied herself with pinning her hair out of the way. And placing the helmet atop her head to keep it in place, hiding both her face and her long mane of golden hair, she paused to really look at herself.
As long as she kept her head down, and cloak securely fastened, no one should notice anything amiss from a reasonable distance, she concluded. It was high time for the Lady of Rohan to prove her worth as more than a mistress of the Golden Hall.
She left the sealed letter she had prepared on her bed. Then grabbing her pack with a small smile, she opened the window in her anteroom, checking to see if anyone was present, and satisfied they were not, lightly leaped out the window.
It was time to find her own destiny.
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Dunharrow, Rohan, 3019 TA, March 15 - dawn.
Merry stomped his way over to the King's tent, intent on clearing up this little mix up. Really, where did that beast of a man get the idea that he would be remaining behind? Because he was most definitely going to Gondor. After all, he had to catch up with Pippin, did he not? And now, with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli leaving in the night with nary a goodbye, he was the last member of the Fellowship left. And by the Green Dragon, he was going to Minas Tirith!
He caught up with Éomer just as the young king and Elfhelm walked out of the tent, deep in discussion as most of the Rohirrim were preparing to ride for the White City at any minute.
"Éomer!" he called, casuing the king and his marshal to pause, "Éomer!" he said as he ran up to him. "That man, Gamling, said that I was not to go with you. Will you please straighten him out?"
But unlike what Merry had expected, Éomer did not look in the least bit surprised, "I am sorry, Master Meriadoc, I cannot do that," he replied, "Little Hobbits do not belong in war."
Merry felt like hitting the man, king or not, but he got the feeling some nasty Hobbit revenge would not get him what he wanted so he suppressed it. "But all my friends have gone to battle. I would be ashamed to be left behind! I must go!"
Éomer shook his head sadly, "It is a three-day gallop to Minas Tirith, and none of my Riders can bear you as a burden. And you cannot ride on your own. And even if you did get to the city, what could you do? You cannot block the swords of men. They would run you through with little effort. You cannot come, Merry. Besides, your services would be better spent guarding my sister and those she protects."
"But I want to fight!" Merry said, his temper boiling as he realised that Éomer was not going to give in.
"I am very sorry," was Éomer's only reply as he mounted Firefoot, "Form up and move out!" he barked, not looking down at the hobbit from his tall stallion.
As the riders moved out, Merry could only stand there and watch as the long lines moved out, passing him by. But he got a shock when as one rider, at the end of a column, reached out with their arm and grabbed him, pulling him up on their horse.
A familiar voice urged him to be calm and Merry's head snapped back to look at the rider, "My lady!" he said in surprise.
"Shush!" she said warningly, but a smile drifted around her lips and Merry nodded in understanding.
"You too?" he said conversationally, as she used her cloak to shield him from sight.
"Unfortunately," was her only reply as then came the war cry from Éomer at the front, passed back through the lines of riders.
"Ride! Ride now to Gondor!"
And so Éowyn urged her mount into a swift gallop to match those around her and she and Merry exchanged conspiratorial smiles at their success.
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The Paths of the Dead, 3019 TA, March 15.
The gathered group was silent as they carefully turned onto the road into the Dimholt, the road that led to the door to the Paths of the Dead. No one spoke, and many looked around constantly, shivering slightly at the unnatural chill in the air. For his part, Aragorn rode at the front, bearing a torch aloft, as did Elladan at the rear. Gimli and Legolas rode directly behind him, Gimli wishing to stay as close as possible to the torch and muttering about the sudden leave-taking of his good Dwarvish sense, while Legolas had no fear for the ghosts of Men.
Aragorn felt the most disconcerting feeling of disorientation as he rode into the growing shadows. Not even the dark depths of Moria had spooked him so. His sight was diminished in the gloom but ever could he hear an endless whisper of voices all around him, in no tongue he recognised. He knew all too well what they were. The ghosts. The dead that never slept.
And soon enough, their fear grew so that no one would look back. For if they had, they would have seen a flickering host that thronged the paths behind them. And even the most steadfast heart could be forgiven if it skipped a beat at the fearsome sight.
After what seemed like an eternity, they came to the Door of the Dead. The door stood ajar, and the bones of a skeleton's hand could be seen in the gap. It was not a promising sight and on Arod, Gimli gulped, able to see the dead hand very, very clearly. "What kind of an army would linger in such a place?" he said gruffly, "Because I get the feeling that I seem to have overlooked something."
