Chapter 12 – Battles Won

In the Plateau of Gorgoroth in Mordor…

The sounds of the explosions continued to echo for over an hour as the dwarven bombs wreaked their havoc on the orc army. The Narnians maintained their presence at the gate, destroying any of the shadow's warriors that came through, still holding them at bay. Then, the last of the bombs exploded, and the only sounds left were the panicked cries of the orcs, and the screeching of the drakes as they maintained their bombardment of fire against the orc lines, driving the fiends mad with terror as everyone knows orcs fear fire almost as much as they fear the light. But then, the drakes too, having expelled every last blast of fire they held within themselves upon the enemy, had to pull back, unable to call forth more until they themselves had the chance to rest, eat, and recover the gases and liquids within their bellies which produced the wrathful flames. The griffins and the eagles who still remained all retreated back to the safety of the bulk of the Narnian forces, awaiting what further role they might play. The drakes continued southwards, back to their mistress of nature who had sent them. Soon, the skies were clear of them all.

From the rear, the weary high king stood and watched the battle and the retreat of their flying scouts. He wouldn't know how much damage had been done to the orcs until one of them made their report. The Narnians who now fought at the gate were still fresh and ready to press their advantage if indeed they had one, but there was no way of telling. And the same barrier which had proven their benefit in defense, now proved the same obstacle which it was to the enemy should they choose to go on the attack. They would suffer the same bottleneck. For the moment, it was sufficient for their goals, but should the orcs realize the bombardment was truly over, the soldiers of shadow might find their courage and reform against them.

"You have done well, Peter." A deep, leonine voice told him.

Startled, Peter turned to see the Great Lion himself. From where he had appeared, and how long he had been there was anyone's guess. Immediately, the king dropped to his knee before his true sovereign.

"Rise, Peter. We still have work to do before this fight is done." Aslan told him.

Peter obeyed. "We can hold those who come through, but if we're going to press our advantage, we have to do it now, and the gates block our path just as much as they block the path of the orcs."

"Well then, we'll just have to do something about that gate, now won't we?" Aslan replied. He then told the high king, "Climb on, and hold fast."

Surprised, Peter obeyed and mounted himself atop Aslan's back as though riding into battle once more bareback. He held onto the Great Lion's mane tightly, though it did not seem to bother the True King of Narnia at all.

Aslan then leaped forward, bounding hard and fast though the lines of combatants, all of whom expressed shock and amazement at the sight of their king riding on the lion's back. Aslan trampled down those orcs who thought to get in his way as though they might have been wildflowers in a field. Then he pulled up and stopped before the southern gate of Mordor. With Peter clinging to his mane, Aslan planted his claws into the rocky ground and roared at the gate.

It was a roar unlike any other. Waves of force projected from the Great Lion's throat and slammed into the metal, wood, and stone of the fortification hard, splintering it and fracturing it, until it burst apart towards the orc armies on the other side. The shattered wall in which the gate had been set, and the towers which had guarded it were no more, and the pass was clear for any and all to cross at will.

"Now, about the weather here. I think it's high time the sun shone freely on this land." Aslan then exclaimed. The Lion then roared another great roar towards the heavens, and the thick dark storm clouds which had kept out the sunlight were blown away and vanished. For the first time in millennia, the sun shone down brightly on the Plateau of Gorgoroth, and the seemingly eternal night of that land was banished.

When the sunlight streamed freely over the armies of orcs, they cried out and screamed in pain and terror at the blazing pure light which had been thrust upon them. Never had they been forced to endure its pure and sacred luminescence like that. They fled, blinded by the light, trying to seek cover from the sun anywhere they could, but there was no cover for them to be found. What trolls that had been brought to bear as beasts of war turned to stone like grotesque statuary at the first touch of the light's rays. The sunlight flooded the landscape everywhere in a beautiful morning display and wreaked havoc upon the army of shadow.

"WARRIORS OF NARNIA!" Aslan cried out in a booming voice which echoed across the battlefield. "ADVANCE UPON THE ORCS! LEAVE NONE ALIVE!"

