The journey from Minas Tirith to the Morannon was a long one, and brought the army through much of the devastation from years of battles, and the fresh remnants of the current ones. Osgiliath, once a great city, was a ruin, but still a hold-fast for defending the city. A large host of soldiers was left there to defend it, if the armies of Mordor were to defeat those at the Black Gate. The foot-soldiers made camp five miles outside of Osgiliath, but the vanguard and all riders kept moving until they came to the crossroads, one of the more dangerous regions due to the access from four different roads. Here the vanguard stopped, and many were gladdened to get a break from the saddle. Trumpeters were set at each of the roads, and heralds made it known that the Lords of Gondor had come to take back what was theirs.
Daeril watched as a crew of men raised the crowned head of the great stone king onto his shoulders, the orc head that had been upon it cast onto the ground below in hundreds of pieces. The orcs had redecorated with unintelligible writing on the stone, which was hastily removed. Even with their handiwork covered up, Daeril still felt a sense of unease where they camped. The crossroads gave the enemy a huge tactical advantage if they decided to attack this night. The scouts, however, had yet to report any sightings nearby. She slept fitfully, giving up in the early hours of the morning.
The army on foot reached them the next morning, and a host of archers and swordsmen were set at the crossroads, where they would lie in wait lest any enemy made their way through. The rest of the Host of the West began to move, straight down the road into the Morgul Vale. There was no sign of the enemy until two days after they left the Crossroads. The scouts had reported a mass of Easterlings and orcs trying to waylay the vanguard. Riders from Rohan and a host of Prince Imrahil's Swan Knights led a flank up behind the enemy, driving them into their own trap. Those that were not slain were driven off into the hills, and were not expected to return.
Ever as they moved along the road, there was a pressing sense of foreboding. Daeril thought it was her own mind betraying her, her lack of sleep and growing anxiety coming to the surface as pure, unrelenting dread. She kept catching herself pulling poor Rocky's reins tighter and tighter in a death grip, then trying to relax and let them go slack. The gelding was on his best behavior, never taking his owner's fear to heart.
"They are many miles above us," Legolas spoke, riding next to her on Arod, with Gimli behind him.
"What is?" Daeril could not disguise the tremor in her voice.
"The Nazgûl. They have been following us for some time."
"That is comforting," She laughed nervously. "What manner of beast gives them wings? Dragons?"
"I do not believe they are true dragons," Legolas said. "They are smaller than the one I saw. They have clawed wings in place of front legs, and longer necks."
"Can they be killed easily?"
"Legolas took one down in the dark, aiming from a moving boat," Gimli said. "One arrow to the heart was all it took."
Daeril could never even hope to have aim as good as the elf, his skill with a bow was almost legendary.
"Take heart, Rýndirien. At least they do not breathe fire." Legolas said.
Daeril's laughter was authentic this time. Daenir cast a disapproving look her way, silencing her.
The next day brought them into the desolated lands, and with it brought a new dread upon everyone. Some were more affected than others, and many could go no further. Daeril did not wish to keep going, but she knew that she could and wasn't going to abandon her people because she was scared. There were many young men, and old farmers, and those who had more experience wielding farming tools than a sword. Those were the ones who began to drop out of formation, quaking with fear. Aragorn turned to the company, speaking to them.
"Go! But keep what honor you may, and do not run!" He ordered, not in anger. "And there is a task which you may attempt and so be not wholly shamed. Take your way south-west till you come to Cair Andros, and if that is still held by enemies, as I think, then re-take it, if you can; and hold it to the last in defense of Gondor and Rohan!"
Many dropped out, going on to take back Cair Andros. They could still fight, but they were not constituted for the evils that the land of Mordor held. The army continued on, now down to just under six thousand strong. It was a great number of soldiers, but against the entirety of Mordor's forces they were severely outnumbered. They did not stop until the next night, when they made camp for one last rest before they finally marched to the Gate. The mood in camp was somber, and very few actually slept. Fires were built, from what wood and kindling they could find in such a barren land.
"I always thought Mordor was hot," Daeril said, sitting as close to the fire as she could without burning herself. "Why is it so cold?"
"It always has been," Elladan said. "Especially at night."
"It's been night for days, now." Gimli grumbled. It was true, the sky had never gotten brighter than a dim haze the closer they got to Mordor.
They could hear things outside of the camp, moving around, and everyone was on edge- waiting for attacks that never came. Although they could see nothing, they could feel the presence of the Nazgûl far up above, every now and then. Daeril flinched as a hand came down on her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. She looked up to Daenir, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I did not mean to startle you," He quickly apologized. "Will you walk with me?"