Legolas had expected it. He doubted that the Dwarf knew the full story of the mountains. "It happened in the last age." he said softly, "The army here is cursed. Long ago, the Men of the Mountain swore an oath to Isildur of Gondor, to come to his aid, to fight against Sauron. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was most dire, they fled. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their oath. To fulfil it, they must fight. But few have dared pass these doors since, and none have ever returned."
"Well, that is comforting," Gimli huffed, eyes wide, "And pray tell, why did you not tell me this before?"
"You did not ask, Master Dwarf," came the Elf's easy reply.
As Aragorn led them closer to the doors, the horses started to spook, even those upon which the Elves rode, and soon, they were forced to dismount and lead them by the reins, for no other way would they approach them.
Gimli shuddered at the unnaturally chill wind that blew from the doors, as if serving as a warning, "The very warmth of my blood seems drawn away." he said, "I think my father was right. Lord Elrond is insane."
Legolas looked at him reprovingly, but there was a hint of a smile, "He sired the twins did he not?" the Elf murmured softly, careful not to let the already glaring Elrohir overhear his words, "What made you think he was sane?"
Gimli considered it and then conceded the point, "Too true."
Opening the heavy stone door, Aragorn nearly flinched as a voice echoed around them, 'The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and The Dead keep it. The way is shut…..'
But it would not deter him from his path. Squaring his shoulders, Aragorn marched in, leading nervous Hasufel, and Legolas was swift on his heels with Arod, but Gimli wavered at the entrance, fearful of the ghostly spectres. "Here is a thing unheard of!" he grumped at last, shoring up his courage, "An Elf will go underground and a Dwarf dare not!" Then tightening his grip on his axe, he marched into the unknown.
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Dark had fallen, and every time Gimli turned around, he saw the ghostly shapes. Legolas saw his glance, "The Dead are following," he said simply.
And Elrohir nodded in agreement, "Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned."
But the state of uneasy peace did not last once they came to a grand cavern, where thousands of skulls lay strewn across it. At once, the figures behind them vanished, and a chill wind blew, snuffing the torches out, and striking fear into the hearts of the most stalwart. Only Legolas, with no mortal blood in his veins, remained unmoved by fear, but even he did not escape the wariness that permeated the rest.
A figure appeared at the top of the hall, seeming to glow an eerie green. Cautiously, Aragorn turned to face him. The only light came from the Elves and the ghosts. Leaving enough darkness to hide anything…. Like an army…
"Who enters my domain?" the figure with the ghostly crown demanded.
Aragorn squared his shoulders, "One who will have your allegiance." he replied steadily, "You know why I have come."
The King of the Dead snarled, "The Dead do not suffer the living to pass…." he growled.
Aragorn nearly growled right back. He did not have time for this! "You will suffer me!" he said sternly.
The King of the Dead threw back his head and laughed, and as he did, the Dead appeared and surrounded the group of the living, as if at an unseen command. "And so mortal puppies come to bandy words with the Dead!" he said with contempt, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the Dead keep it. The way is shut. No living can pass and leave unscathed. Now you must die for your folly."
Some of the rangers raised their bows but a gesture from Aragorn stilled them, "It would do no good. No mortal weapon can kill them," he said before turning back to the Mountain King, "I summon you to fulfil your oath. As Isildur cursed you, I summon you now to fulfil your oath and fight for me!"
The King of the Dead drew his ghostly blade, glowing an ominous green, "None but the King of Gondor may command me." he snarled and lunged.
Aragorn barely moved fast enough to parry the blow and the ghost's eyes widened as Andúril parried his ghostly blade as if it were made of real metal and not shadows, and then the ranger grabbed him by the throat as if by instinct, taking advantage of his blatant shock.
The ghost's eyes bulged, "That blade was broken!" he cried in shock and dismay, "The line was ended! It cannot be!"
"Narsil has been remade." Aragorn said, releasing the ghost, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, and the Blade That Was Broken is mine by right! And I call upon you now!" He looked at the host of the Dead surrounding the group, "Fight for us, fight for me, and regain your honour." he demanded, walking through the ghosts that scattered out of his way, fearing his blade, "What say you? Will you have peace or this unending torment?"
There came no reply. "What say you!" he repeated loudly.
Gimli grabbed his arm, "You waste your time, Aragorn!" he said disparagingly, "They had no honour in life, they have none now in death."
Aragorn shook him off, seeing in Elladan and Elrohir's faces the need to press forward. "I am Isildur's heir!" he repeated, "Fight for me, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled! You can know freedom again!"
The Dead still did not reply, and Aragorn's frustration grew. He needed them! Without them Gondor with fall! And take his heart with it. "What say you! What say you!" he cried, "Answer me!"