A cheer went up among the Narnian troops once more, and then the forces from the east surged forward across the broken barrier and slammed into the panicked and disoriented orcs who, seeing the fresh and determined troops, fled before them, many dropping their weapons, and crushing one another trying to escape.

Aslan himself, Peter still mounted upon him, leaped into the battle as son of Adam and son of the Emperor Across the Sea fought as one, decimating the retreating enemy forces and becoming the head of the spear which broke through them and shattered what resistance that was left, breaking the orc commanders' will to fight completely. Peter, having been so exhausted from the night's long fight that he could barely stand, found his strength renewed and more so as living energy seemed to flow from the Great Lion into his tired limbs and mind and he felt stronger, sharper, and more powerful than ever he felt before or since.

The army of Narnia washed over the orcs like a tide leaving black blooded corpses and smashed engines of war in their wake. They actively hunted down those who tried to flee from the battlefield, the Narnian wolves in particular openly tracking them down and following them to whatever cave or hiding hole they could find to end them. There was no place of safety for the fleeing soldiers of Mordor.

Peter and Aslan were in the thick of the fight, having just felled a gargantuan olog whom might have been a warchief of one of the many tribes of the fiends, when a familiar griffin and his rider saw them on the battlefield, looks of astonishment on both their faces at the entire scene. Both were speechless as they observed the Narnians, led by high and True king alike, overrunning an army five times their own strength, and destroying every foul creature in their path. When they came to themselves, they remembered why they had come and descended towards the kings.

"Your majesties!" Sir Eric addressed both Lion and son of Adam, nodding in respect in lieu of a seated bow. "The army of Gondor is at the Black Gate! They will be overrun and crushed without aid!"

"Send the eagles!" Aslan responded without hesitation. "Gather all that remain and fly north as fast as you can! Your rightful king needs your sword, Sir Eric!"

"It's true then?!" The knight asked, astonished at the Lion's words. "The heir of Isildur has returned to the throne?!"

"He has, and your oath demands you fight at his side, not ours!" Aslan answered. "Go! Gather the eagles and fly! Fulfill your oath to lord and land, Sir Eric of Belfalas, Knight of Gondor! Fleetfeather, see him quickly to the battle! His presence is needed at once!"

"Yes, your majesty!" The griffin responded.

The knight saluted both Lion and son of Adam with his fist in respect, and a heaviness in his heart for he knew that this would be the last he saw of the extraordinary friends he had made of the legendary land in the east. Then he and Fleetfeather leaped into the sky once more to bring aid to the beleaguered and overwhelmed army of Middle Earth. Moments later, the sky was filled with the eagles streaking north as fast as they could fly, led by a talking griffin with a warrior of man on his back.

"Farewell, good and noble knight of Gondor." Peter said as he saw them pass overhead once more, and then turned his attention back to the grisly work of war.

The Narnians continued to fight with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy as they pressed forward. The sun rose higher in the sky, and then in the mid morning the whole landscape seemed to change. The great flaming eye which rested atop the tower of Barad-dur in the distance raged violently and then exploded, the black tower beneath it disintegrating as it did. A powerful wave of force radiated outwards, blowing a hard wind across the plateau, and the orcs which still remained from the slaughter fell where they had been standing, all will to fight, even to live, drained from them.

Seeing all this, Aslan cried out to the Narnians, "FALL BACK TO THE PASS! GET OUT OF THE PLATEAU!"

"Aslan, what has happened?!" Peter asked in astonishment.

"It is done!" The Lion told him triumphantly as he turned and began to try and shepherd the rest of their own forces back quickly. "Sauron's ring had been destroyed! The dark lord will threaten no one in this world ever again! Now we must get all of our people back to the safety of the pass, quickly!"

"What! Why, Aslan?!" Peter questioned even as the Lion led their troops into a full retreat.

Just then, behind them and to the north, the burning mountain, called in the elvish tongue Orodruin, exploded in a great eruption, shooting flaming and burning rocks into the sky where they fell to the ground all around the plateau. Magma pumped itself from every crevice in the mountain's exterior and began to flow in great cascading rivers across the dismal and wasted landscape.

