Wow! The Battle of Pelennor Fields! It's here at last! And I didn't take as long to update this time! (HA-HA)
In actual truth, this was completed sometime around February, while I still had loads of free time. I was racing to complete it, as college was starting soon for me, and I knew I was going to be too busy to even think of writing this. Sadly, my beta Lady Vanya has also been busy, so yeah. There was actually a substantial delay between completion and publication. So yeah...The next update won't be coming for quite some time, as my worst fears have come true, and college just doesn't let up. I hope you guys can bear with me and be patient!
So anyway, this chapter was hard, really hard. Battles aren't that easy to portray, and to instill the sense of 'epicness' you get from a movie is real hard. I had a hell of a headache wondering which pov to use, who could tell the story the best. Inevitably, some parts would have to be omitted as the characters can't be everywhere at once. But yeah, I hope I did a good job. The Battle of Pelennor Fields! The most epic battle in the movie! I hope I did it justice.
Bonus points if you catch the two DW quotes in this chapter.
Battle: An military encounter between two opposing forces to decide the outcome of a war.
Pelennor Fields: The fields right outside Minas Tirith
On with the Tale. GERONIMOOO!
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Boromir
Boromir arrived at Osgiliath to find a scene of chaos. Dozens of Ithilien rangers moved swiftly around the city, each seemingly intent on destroying the city they were defending. Some splashed pitch or oil over piles of wood, while others used large battering rams to weaken towers and arches. Others were engaged in digging yawning pits, and Boromir spotted some groups setting up traps over the streets. His eyes settled on the figure directing the action. He was a man he recognized instantly, someone he had dearly missed throughout his travels. His brother Faramir.
Too engaged in their affairs, none noticed him at first as he slowly dismounted, walking into the courtyard. Finally, one Ranger spotted him. The Ranger immediately dropped what he had been carrying with a sharp gasp. Of course, that started a chain reaction where soon everyone was staring at him with shocked, wide eyes. Faramir's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"I'm in Mandos' realm!" One Ranger exclaimed.
Boromir put a weary hand to his forehead. Of course, news of his 'death' had reached Osgiliath as well. He rolled his eyes and spread his arms. "Calm yourselves, Rangers. Faramir." He tried for a cocky smile. "Reports of my death have been…greatly exaggerated."
"What are you? A trick of the Dark Lord?" Faramir spoke cautiously.
Boromir felt like bashing his head on the nearest pillar. First his father, and now his brother as well? "Brother...it's me." He held out his arms again. "In the flesh."
"Your horn..." Faramir began. "I found it – "
"Split in half, yes." Boromir rolled his eyes again. "I was there."
"You...truly did not die?"
"Yes!" Boromir was almost caught off balance by his brother's sudden embrace. Laughing, he hugged his brother close. It had been too long.
Faramir separated himself, eyes shining. "This...this is wonderful news, my brother! We must let Father know immediately!"
Boromir's eyes widened. "NO!"
Faramir blinked. "No?"
"I have already been to father," he admitted.
"Yes?"
"I have been disowned."
Faramir's jaw actually dropped in shock. "What?!" Whirling around, he called several commands to his men, telling them to finish their tasks quickly. He set down another path, gesturing for Boromir to walk with him.
"He...refused to believe it was me before him, and he...demanded something from me." Boromir took another breath, trying to speak calmly. "When I refused him, he felt betrayed, and demanded I leave him."
Faramir was silent. "Was it...the Ring that he demanded?"
Boromir's mouthed opened and closed soundlessly.
Faramir hid a smile. "Don't look so shocked, brother mine. Some days ago, I chanced upon two Halflings and a girl in Emyn Muil –"
Boromir grasped his brother's shoulders. "Frodo? Annabeth and Sam?"
Faramir smiled, extricating himself. "Your friends. A few rash words from Sam told me all I needed to know, and I captured them and had them brought to Osgiliath, planning to...offer a gift to Father."
Boromir's heart sank. "You didn't..."
Faramir shook his head ruefully. "To say I was not tempted would be a lie. Nevertheless,
I released them. The last I saw of them they were heading for Cirith Ungol."
His heart unclenched. "I see. What are we doing now?" Boromir asked.
Faramir continued walking, passing him a large map of Osgiliath, a heavily annotated map with various symbols over various locations. He raised an eyebrow. "Annabeth?"
Faramir snorted with quiet laughter. "That girl has a genius for tactics and strategy. She single-handedly reorganized my entire battle plan in just an afternoon!"
"I'm surprised you didn't make her captain," Boromir joked.
"Believe me, I certainly thought of it." Faramir laughed. He gestured towards the map again.
"Thanks to her organization, we have been able to repel Mordor far more efficiently these last few days, and before she left she provided some advice on the occasion where Osgiliath can no longer be held by our forces." He pointed upwards. "Now the sky is dark, and the Black Riders have been flying above all day. I do not think we will be able to repel them this time."
"Where will you go?"
"Back to Minas Tirith."
Boromir frowned. "I cannot return."
"Truthfully, neither can I. However, Minas Tirith is in grave peril, and our father is mad. We have to return, or Minas Tirith will fall," he sighed. "Besides, I will not futilely risk the lives of more of my men."
"Then we will return. Together.
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The Rangers had been prepared, but they had not expected to be surprised. While the traps were still under construction, those building thinking they had hours before the attack, three crashes were heard above Osgiliath. All were struck with terror and fled, only knowing their worst fears had come to life above them.