The King of the Dead drifted away, and at Aragorn's cry, the ground started to shake, throwing several Men off balance. Gimli looked around with concern, "Aragorn, I think we had better be leaving," he warned softly, recognising the signs, "Aragorn!"
The shaking grew louder and suddenly, as if out of nowhere, skulls and rubble poured down upon them. Elrohir cursed, and started running to the entrance, "Well, this is just great!" he groused as he grabbed Aragorn on the way out, dodging rocks and skulls.
Behind them, the others raced to the entrance, the horses rearing and flying towards the nearest exit as fear took them. The rumbling continued as they raced down a dark passageway and then Elladan spotted light ahead, and half a minute later, they staggered out of a crack in the mountain and into a valley.
Even as Aragorn sank to his knees in defeat, Elladan tumbled out of the passageway, cursing like an accomplished Corsair. Getting to his feet, he surveyed the rather rag tag group with something like amusement, "Well, muindor," he said to Aragorn, "I admit it. You can single-handedly cause more trouble than me, Elrohir and Arwen combined. Well done. I do not suppose who have the slightest clue as to what we should do now?"
Aragorn did not reply. What in Arda was he going to do now?
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Dunharrow, Rohan, 3019 TA, March 15.
Boromir strode into the mountain refuge of Dunharrow to the shocked stores and gasps of those who recognised him from his previous visits to the Riddermark. "Can I speak to whoever is in charge here?" he demanded, looking at the disarray.
A tall man stepped forward, "King Éomer and the Lady Éowyn have gone away to war." he said, "And though you may not have heard, Théoden King and Prince Théodred are dead. Most of the Marshals and captains have ridden with Éomer King, but of those who came too late to leave with the king, I rank the highest."
"And your name, sir?" Boromir inquired, trying to process the startling information.
"I am Dúnhere, chieftain of the folk of Harrowdale. At dawn three days ago, Gandalf the Grey came to us and told us that our king had need of us. But alas, the distance was too great and he had already left when he arrived. But you, my lord, are said to be dead. How comes it that you stand before me now?"
"Let me just say that the rumours of my death were greatly exaggerated and the pretence was kept as a smokescreen against the Dark Lord." Boromir replied, "Great is my errand and I have come here to look for aid. Is there any here who will follow me to the White City?"
Dúnhere looked at him carefully, "What is your errand?"
"To save Minas Tirith and so let her stand against the Dark Lord so that he does not overrun every part of Middle Earth," Boromir replied, "I am not my father, too arrogant to admit to needing help. But I travel now to Dol Amroth by the coast roads, to entreat my cousins there to allow me men to take to the aid of Gondor, ere it is too late."
"Your reputation has preceded you, Boromir, son of Denethor," Dúnhere said, "Tales of your valour have long reached our lands. My men chafe at remaining behind in this refuge when men were already left to guard our folk. We will ride with you, if your errand be true."
"I give you my word, on the grave of my mother, that I speak the truth," Boromir said, "Another force of the Dark Lord approaches from the coast. They will overwhelm Gondor if they are not stopped before they reach the city."
"Then what are we waiting for," Dúnhere said with a reckless grin, "Let us ride!"
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Lothlórien, 3019 TA, March 15.
The orcs surged forward, bearing flame and blade, ready to hack and burn the trees that protected the loathsome Elves within to ash. But as they lunged, they encountered some sort of shimmering barrier, which prevented their entrance.
From the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged. Clad all in white, with hair of spun gold and eyes of deepest blue, she stared at them. They snarled at her, recognising the despised Lady of the Wood.
"Come out Elf!" they taunted, "We shall tear this down! And rip the skin from your bones!"
"Oh, I do not think you will be doing anything of the sort," she replied, her melodious voice making their foul skin crawl, "You and your master are not welcome here. And you do not have the power to threaten me without your master present. I give you but one warning. Leave now and you might live."
With a guttural cry, they lunged forward, shooting flaming arrows that never penetrated the wood of Lothlórien, "I did warn you," she said and then, to their horror and fear, she started to glow, growing in intensity and brightness until she was like a beacon of light that seared their eyes and flesh.
The figure thrust her hands out, and the shimmering wall pressed forward, drowning the orcs in water that stung and burned like acid. Their screams and roars filled the air as the unnatural rain fell down upon them, and it did not relent until every last one was dead, following those that ran. She could not allow them to harm Lórien. She could not.
When it was over, she sagged as the power drained from her and left behind, the price. Celeborn caught her as she fell, exhausted from her exertions, "You cannot prevent loss of life forever." he warned as he lifted her.