Daeril got up from her place at the fire, following her brother. He brought her to the edge of camp, not leaving sight of the furthest fire. He held something wrapped in dark cloth, and Daeril's full attention went to whatever he had in his hands.
"I have been holding onto this for you since father died," He said. "I didn't know when to give it to you, but I figure now is as good a time as we are going to get."
"Is it a sword?"
Daenir sighed. The length of the bundle he held wasn't even long enough to be a sword. He unfolded the fabric, revealing a beautifully curved dagger. Its handle was polished wood wrapped in black leather, in a black scabbard.
"This has been in the family for many years," Daenir explained, letting Daeril pick up the dagger. "It was father's, and belonged to his father before him. Prince Legolas believes it was a gift from his father King Thranduil to our grandfather, but he does not know for certain."
"Daenir, I never saw this before!" Daeril took the knife from its scabbard, revealing a curved steel blade etched with a flowing leaf pattern.
"We hid it well. I knew you would have lost a finger or two if I had given this to you when you were younger."
"Yes, I suppose that is true," Daeril replied, embracing her brother. "Thank you, Daenir!"
"Watch the blade!" He cringed, as his sister clung to him.
"I won't stab you, idiot," She spoke into his chest.
The two held onto each-other a few moments longer, until Daeril broke the connection. She sheathed the blade, and worked on attaching it to her sword belt.
"Thank you, Daenir. This is the greatest gift I've ever received."
"And you are mine," He said, ruffling her hair. "I wish I were giving this to you under different circumstances, but this is where our paths have led us. I am honored to have you fighting by my side, thelig."
Wolves howled somewhere in the distance, and the siblings hurriedly returned to the fire, where they waited out the long night with the rest of their brethren. Daeril could not stop touching the hilt of her new dagger, feeling a new sense of strength and hope from the small comfort it brought. In the gray light of morning, the host departed for the final march.
The host made for the Black Gate from the north-west, avoiding the road, which was a certain ambush choke-point. They made their way through the slag-hills, moving around destruction and pits hazarding the landscape. The Black Gate came into view, a massive structure stretching across the Cirith Gorgor pass, with a tower on either end. Those were the Towers of the Teeth, Narchost and Carchost, as Elladan explained to those nearby. Above the wall, wheeling above the towers, and some perched and watching, were the Nazgûl on their Fell Beasts.
Aragorn set the armies hurriedly, ordering a circle of soldiers about each of the massive hillocks on either side of the road, so all directions were covered. In the middle, facing the gate, the Dúnedain were to make their stand, along with the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, and selected men of the Tower Guard of Minas Tirith. When all was readied, Aragorn rode forward with the captains, Gandalf, the sons of Elrond, Legolas and Gimli, and Peregrin the halfling, flanked by a host of guards. The heralds let up a cry, bidding the Lord of the Black Land to come forth. All was silent, for far too long, and the host was about to turn away. From behind the gate came the beating of drums and a fanfare of horns, and then a door in the gate opened and out rode a figure all in black and heavy armor, astride a black horse. If a horse it truly was.
"I can't hear anything," Daeril hissed to Aeldis, standing beside her. "What is going on?"
"I do not know, I can't read lips," The older ranger said. "If that thing even has them."
The captains and their King spoke with the Mordorian ambassador for only minutes, but the waiting was insufferable. Daeril kept scanning the horizon, and the top of the gate, knowing that there could be enemies anywhere but seeing nothing moving. They had neither the strength in men or the proper war machines to assault the gate, and there were no defenses out there in the desolation where they stood. Daeril found herself looking behind her, back where their horses waited, away from the soon to be battlefield. She could make a run for it, and get on Rocky, and ride to freedom. All that they would find here was death. She turned her attention back to the situation at hand, sending that thought away forever. This was the last chance they had to take back Middle Earth, once and for all, and if she didn't die here she would die a coward running away.
"I'm ready," She whispered to herself, hand grasping the hilt of the sword at her side.
The figure in black suddenly ran back to his horse, and with the servants following galloped back to the gate. They blew horns, signaling the attack that had been waiting for them all along. The drums began beating furiously, and the gate swung open, even as the host led by Aragorn rode back to rejoin the formation. The horses were driven off towards the others, following Mithrandir's grey stallion, and the captains took their posts. Aragorn and Gandalf stood upon one hillock, raising the banner of the white tree and stars, and upon the other hill was furled the banners of Rohan and Dol Amroth. Elladan and Elrohir took command at the front line of the Dúnedain, and Prince Imrahil to his men next to them.
"Forward spears!" Ordered Prince Imrahil.