Faramir was the first to understand, striking a torch and lifting it high to see the black shapes on the towers. "NAZGUL!"
Boromir uttered an oath. "Three of them!"
Then came the orcs. They heard the crunch of their new barges reaching West Osgiliath, and then the orcs were upon them. This time there was no organized squadrons, no line of torches ready. The orcs dominated the Rangers.
"Retreat!" Faramir cried. "FALL BACK TO MINAS TIRITH!"
Retreat was impossible. Defeat and death were upon them.
Three fireworks screamed into existence, bursting in the sky to create new stars that hovered in the air. In that instant, bright starlight illuminated Osgiliath. Orcs threw up their hands to shield their eyes, the Nazgul shrieked with anger. Sudden hoofbeats, and there was Gandalf, his palm was outstretched, light emanating from his palm, while his other staff blazed with fire!"Go!" he cried.
Faramir seized the moment. "Get to the stables! Get horses and make ready a retreat!" His eyes suddenly widened, and he fell backwards, a dark dart protruding from his neck. Boromir spun, raising his shield just in time to deflect another of the deadly darts aimed for him.
Grimly, Boromir hoisted his brother over his shoulders, throwing him onto the back of a stallion. He swung into the saddle and secured his brother, calling out commands to the remaining Rangers.
They lost more than three hundred rangers that night in the mad, desperate escape. Gandalf created a massive wall of fire to aid their escape, and led them through the darkness. Hearts heavy, they escaped as Osgiliath burned, the screams of dying Rangers ringing in their ears.
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The time had come. Far sooner than they had hoped, the drums of war started rolling. The orcs advanced. Line by line they came, berserkers leading the charge, trolls dragging gigantic engines of war, Mumakil stampeding onto the field. Huge, black shapes darted in and out of the gloom above, striking fear and despair wherever they went. A line of fires started across the fields of Pelennor, as the orcs dug trenches and made ready for war.
The siege of Gondor had begun.
Boromir strode the length of the city, trying to be an encouragement to the men of the city, trying not to show his own anxiety. Gandalf was not with him, as the guards could not allow an exiled within Minas Tirith, no matter who he was. The wizard had left, promising once again that their hope would not be in vain.
Faramir. Denethor had said no word to him or anyone else. Only picking up Faramir with strength belying his age and bringing him to his chambers. The last time he had seen his father, Boromir had been hard pressed to tell who was closer to death. Boromir had had no news of him after that. He only hoped they were well. Pippin had been hugely relieved to see him again, and Boromir regretted having to leave the hobbit alone again, but he was bound to his post, as Boromir was bound to his duty.
Now, the city looked to Boromir, as he spoke to them, as he encouraged them, as he strengthened their wills. It was an uphill battle, as the dark gloom and the army massed outside their walls crushed their spirits almost faster than he could lift them.
The city was besieged, enclosed in a ring of foes. The plain was dark with enemies. The army was many times the horde that had attacked Helm's Deep. Trolls, orcs, Haradrim, and Easterlings riding Mumakil; all had answered Sauron's call. There was even rumor of the Corsairs of Umbar allying with Mordor, taking their black ships to Minas Tirith. Through it all, ever present, ever felt, yet barely glimpsed, the Nazgul, the Ringwraiths, flying through the gloom atop gigantic forms.
All night the enemy burned trees and fields and killing anyone they came across. Busy as ants, orcs were digging lines of deep trenches in a huge ring, filling them with fire. To their dismay, trenches and barriers were set on the road to Rohan. Even to Boromir, there was very little chance of Rohan being able to break through. All day and night, the army prepared for war, while Boromir and the city watched, unable to hinder or stop them.
All Boromir could do was continue to hope, and continue to steady the shaking hands of the people.
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The attack began at midnight. A harsh orc command, and a hail of missiles launched towards the city. The people laughed then. The army was strong, and their siege engines powerful, yet it would take many men many years to breach the great wall, the Rammas Echor. It had been built in the old days in the splendor of the Numenoreans. It was unbreakable.
But no shot was wasted on the walls. With many yells and the creaking of rope and winch, they launched missiles astonishingly high. Such was the power of the catapults, the trebuchets, the ballistae, that the missiles soared over the walls, landing in the first level of the city. By some sorcery, they burst into flame upon landing, and before long, the first level of the city was full of fire and screams. The missiles flew repeatedly.
There was a brief lull, as the enemy presumably ran out of shot. Then more projectiles soared into the city. All around the street and lanes they tumbled down, small round shot that did little damage. When there was no fire, no explosion, the people went out to look, and many lost their meals at the sight.
Heads. The heads of all killed by the orcs. The heads of men, women and children from outlying towns that had been raided, heads of soldiers that had been involved in skirmishes. The heads of scouts who never returned from their missions, and of course, the heads of the Rangers who fell in Osgiliath.
The heads were bruised and disfigured, and many thankfully unrecognizable, but there were some who were recognized, the faces almost always frozen in a rictus of fear or despair. All were marked with the Red Eye. Boromir ordered a platoon of men to clear away the remains, sparing the rest of the people from further distress.
The Nazgul came again. As the Dark Lord had grown in his strength, so had the Nazgul in theirs. Out of sight and shot they flew, their deadly voices renting the air. More unbearable they became, not less, after each new cry. Men threw themselves the ground, dropping their weapons at each pass.