"But I can prevent it for a little while…." she replied and her gaze went back to the dead orcs, "They will be back…"
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Pelennor Fields, near the Rammas Echor, Minas Tirith, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 15.
Faramir had originally had no intention whatsoever of following Buffy's request, merely planning to pretend to honour it. But the closer he drew to the great wall of the Rammas Echor, the more he saw the logic in her request.
The sky overhead was dark, the light of the sun swallowed by the unnatural clouds that crept out from Mordor, turning day to night. In near pitch darkness, he was able to pass unmarked by any scouts, but the darkness hindered his ability to see his enemy as well.
But stretching in a long train from Osgiliath, there were torches of firelight, of campfires. The sky overhead had been darkened for them by their master and now the orcs could march without fear of sun or moon. And ever onward they came, the innumerable torches striking fear into Faramir's heart as he realised the numbers coming against his beloved city, his home.
The Enemy stretched out before him like a sea of moving ants. He could hear the rhythmic beat of the drums, going boom! Boom! The echoed snarls of the orcs, the thuds of the Enemy as they struck again and again at the gates separating them from the Pelennor Fields.
So many… he thought with horror. So many coming against them, and so few to defend Minas Tirith. How could they hope to beat this?
A sudden flare of fire and a thunderous roar suddenly highlighted part of the wall as… something…. smashed through it as if it was nothing. Silhouetted in darkness and fire, it looked like something out of the worst of nightmares. Never had he seen its like. The fiery whip sent the great stone wall crumbling down with every blow and even as he stared in fear and the utmost horror, another figure, larger than he had ever seen, came alongside it. And with its great clawed hand, grabbed a section of wall and ripping it from its foundations, carelessly discarded it into the Pelennor.
Twenty feet away from Faramir, it crash landed in a shower of rubble and dust, casuing the earth to rumble and his horse to throw him to the ground as it fell. Getting up, he stared at the sixty feet long piece of rubble, and then he looked back, at the great gust of fire that lit up the night sky looking like a pillar of flame.
Grabbing the reins of his frightened horse, he swiftly mounted and with every bit of speed he could muster, raced back towards Minas Tirith.
They had to be warned….
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The Tower of Ecthelion, Minas Tirith, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 15.
The soft rustle of cloth was the only sound in the room as Denethor entered, heavy robes swishing against the floor. Shutting the door behind him, he locked it, not trusting that blasted thrice damned wench to not violate the sanctity of the tower. His tower. As she had done his city.
Crushing to the plush armchair that rested in front of the small pedestal, the round shape it held covered with a dark cloth, he sat down and with hands trembling with anticipation, removed the cloth.
In front of his eyes, the palantír flared to life, images flashing across the glassy surface. Holding his breath, he touched his hand to it, "Show me my fate," he said, and the images swirled together before coalescing into one image….
/ The city was aflame, the lower levels reduced to rubble as orcs swarmed through the broken gates… endless legions of them overtaking the city and cutting down all in its way… He saw that witch, Buffy, drop to her knees before the Witch-King as some swirl of power held her before rising and running her sword through him…. He saw her coldly step over his body as he saw the life leave him….. Saw Faramir run down… saw the citadel taken over by swarms of orcs and Southrons and Easterlings… and he saw the darkly crowned figure, with eyes of fire, seated on the king's throne…. /
With a harsh cry, he drew back, falling out of his chair in his haste to get away from the horror of the images in his mind. However, without fail, he could feel the lure of the knowledge, the need to know, rise up within him.
And crawling up, he looked into the clear surface once more…
This time, as soon as his eyes looked into the glass sphere, fire rolled across its surface, until a great eye of fire formed…. The Eye of Sauron….
It held him captive in its thrall, leaving him horror-stricken but unable to look away, as that dominant will held him in place. He could feel him probing his mind, rifling through his memories and when it hit on the one it seek, it sent a wave of pain so intense through Denethor that he thought he would die from it.
'Where is it? Where is the Ring? Who has it?' the Dark Lord demanded and Denethor was helpless to do anything but answer.
"Baggins…. His name is Frodo Baggins…" he gasped out, throat constricting from the pain he felt slicing through every nerve.
Sauron seemed to know this already, for Denethor could sense his impatience, 'WHERE!'
Feeling like his head was about to explode, Denethor struggled to answer, "G-Gondor…." he stammered through the pain, "Gondor…."
Even as the Dark Lord intensified the pain, Denethor mercifully passed out as Sauron withdrew, releasing his grasp on him for now.