The spear-men were at the front, and faced them out to the oncoming assault. A massive force of Easterlings was marching straight towards them. From either side, coming down from the hills came masses of orcs, already outnumbering the force as they surrounded them. The first assault broke upon the line of spears, and the Easterlings broke through. Daeril drew her sword, keeping slightly crouched to maintain her balance and avoid the arrows that were singing overhead. The commands of the sons of Elrond and Imrahil faded as her vision constricted, and it seemed as though her heart roaring in her ears was the only noise there was. An Easterling approached, scimitar coming for her neck to take her head off. She caught the blow with an uppercut, the smaller blade glancing off her long-sword. Feinting to the right, she spun, catching the Easterling in the back of the neck.
That one fell, only to be replaced by another. This one earned a blow under the arm from Daeril, as Aeldis followed up with a head shot. Daeril met Aeldis's eyes, nodding a thank you before retaking a defensive stance. The ground shook as massive troll's came upon the front line, sending many of the Gondorian soldiers flying. The Nazgûl dove in and out of the battle, the great beasts diving with claws outstretched and grabbing unfortunate soldiers who stood in their path. Daeril felt someone push her towards the hillock where Aragorn's banner stood, and a voice told her to run. Before she could protest, she was fighting through, reaching the hill where the orcs were making their sport. The orcs went down easier than Easterlings, she felt, mostly due to lack of humanity than lack of skill. She turned, feeling the wind above her change and the sound of leathery wings. A fell beast was coming towards the hillock, ready to take more men for a flight.
Daeril hastily drew her bow, fumbling over her shoulder for an arrow. She grasped one of them after a moments struggle, and notched it. The fell beast descended, claws extending. Daeril hastily aimed, and then released. The arrow hit the fell beast in the base of its neck, sending it veering off screaming. It did not fall, but its retreat spared those that were in its path. She continued shooting, taking out smaller targets. Orcs were easy pickings with a bow, and the hillock gave her a decent vantage point.
The breath was driven from her lungs as something hit her hard from behind. The pain drove her to one knee, gasping for air. An orc, seeing her in a vulnerable position, launched forward, slashing at Daeril's legs with its sword. She rallied fast enough to draw her knife, but the orc's blade caught her in the left thigh, cutting deep into the muscle. Her knife blade sunk into the orc's eye socket, and it fell over dead. Daeril collapsed forward, catching herself before she face planted in the dirt. There was no time to inspect her wounds, she had to get to safety before something else attacked her or she got trampled. She could breath again, as painful as it was, and although the leg smarted at every step, she could walk.
"The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!" A loud voice cried out. Many voices returned the call, and even the enemy's attention was turned to the sky above. Out of the western sky flew the great Eagles, heading straight for the Nazgûl. The Nazgûl turned and flew back into the black land as a loud call came from Barad-dûr in the distance.
Rallying, the soldiers began to charge the enemy, a renewed sense of hope kindling. Daeril charged alongside both Rohirrim and men of Gondor, now displaced from her fellow rangers. It didn't matter, they were all fighting for the same side and united regardless of where they were from.
"Stand, Men of the West!" Gandalf cried aloud. "Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom."
The charge was cut short, and all waited as the ground began to shake, more than before. A darkness shot into the sky in the black land, as the mountain of fire erupted. Before them, the two Towers of the Teeth crumbled, falling where they stood, and the great Black Gate was cast down in the earthquake. The loudest rumbling noise Daeril had or would ever hear came from deep in Mordor, continuing on as all that Sauron built was cast down.
"The realm of Sauron is ended!" Mithrandir announced. "The Ring-bearer has fulfilled his quest."
The noise ceased, and the darkness disappeared. It was as if everyone had been in a trance, man, orc, and beast, and suddenly all were free. Orcs and other creatures fled the battle, going back to the hills or into Mordor itself, casting themselves in pits or upon their own weapons. Many Easterlings and Southrons fled, but a large number continued the assault, their hatred for the united peoples of the West and their great captains fueling one more stand. Daeril held her sword in her left hand, her usual sword arm nearly useless, impinged by an arrow in her upper back. She dispatched another Easterling, but was weakening and becoming sloppy. The next one had the upper hand on her, and even as she blocked the sword, a tremor of pain sent her to her knees. Someone else took the Easterling down, and Daeril collapsed.
"Stay down!"
Daeril looked up from her position on the ground, seeing Elladan. The elf held her shoulder as he pulled out a sharp elvish blade, shearing off the shaft of the black arrow that protruded from her back. It would need to come out, but not in an open battlefield. An Easterling charged up behind Elladan, ready to strike, but with the last of her strength Daeril drove her sword up into the Easterling's throat. As the ranger slipped into unconsciousness, the Easterling fell gurgling on his own blood. The elf finished him off, returning to the battle.
A/N: Please R&R! Thanks for your patronage!