The men of the city cried to his father, but his father would not receive them, locked in his chambers. The door would not open even for him. So it was he that took command of the last defence of the city of Gondor.
For hours the orcs battered away at the gates, but like the wall itself, the great gates of Minas Tirith were strong and stout. For a long while the orcs pounded futilely against the iron bars, dying by the dozens as brave archers rallied behind the gates, shooting through the gaps. On both sides of the gate, bodies were piled twice the height of a man. Burning wreckage of siege engines strewn around the gate bore testament to the valor of Gondor's defenders.
After many hours, a harsh command in the Black Speech called from above. Amidst the sound of beating wings, the voice uttered a command, the only recognizable word being 'Grond'.
Grond? Grond? Where had he heard that word before? In a flash, it came to him, out of half remembered stories. The Great War between the Valar and Melkor. Melkor had a weapon, the Hammer of the Underworld…Grond. But what was the connection?
"Grond! Grond! Grond! Grond!" the orcs were chanting.
"Lord Boromir! You must see this!" a soldier called.
A Nazgul shrieked.
CRASH!
The deep boom shook the city. Boromir ran to the battlements, and beheld Grond. A massive battering ram, great as a forest-tree a hundred and fifty feet in length, swinging on mighty chains. Long had it been forging in the dark smithies of Mordor, and its hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the likeness of a ravening wolf. Great beasts drew it, orcs surrounded it, and behind walked mountain-trolls to wield it. Drums rolled. Fire sparked in the wolf's maw.
The Nazgul cried once more, a spell in the Black Speech of destruction, of fear.
"Grond! Grond! Grond! Grond!"
CRAAASH!
The gates buckled, but held. The mighty gates, which had withstood the orcs for so long, were buckling at only the second strike! Even from his perch high above, he felt the evil emanating from the ram. Though arrows of fire rained down, upon Grond's housing no fire would catch; and though now and again some great beast that hauled it would go mad from the sheer evil of the ram and go stamping ruin among the orcs innumerable, their bodies were cast aside and others took their place.
Once more, the Nazgul cried. Once more, the great ram boomed.
CRAAAAAAAASH!
The great gates of Minas Tirith burst asunder; the doors tumbled in riven fragments to the ground. The orcs streamed in with triumphant cheers. The first line of archers fell in an instant under the onslaught. The men tried to use the gates as a bottleneck, but the gap was too wide, the orcs soon outnumbering the men ten to one.
"Fall back!" Boromir cried. "Fall back to the second level!"
The men scrambled to obey, abandoning the first level of the city. Many were too late, and others fought valiantly to buy precious time for the others. The orcs scrambled over a floor of corpses towards the second level, where the men were hastily mounting a new defence. When the orcs broke through, they would retreat once more, defending each successive level for as long as they could.
Minas Tirith had only seven levels. They were fighting a losing battle.
And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.
And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. A tremendous blast of wind tore through the sky, shafts of dawning sunlight lancing the clouds.
Rohan had come at last.
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Thalia
The Wood Man sniffed the air. "A stranger approaches."
Theoden and his guards froze in their places, hands gripping sword hilts. No sound could be heard.
"What's going on?" Merry whispered from behind her, trying to peek past her back.
"Someone's coming."
For a long while, there was complete silence except for their quiet breathing. Then they heard it; the sound of a horse, coming towards them. A faint light was seen through the trees, approaching slowly. The light brightened gradually, until Thalia had to shield her eyes from the unaccustomed brightness.
"Theoden King! It is good to find you here!" Gandalf hailed the Riders.
"Gandalf!" Theoden exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Has the battle been won? How fares Minas Tirith?"
Gandalf frowned. "The armies have broken through Osgiliath a day ago. The hosts of Mordor now lays siege to Minas Tirith. Battle has not been engaged yet, though I fear it is only a matter of time. This is why I have come seeking you."
"We are not too late then!" Eomer gripped his spear.
"Dawn approaches. You are on the fringes of the wood. If you make haste, you will pierce this forest before the sun rises. Assemble your men, Theoden King, and you will cut a swath through Mordor, the sun on your backs."
Thalia snorted. "Um, Gandalf? News flash, the sun didn't shine yesterday. What makes you think it'll shine today?"
Gandalf merely winked at her. "The sun shines every morning, Thalia Grace. Only the clouds obscure its brilliance."
Thalia rolled her eyes. "For the record, I tried that back at camp. Those clouds won't obey me."
"Ah, but what pushes the clouds, Thalia Grace?"
She blinked. "Ah…"
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Led by Gandalf and the Wood Men, the Rohirrim finally pierced the Druadan. Under the dark sky, they reformed their ranks by the outskirts of the Fields of Pelennor. Even Theoden was brought short by the sheer size of the hosts of Mordor. The fire from the city and the lights of a hundred thousand torches glinted off the armor and swords of what seemed like the entire population of Manhattan. Even Kronos didn't have an army this size!
Eowyn gasped. "The gate! Minas Tirith has been breached!"
Alatar (Or was it Pallando? She wished they would wear different colors) rode up on his horse, crying encouragement. "There are corners of this land that have bred the most terrible things. Things which act against everything we believe in!" He looked each of them in the eye. "They must be fought!"
The Rohirrim raised their spears, crying agreement.