Only for now….
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A/N: So? What do you think! Feedback please! Please READ and REVIEW!
Next chapter: Some trouble with ghosts… Some pirates get a surprise…. Arwen's plan swings into action…. Faramir gets into a little trouble…. And the Siege of Gondor begins in earnest….
Elvish:
Estel - hope
Muindor - brother
Dúnedain - Men of the West
Elessar - Elf-stone
Adar - father
mellon nín - my friend
hervenn nín - my husband
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Amon Lanc - 'the Naked Hill' in Sindarin. The site of the tower of Dol Guldur in Southern Mirkwood.
Caras Galadhon - City of the Trees. The city in Lothlórien where Galadriel and Celeborn reside.
Dol Amroth - the royalty of Dol Amroth are believed to have an Elven foremother in their line. Stronghold of Gondor on Belfalas, named after Amroth King of Lórien (deceased.).
Dol Guldur - 'Hill of Sorcery'. A treeless height in the south-west of Mirkwood, a stronghold of the Necromancer before he was revealed as Sauron returned. Houses three Nazgûl, led by Khamûl.
Dunharrow - Fortified refuge in the Ered Nimrais. It is the mountain refuge of the people of Rohan. And the entrance to the Paths of the Dead is there.
Dwimordene - the name in Rohan for the Golden Wood of Lothlórien. It has generally been villainised by superstition, old wives' and soldiers' tales of the Lady who dwells there, and how she weaves her spells with sorcerers and net-weavers. All completely untrue, but none of the Rohirrim have ever gone near the Wood and they fear it.
Éoherë - term used by the Rohirrim for the full muster of their cavalry.
House of Eorl - the House of the Kings of Rohan. Named after Eorl the Young who first settled in Rohan, and was their first leader.
Imrahil - Prince of Dol Amroth at the time of the War of the Ring. The line of the Princes of Dol Amroth is said to be of Elvish descent, a foremother being a Silvan Elf and a handmaiden of the Elleth Nimrodel of Lórien. Father of Lothíriel. Denethor's brother-in-law. Uncle to Faramir and Boromir.
Istari - the Maiar who were sent from Aman in the Third Age to resist Sauron. Sindarin: Ithryn.
Ithilien - territory of Gondor, east of Anduin. In the earliest time the possession of Isildur and ruled from Minas Ithil.
Khamûl - Ringwraith. Second only to the Witch-King. Also known as the 'Black Easterling'. Was perhaps the wraith with the strongest capability of thinking for himself but had the weakest powers during the day. In charge of Dol Guldur.
Lothíriel - daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.
Meduseld - the Golden Hall of Edoras, in Rohan. The residence of the King and the court.
Moria - 'The Black Chasm', later name for the great works of the Dwarves under the Misty Mountains. Called Khazad-dûm in Dwarvish.
Narsil - the sword of Elendil that was broken when Elendil died in combat with Sauron. Isildur used its shards to cut the One Ring from Sauron's hand. The shards are passed down onto each successive heir of Isildur as a heirloom.
Narya - the Ring of Fire. Set with a ruby stone. One of the Three Elven Rings. Originally given to Círdan, it was passed onto Gandalf when he arrived in Middle Earth during the Third Age.
Nenya - The Elven ring of Water. Galadriel is its Keeper.
Númenor - Land of the Star. Translated 'Westland'. When Elros Half-Elven, Elrond's twin, chose to be of the Race of Men, the Valar granted him an island to rule over. It was prepared by the Valar as a dwelling place for the Edain after the First Age. Elros, granted a longer lifespan because of his Elven heritage, and the rest of the Edain who followed him were long lived as well, became Elros Tar-Minyatur, first King of Númenor.
Osgiliath - Was once the capital of Gondor. But during the War of the Kin-Strife (a rebellion during the time of kings around the 1430's.) it was laid siege to by the rebels and burned to ruins in 1437.
Palantír - one of the seven seeing stones that were scattered throughout Gondor and Arnor during the reign of Elendil. For the last few centuries, they have been considered unsafe to use as it is believed that one of them is in the possession of Sauron.
Pelennor fields - 'Fenced Land'. The 'town lands' of Minas Tirith. Guarded by the wall of Rammas Echor.
Rammas Echor - out-wall. For ten leagues or so it ran, from the mountains' feet and back again, enclosing in its fence the fields of the Pelennor.
The Citadel - the High Court. The Place of the Fountain beneath the feet of the White Tower.
Vilya - the Ring of Air. Strongest of the three Elven Rings made by Celebrimbor. Borne by Elrond.
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