Then Peter began to cry out along with the Lion, "FALL BACK! EVERYONE! FALL BACK!"

Just as they had advanced as a wave, so now that wave of Narnian soldiers was in full retreat, scrambling to get out of the way of the wrath of the violently erupting mountain. Behind them, the remains of the orc armies were caught in the fast moving lava and burning debris which threatened to strike and seep into every cave and crevice in the black lands as the volcano continued to rage at the death of its one time dark master.

On the Road South to Tamon Angren…

The army of Narnia retreated before the volcano back down the pass to where they had made camp the night before at the former mines of Tamon Angren. Aslan did not disappear again, but marched with them the entire way, speaking with the kings, Edmond and Peter as he did preparing them for the eventual journey home.

"I am glad it's over, Aslan." Peter told him. "I'm glad this war is finally done. I just wish that we hadn't lost so many. We've still not even been able to take a count of all the dead from today alone." A sad and melancholy expression took hold of the high king's countenance as he said, "what do I tell their families and loved ones? What comfort can I give them that they did not come home safely?"

"The truth." Aslan replied. "That they are not dead. They are not lost at all, but have come to my home forever. They are alive and well with my father in my country across the eastern sea, and they will see them again in time."

"Have you homes in your country for so many?" Peter asked.

"In my father's country are many homes for those of courage who seek his will." Aslan replied. "And all who seek him will find rest there."

Peter remained silent after that on the subject, trying to comprehend the Great Lion's words. He was also wrestling with the disappearance of the elf woman, Eltariel, who had left the army of Narnia once Mt. Doom had erupted and the tower of Barad-dur was no more. He wondered what should become of her and her ring, the only ring of power left that he knew of, now that Sauron had been destroyed. When he broached that subject with Aslan, the Lion only responded, "She has her path to follow, and you have yours."

In Tamon Angren…

The next day, a strange visitor came to their camp, though how he came to be there, or who he was no one knew. He was an old man, though whether by decades or by centuries no one could tell, with long white hair, and equally long white beard. He was dressed also in long white travelling robes, and carried a staff of wood which itself radiated a kind of power which no one could seem to understand. There was a look of surprise about him as he gazed about the camp.

"Take me to whoever is in charge of this expedition. I would speak with him." The old man told the guards at the walls, who, in spite of themselves, felt compelled to do exactly as he demanded.

They brought him to the fortress wherein the kings were residing and taking counsel as to how to proceed, and announced him, not to the high king and his brother, but to Aslan who still walked among them and to whom the sons of Adam deferred in obeisance.

The white haired wizard approached the great, majestic Lion with both curiosity and reverence. There was something familiar about the gargantuan cat that he could not quite place. Something which innately demanded his utmost respect and even adoration though he could not explain it.

"Greetings, Olorin. Welcome, my son." Aslan welcomed him, using the name which no mortal had ever called him by. It was the name his creator and eternal Father had given him before his incarnation as an old, wise man, and even before the founding of Arda itself.

Gandalf was taken aback in surprise and searched the eyes of the Lion deeply for the truth of who he was. In those feline eyes he saw the depths of eternity, and the person of that same Being who had not only given him life in the first, original song sang before the creation of the world, but restored it to him after the battle with the Balrog.

Upon this recognition, the millennia old wizard took one knee and bowed deeply, intoning with the deepest reverence and awe, "My Lord Eru, Iluvatar."

"Among these, as you are known as Gandalf, I am known only as Aslan." the Lion responded.

"As you wish, Aslan." Gandalf responded, yet still bowed low.

"Rise, my son." The Lion responded. "And let us talk freely."

And from there, no mortal present could understand their speech, for it was the language of those the elves and men called ainur, and resembled music and melodies too beautiful even for words to describe.

When they were done with their more private, intimate conversation, the wise old man bowed low before the Lion once more, asking in the common tongue, "Are you certain it must be this way, my Lord?"