Theoden now rode up. He rode through the ranks, touching spears with the Riders. "Now is the hour come, Riders of the Mark, sons of Eorl! Foes and fire are before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien field, the glory that you reap here shall be your own forever. Oaths ye have taken; now fulfill them all, to lord and land and league of friendship!"
Men clashed spear against shield, the sound carrying far over the field.
Thalia put Merry in front of her. "Whatever happens, we stay together, alright? We'll look after each other."
Gandalf nodded to Thalia. She sucked in a deep breath. Now was the time. She closed her eyes, calling upon the skies and wind. From nowhere, a wind blew into existence, growing stronger as she concentrated. The banner of the White Horse unfurled in the wind, flapping wildly. A vicious gust of wind tore the orc banners to shreds. A gale roared across the dark battlefield, putting out all the torches, plunging the field into a deeper darkness. A gust of wind snatched her into the sky, the centre of a raging windstorm.
Her eyes remained squeezed shut, not daring to look down for fear of what she would see. A gasp came from beneath her. "Sunlight!"
A loud, strong voice, which seemed to be magically magnified, shouted a stirring battle cry
"Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!
Fell deeds awake: Fire and slaughter!
Let spear be shaken, shields be splintered!
A sword day, a red day ere the sun rises!
Ride now! Ride now to Gondor!"
Theoden seized a horn from his standard bearer and blew such a mighty blast it split apart in his hands.
"FORTH EORLINGAS!"
She smiled, throwing all she had into the wind, finally falling forward. Instinctively she summoned a cushion of air to soften her landing. Through her closed eyes, she felt brightness all around. When she opened them again, brilliant shafts of sunlight lanced through the cloud above, and even the cloud was being swept away by the hurricane.
The Rohirrim swept down upon the plain, the sun rising behind their back. "DEATH!" The ensuing cry rang across the entire plain. Hoofbeats loud as thunder, the ground shaking, they took the black army totally by surprise. A ragged cheer rose from the walls of Minas Tirith. To Thalia's eyes, the grass where the Riders trod blazed green again.
Theoden was riding fast and hard. He sat straight in his saddle, tall, strong and proud once more, Thalia barely recognized him. He outpaced his guards, he outpaced his standard-bearer, and he was the forefront of the charge. They reminded Thalia of a rising wave, relentless, unstoppable. It was like a blessing from Ares himself. The Rohirrim were singing.
A rain of arrows flew towards them, a troop of raiders desperately trying to hold them off. Some Riders were hit, but still they charged. As they charged, Thalia saw the look on the captain's face change to fear. Apparently, he recognized Theoden.
The men put up a wall of shields. The Rider's spears literally destroyed their shields. Full battle was engaged. Theoden broke his spear inside their captain, and drew his sword. For Thalia's part, all she had to do was wave Aegis and the men ran away in terror. They cut through the Southrons without even slowing, leaving the rest to run away in terror. Thalia found herself laughing.
They even challenged one of those oversized elephants, and there Merry fought his first battle on the saddle, managing to kill three orcs, stabbing them repeatedly even though they were dead. The elephant crushed more orcs beneath its feet, brought down by many arrows.
"UP EORLINGAS! Fear no darkness!"
None of them saw it coming. Thalia, riding beside the King and desperately trying not to fall off, was taken by surprise when Snowmane reared without warning, hooves fighting the air in terror. Theoden gripped the stallion's neck, trying to stay on. Then Snowmane fell backwards with a neigh of terror, crushing the King beneath him.
Thalia fell off her horse, but the pain was pushed away as she ran towards the King. She touched his hand. It was too late, there was no pulse. In another moment, Eowyn was beside her king, with Merry behind. Merry was the one who discovered the black dart by Snowmane's side.
A shadow fell over them, and there it came, flying slowly over the battle. Horses reared, screaming in terror wherever it passed, throwing their riders to the ground. The knights of Theoden's house stood, but their horses would not obey, rushing away. The beast flapped its wings, landing before Theoden. The leader of the Ringwraiths.
"A Black Rider!" Merry cried.
All color had drained from Eowyn's face. "The Witch-King of Angmar."
"Eowyn!" Eomer galloped towards them at full speed. The Wraith cried a spell, stretching his hand, and Eomer flew backwards, where he found himself amidst a throng of orcs only too happy to kill him.
The Wraith bore upon them, the fell beast roaring into their faces.
A spear of light lanced past its vision, causing it to recoil. "Leave the dead in peace." Gandalf strode up to challenge it. "Go back into the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall back into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!"
The wraith laughed. "Old fool! Old fool! Do you not know Death when you see it? This is not your victory! This is my hour!"
It alighted from the beast, and swung at Gandalf with its mace. Gandalf brought his sword up to meet it. Their weapons only just met when Gandalf's sword split in two. The wraith thrust his hand, and Gandalf flew far back.
Thalia fired three celestial-bronze tipped arrows, but they merely splintered on his robe. The wraith faced her. With a gesture, the beast lunged at her. She shrieked and leapt back, engaging the creature. The beast knocked the spear out of her hands, shrieking directly into her face. Deafened, stunned, she fell back as the beast stood guard over her.
"I would slay you twenty times over for that insult." It hissed. "You have been spared by the Dark Lord's will. Sauron wishes you alive to join his...collection. I will deal with you later."
Thalia lay back, unable to think, unable to move.
"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, Lord of Carrion!" A woman's voice cried. Eowyn!
"Come not between a Nazgul and its prey! Or he will not slay thee in turn. He will bear thee away to the house of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the lidless eye."
"If you touch him, I will kill you," Eowyn rejoined steadily,
A sword rang, and Thalia heard yet another sword ring as it broke in Eowyn's hands. Cursing, she opened her eyes to see the beast before her. Snatching up her knife, she raked it across its body. It barely left a scratch. Thalia groaned. There was a flash of pain, and she was on the ground again, the beast towering above. Thalia swept up her spear from the ground and summoned a burst of wind that caught its wings and pushed the beast off balance. Turning, she saw the mace falling on Eowyn once more, Eowyn raising her shield to meet it.
Crunch!
Eowyn gave a cry of agony, her arm broken.
"You fool. It has been prophesied. No living man may hinder me. I am the Witch King of Angmar, dreaded even when I was mortal. Now, I am IMMORTAL."
Thalia was now muttering a nonstop stream of curses as she dodged the beast again, whacking it with her spear. She spotted Merry lying dazed behind the Witch King. "Merry! Do something!"
"What do I do?"
"Help Eowyn!"
"How can I?!"
"I don't know!" She got out, almost gagging at the stench as the beast's jaws snapped shut above her. "But that thing there certainly is terrible! It acts against everything you believe in!"
"It must be fought." He nodded, face set. He looked at the knife in his hand. "This dagger was given to me by Tom Bombadil. He said it was forged by the men of Westernesse with spells against evil. I suppose it's time to test that."
Thalia sighed. "Very nice, now JUST DO IT!"
He darted behind the wraith. As the wraith lifted its mace one last time, Merry made his move. "OI! DO HOBBITS COUNT AS MEN?!" he yelled.
The wraith's hood turned at the voice. Merry sunk his knife into the back of its knee. The Wraith fell to its knees, shrieking in pain.
Even as Merry pulled out his knife, it dissolved smoking in his hands.
Distracted by the scene, Thalia almost got decapitated again by the beast. She growled. Time to finish him off. She lifted her spear, just as the beast grabbed her around her stomach and blasted into the sky. Thalia screamed as the ground flew from her. Forcing her eyes open, she twisted. Still screaming, she pushed the spear deep into the beast's throat.
Its grip slackened as the beast screamed. Thalia's screaming turned into a shriek, her fear pounding her heart. The both fell. It was now or never. She reached a hand to the rapidly approaching ground, crying to the winds to save her.
The beast landed with a thud that shook everyone near it off their feet. Thalia groaned from her landing spot on the beast's fat stomach. "Never again…"
Having been shaken to the ground, the wraith was still on its knees as Eowyn got unsteadily to her feet. ""IMPOSSIBLE! NO MAN CAN HARM ME!" He cast out his hand; his black mace flew to it.
"Perhaps without a face, you are truly without eyes as well, Dwimmerlaik! I AM NO MAN!" She snarled.
Amateur! Idiot! Half-dazed daughter of Ares! Weaponless and a broken arm and she was still challenging that thing! Thalia did the only thing she could from this distance. Muttering a quick prayer to Artemis, she wrenched her bloodied spear from the beast's body, hurling it in Eowyn's direction. "Eowyn! CATCH!"
Eowyn spun, catching the spear in her unbroken arm. The spear crackled, lightning arcing and running through its length. Thalia saw a fierce grin on her face, just as the wraith suddenly realized what was going to happen.
Eowyn plunged the bright spear deep into the wraith's hood. As it pierced the hood, the spear shattered, and then the wraith was in the midst of an explosion of blue fire as all the energy in the celestial bronze spear was released. Lightning arced through every inch of its body as the wraith screamed; a horrible, keening screech as the lightning destroyed it from the inside out. To Thalia's eyes, it seemed as if white light was bleeding from its face. Tendrils of energy burnt off the dark robes until they collapsed in a smoking heap. The crown fell to the ground and rolled to Merry's foot. The hobbit promptly fainted.
"That was my favorite spear…" Thalia muttered.
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"Theoden King! Eowyn!" Eomer ran to them, having killed the last of the orcs surrounding him. He knelt by his King and wept.
"Eomer…beloved son." The King spoke, haltingly, slowly.
Eomer gripped his uncle's hand.
"My eyes darken. I would see you and Eowyn ere I go. You must be King after me." Slowly, all her strength suddenly drained, Eowyn staggered to her uncle also, holding his hand weakly.
"Live well." He told her. "Eowyn, dearer than a daughter."
Eomer knelt beside him, weeping. Theoden touched his shoulder. "Mourn not…overmuch.
Hail…King of the Mark. Ride now…to victory." He smiled one last time. "Farewell." His face settled into an old man in rest, and he breathed no more.
Eomer stood for a long time, crying softly. Eowyn succumbed to her wounds and fell upon the field. As Thalia watched, Eomer's eyes burnt with a new fury and madness. Eyes filled with sorrow and rage, spear brandished, Eomer blasted loud on his horn, and led a berserker charge into the enemy.
"Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising
I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing
To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking
Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red nightfall!"
He screamed his throat raw. "DEEEEAAAAAATH!"
The Rohirrim rode to avenge the deaths of their King and their Lady.
"DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAATH!"
Thalia cried along with them. "DEAAAAAAAAATHH!"