"Until all things are brought to completion, yes. The west must not know of any of this. All traces of these people must pass into myth, and forgotten." Aslan affirmed for him. "And you yourself are to return home with the last of the ring bearers. Once Gondor's king is properly crowned, your work among them is done, my son."

Gandalf gave a sad, but understanding expression. "As you wish, my Lord Aslan. Allow me to make the arrangements when the time is right. They will want to say their good-byes properly, as will I."

"Of course." Aslan answered. "But take no more time than is necessary."

"Yes, my Lord." Gandalf replied.

Then the Great Lion breathed on him, and as the breath flowed around the wizard who still knelt before him, he disappeared from their sight.

That Night in Tamon Angren…

Peter's sleep was disturbed and filled with images of combat that night. Fiends with beady yellow eyes and sharp teeth lunged at him from the darkness. Good and noble Narnians and Archenlanders alike looked to him as they were decapitated, or disemboweled.

He woke with a start on his bedroll, sweat glistening on his forehead. They were still in the fortress at Tamon Angren, waiting for their wounded to be stable enough to travel. Next to him, his brother Edmond had not yet woken, but his sleep too appeared to be fitful in spite of the exhaustion and exhilaration at the day's events.

The high king got up from his bedroll and made his way from the inside of the stonework orc fortress to a window where, overhead in the clear night sky, countless stars blinked their greeting to him, happy to be able to shine over that land once more. Peter noted that they were the same stars, and the same constellations as those he would look upon sometimes from his apartments at Cair Paravel.

Cair Paravel… The castle had been his home for four decades, and he and his brother and sisters had played their role as well as they could. They had played the kings and queens everyone wanted and expected them to be. It had been all joy and peace for all that time until the knight had crashed through the woods and turned everything upside down. Up until that point, he hadn't given serious question to it. Up until now, he hadn't had to really deal with the other side of being high king.

He hadn't had to deal with the memories which the carnage of war, the province of kings, brought to him. He had been encouraged with Aslan's pronouncement that those who had fallen yet lived in his country across the sea. It had taken a great and heavy load from his heart. But it hadn't erased the trauma of watching them die, or the trauma of killing living beings over and over again until it became easy. These were the burdens he still bore, and he feared they would never be lifted from him.

"You can't sleep either, Pete?" He heard the voice of his younger brother, Edmond.

"No." Peter responded. "I just keep seeing their faces."

Edmond nodded knowingly, "Me too." He then said to his older brother, "You know what my wish would be now? You know, with the White Stag?"

The White Stag? Peter questioned. He had almost forgotten the legendary beast entirely. "No. What is it?"

"That we could go back to being kids, like we were so long ago, and not remember what we've seen here in this horrid land. Not remember their faces in my dreams. If we remembered anything it would only be the happy memories before this war." Edmond told him. He then asked, "Do you think that's stupid?"

"No, Ed." Peter replied. "I don't think it's stupid at all. I could wish that for us as well. I could even wish that we could go back and see mother and father one more time. I can't even remember what they looked like, it's been so long."

They both continued to look out at the stars, comforting each other as only brothers can.

Six months later…

High King Peter, King Edmond, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy crashed through the brush of the western woods on horseback, pursuing their prey. Once more, impossible though it might seem, the White Stag had been seen once more, and the four co-rulers gave its pursuit one more go. They had pursued it across Narnia westwards towards the Western Woods yet again as the grand animal led them on a merry chase which offered a much needed relief and release for them all.

Finally, it dove once more through a heavy brush and through trees where their horses could not follow. And once more, they found themselves dismounting, and standing around an iron lamp post that appeared to have no business being where it was, far from any city streets.

It was Peter who felt it first, the cool breeze coming from a stand of nearby trees. It flowed across them invitingly in the warm summer day and they chose to investigate it seeing as they had lost their other prey entirely. The four siblings passed through the trees, and then out of Narnia and into myth and legend themselves until one day, a thousand years later, a horn was found and blown, and four English children on their way back to their boarding schools from holiday heard Narnia's call once again.

THE END