It was the last thing the orcs had been expecting. Against all odds, fuelled by rage and sorrow, the Riders of Rohan galloped full speed to meet the army. Their hooves were like an earthquake on the plain.
Hundreds of Riders fell in the first charge. The Enemy had recovered surprisingly quickly from losing their general, and they were massed again in defence. Eomer didn't care. He led the Rohirrim straight through them, and against all odds the Rohirrim stampeded through their defences. Hundreds more fell, taking thousands with them.
Both sides inflicted heavy losses on each other. The field was full of the dead. The army of the orcs backed down slowly. The fighting was the fiercest Thalia had ever faced, all was fighting and crying and killing.
Eomer ran out of momentum. And even Thalia realized a mistake had been made. They had charged into the middle of the enemy, an enemy that now surrounded them, still outnumbering them by far. They were all going to die. She felt disjointed, unconnected. 'I can't die here, all alone!' She gazed uncomprehendingly around her at the sheer amount of death and despair. 'Where's Percy? Where's Nico? Where's Annabeth?
Where are my friends?'
Then came the death knell to the Rohirrim, destroying the last vestige of hope in Thalia's heart. Black ships sailed up the Anduin, and they understood the battle was truly lost. The Corsairs of Umbar were here. Eomer screamed, raising his spear against them in defiance. The Rohirrim both wept and screamed. Thalia raised her sword, cursing the fates. The battle was over.
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Nico
"You guys ready?" Percy grinned.
"No!" the other four yelled.
"Too late!"
The lead ship soared into the air, propelled by an enormous wave. Five figures leapt off as it crashed onto the orcs underneath. Legolas did a somersault mid-air and landed on his feet, an arrow already nocked on his bow by the time he landed. Nico reappeared from a shadow beside Legolas. "Boo!" The orcs nearest to him scattered.
Aragorn rolled hard and leapt to his feet, sword outstretched. "SURRENDER IN THE NAME OF THE KING!"
"AAAAAAARGH!" Gimli fell out of the boat flat on his face. Nico dragged a palm across his face, trying to stifle his laughter.
A massive wave reached into the air, forming arms that dragged the orcs by the shore into their watery graves. The water finally receded to reveal a perfectly dry Percy, casually swinging Riptide in one hand. "'Sup?"
"Show off." Nico grumbled.
Percy jerked a thumb at Legolas. "Like he isn't?"
The remaining orcs gathered their wits. "Kill them." The leader drew his scimitar and lumbered forward. He was turned into a living pincushion before he had taken three steps. From the other ships, a few hundred men leapt down. Tall, strong men, dressed in Ranger's garb. The Dunedan, bearing a black banner. As the wind caught it, it unfurled to reveal a silver tree crowned with stars.
Aragorn gestured to Nico. "Nico. Take command of the others."
Nico smirked, summoning his sword. "Today, the army of the dead shall save the land of the living!" he proclaimed.
"I detect a stolen line." Percy needled.
"Shut up." Nico raised his sword. At his signal, the army of ghosts appeared around him, weapons unsheathed, teeth bared.
The orcs screamed and ran for their lives.
"Woo hoo! Here we go!" Percy laughed as he cleared the shoreline of orcs with huge sweeps of an arm of water, then lunging into the throng, more water spinning and surging around him like a hurricane. No worries about him. Even if the orcs could bypass his skills, Percy was practically indestructible now, what with his curse and the mithril shirt. Last Nico saw of him, Percy had acquired a horse and was charging through the battlefield, whooping wildly.
As expected, Gimli and Legolas took off immediately, both keeping a count. In moments they had brought down around ten orcs each. Aragorn led his fellow Dunedan into the fray as well, parting the black army like a knife through butter. "Nico! With me!"
As for him? He got the coolest job of all. Nico Di Angelo, commander of the undead. At first, it went better than he could have ever expected. The orcs were plainly terrified of the Dead. No weapons could touch them, no arrow hit them. One of their advantages was simply fear itself. Who would want to fight an enemy that had already died? Nico couldn't help grinning. It wasn't an army of dragon tooth spartoi, but this was pretty awesome as well.
Their strategy was simple. They charged straight into enemy battalions, making all around them scatter while screaming for their mommies, then it was a simple matter for Aragorn and his group to pick them off with spears or swords – if the ghosts hadn't got them yet, of course. It was even easier when your army couldn't take any damage. All he had to do was lead them and focus on not getting killed himself.
But then it ended. Something in the air changed. A shadow swooped over them. The orcs screamed and started fighting back a lot harder, seemingly overcoming their fear of the Dead. They were panicked, frightened! But they fought on harder than ever despite the raging fear in their eyes. Nico only realized what it was when one of the Dunedan was snatched up into the sky by monstrous claws. The orcs were still afraid of the Dead. But they feared the Wraiths even more than the dead.
Three figures hooded in black landed on the ground, while the other beasts soared overhead, turning the tides wherever they went. The skies darkened, lightning flashed. But the Ringwraiths were wiser, they were stronger now. As Nico watched, one wraith caught a bolt on his sword and deflected it downwards, scorching a portion of Gondor's white walls.
He turned back to the three, no, five figures that were now on the ground. They advanced slowly, menacingly, ornate black swords before them. Even the orcs cowered before them.
One of the ghost soldiers broke ranks and lunged, sword poised to thrust through the lead wraith's chest. The wraith simply lashed out with its own sword, catching the ghostly blade with its own. As the undead soldier stared in shock, a quick flick of a gauntleted wrist cut a line into the soldier's body. The soldier faded into the air.
Nico gulped. Of course. The wraiths were undead as well. Now the ghosts had their fear and their invincibility, two of their best advantages. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
The King of the Dead surged forward, seething with righteous fury. He acquired another sword from one of his soldiers. He engaged the lead wraith in a stunning clash of swords. The swords clashed again and again. Even as they watched, they knew how it would end. The King fought masterfully, expertly dual wielding both swords for attack and defense. But the wraith was stronger, faster. The black blade finally cleaved both ghostly swords into pieces, and with a final strike, the King of the Dead dissolved into mist, screaming.
The five Ringwraiths continued to advance relentlessly.
The Dead looked to Nico, their faces clear. They were afraid. For centuries they had lived, immortal, unable to die. Now there was a foe capable of destroying them utterly, and they were afraid. But he could see another hope peeking through the fear. They sought peace. Here was something that could set them free from this tortured life.
The King's second in command floated to him. Nico stared into its empty eyes, and they communicated.
"Death would be welcome."
He frowned. "Aragorn could release you."
"Nico, what are you doing? What are they saying?" Aragorn asked, striding forward.
He held up his hand. "Trust me, Aragorn."
The ghost laughed. "Isildur's heir himself cannot destroy five Ulairi. If he dies we will never have peace again."
Nico could see the logic in that. "Are your people of one mind?"
"It is as you said, Son of Hades. This day, the Army of the Dead shall defend the Land of the Living."
Nico sighed. His voice almost a whisper. "Go."
The general raised his sword and spear. "LET US FULFILL OUR OATHS! LET US FIND PEACE AT LAST!"
The Army of the Dead raised their own weapons, a shout that was both a cheer and a final battle cry. They swept past Nico, their ghostly forms swirling around him, the very air blurring. The Army of the Dead's last charge as they held off the Ringwraiths.
Aragorn bowed his head. Out of sorrow or respect, Nico couldn't tell. "Come on." His voice cracked slightly. He nudged Aragorn. "They're giving their lives to save yours. Don't let their sacrifice be in vain."
Aragorn raised a hand to the Army of the Dead in a salute. "May you find favor with Mandos." He sighed and turned, rallying his men. They formed ranks and advanced elsewhere, finding more tangible enemies to destroy.
Nico took one last glance behind. Four black forms were entirely surrounded by myriad swirling greenish-grey forms. The wraiths were taking no damage, but they were effectively immobilized. Nico blinked. Weren't there five?! An icy cold hand gripping his shoulder like iron put a stop to his retreat. "The Lord of the Dead, the Earthshaker." Terrible, mocking laughter.
Nico whirled. The fifth wraith was before him, sword held high. Nico gasped. For the first time, he saw a wraith up close, and he saw through the hood to the spirit-form within. A pale, haggard face twisted with hate. Their black swords met with a mighty clash, and Nico wavered. The wraith was much, much stronger than he was. He realized that this was a fight he couldn't win.
"You are not to be harmed, young one." The wraith twisted its hand, and Nico's sword clattered to the ground. It glared at him with undisguised hatred. "Though you destroyed my beast at Helm's Deep, the Dark Lord wishes you taken to him alive."
"You were the one who's dragon I killed at Helm's Deep?" Nico forced a laugh. "Didn't you learn your lesson – AAAARGH" The wraith caught his wrist and twisted it hard.
"Consider yourself...fortunate." The wraith turned to the sky. "Take him!"
Two hand-like claws clamped onto his shoulders before he could protest, and he was flying through the air, screaming.
"NICO!" The ground was rapidly fading away. The sky around him suddenly exploded with a barrage of lightning strikes, but the Ringwraith riding the beast expertly flung them away or avoided them.
The Ringwraith apparently found it impossible to navigate beneath the lightning-filled clouds, and was forced to rise through them. Nico distinctly heard several muttered words in black speech. He didn't need to know black speech to understand.
They burst through the clouds to blazing sun. The Ringwraith uttered several more shrieks of displeasure, diving again. But Nico had seen his chance. With the sun blazing on the back of the beast, the underside of the beast was thrown into deep shadow. He grinned. "HEY NAZGUL!"
The beast stopped for a moment, hovering. Nico assumed the wraith was listening. "BYE!" he closed his eyes and melted into shadow.
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He emerged in a darkened chamber. At the very end was a raised table piled with wood, while two doors marked the entrance at the opposite end. Nico took several moments to recover, catching his breath and quieting his racing heart. Cautiously extending his senses, Nico sensed the dead resting all around them. Great, just great. Apparently he had teleported straight into the city's burial crypt. All around him were marble tables, which rested dead people. Rolling his eyes, he made his way towards the doors.
That was when they opened. Nico ducked into a pool of shadow as an old man walked inside, carrying a young man in his arms. Nico was immediately struck by their resemblance to Boromir.
Figuring that he had nothing to lose, he walked out before them. "Um, hi, could you tell me the way to the throne room?"
The older man was so shocked he almost dropped the young man in his arms. "What in the name of the Valar?!"
"Yeah, I kind of took a wrong turn." Nico went for an innocent grin. "I don't…know where I am."
"You are in the Rath Dinen, the Silent Street." The man walked past him, placing his son on the pile of wood. "Forbidden ground. Guards!"
Three guards bearing torches burst into the room, at the very same moment another smaller form squeezed into the chamber. Nico grinned widely. "Pippin!"
Pippin's eyes bulged at the sight of him, but he seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind. "Lord Denethor, you can't! Your son is still alive!"
"Leave me, Halfling! I command you leave!"
"Not while I'm in your service, my lord. I cannot allow you to...to kill two men!"
"Farewell, Peregin son of Paladin! Your service has been short and now it is drawing to an end.
I release you the little that remains. Go and die in what way seems best to you! Farewell!" Pippin was forcibly evicted from the chamber.
"I will not say farewell, my lord." Pippin cried.
"Do as you will, Master Halfling, My life is broken.
"Pip!" Nico grabbed his hands. "Get Boromir." Pippin nodded resolutely and ran from the room.
Denethor gazed at him. "Who are you? You who are not dead, yet of the dead?"
Judging from what he heard, his purpose was pretty clear. "I'm the one who's going to prevent two senseless deaths in this room."
"What authorities have you to deny me my own death? Battle is vain, why should we wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side by side?"
Nico paused, wrapping his head around the old language. "Um…gimme a sec. Okay." He took a deep breath. "Authority is not given you to choose the hour of your own death, neither to take one unwilling with you." He folded his hands, satisfied.
"And you have that right?"
Nico snorted. "Not even I have that right."
"Get out of this room. I demand you leave."
Nico glared. "Look man, I did not just send an undead army to their deaths and tangle with another undead king, only to stand and watch an old man commit suicide! And take another life with him!"
"Who are you?"
"I'm...not from around here."
"Know that nothing you say can sway me."
"Nothing I can say, but what about him?"
"Who?"
The doors burst open, Boromir racing inside. "FATHER!"
Behind him Percy entered. "Nico!" Before he could even think to protest, he was trapped in a
tight hug.
Denethor recoiled, "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY SON FROM ME!"
"I am your son too, Father. I beg you, understand! Please!"
Denethor paused, the torch still in his hand.
The words tumbled out of his mouth. "Father, we love you, and we know that you...love us too." A breath. "Father, Faramir has a chance, and by doing this you will END that chance, along with your own life!"
"Told you."
"So be it."
"No, you don't understand!" Boromir took another step forward, arms held out. "Father...what has gotten into you, that you feel the only way is death?"
"Despair, Boromir. Despair and Bitterness. They have claimed me, and I will never rise." He let go of Faramir, and from his robes drew a glittering orb. "See. You may triumph in the field of battle for a day, but for the power that rises in the East, there is no victory!"
Here then was the source of this dude's madness. The seeing stone of Minas Tirith. Even as Denethor was speaking, the orb glowed, and the Steward stared transfixed at the Eye. Boromir sprang forward and batted the orb into the pile. Before his father could protest he caught him in a tight embrace.
"Listen not to the lies of the enemy any longer, my father. The Enemy twists all into darkness. The Enemy convinced you I was dead by showing you my fall in Amon Hen, but he left out my survival! Do you not see how he has lied to you by showing you a part of events?"
Denethor pushed him off, but he was breathing heavily, and tears were in his eyes.
"Can you not see how Sauron is seeking to drive you to your own death? Turn and look outwards, my father, the clouds are gone, the sun shines! And your two sons are alive." He looked deep into his father's eyes. "And they still love you."
On the pyre, Faramir emitted a low moan.
Denethor gave a low groan and fell to his knees. Tears streamed from his face. "What then can I do? My sight is dark. I know not what to do."
Boromir took his father's hand. "Stay this madness. Come out again. Rise. Your people need you, and your sons need you."
"...I have been a fool. A wretched, mad fool." His grasp loosened on the torch.
But of course, instead of falling to the ground, the torch just had to fall onto the oil-soaked wood. Boromir forcefully threw Denethor out from the pyre and pushed Faramir to the floor as the fire blazed to life. His clothes caught fire as he leapt out. Soon all three were rolling on the floor, fire all around. "Styx Styx Styx!" Nico cast his eyes about the room frantically.
"INCOMING!" Percy threw open the doors and held out his arm. Streams of water gushed from a courtyard fountain and swept into the chamber. The room darkened as the torches and fire were immediately extinguished. Percy leant against the wall, rolling his eyes. "Don't play with fire, kids."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Nico couldn't resist a smirk, as father and sons sat on the ground, faces locked in shock, dripping wet.
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Percy
Boromir's father stood tall once more, and drawing his sword he strode out of the doors, rallying the people. "WITH ME! Men of Gondor, defend your home! DRIVE THEM OUT!"
"DRIVE THEM OUT!"
The weary. flagging people of the city looked up from their posts and saw the steward, their leader standing tall and proud once more, with his son by his side. The change in mood was instantly palpable. Just like the Nazgul sowing fear wherever they soared, Denethor was surprisingly inspiring for such an old dude.
In Percy's personal opinion, Denethor was a gloomy old curmudgeon, but he was actually good at swaying public opinion. Kinda like how old Airbag's (A.K.A Zeus) moods could cause bright, cloudless days or gloomy, rainy days. Now that he wasn't spending his time sulking and moping, the people of Gondor were encouraged to keep on fighting.
The tide turned then. The orcs, expecting an easy battle were all taken by surprise by the renewed defence. In a matter of minutes the men had rallied under Denethor, forming ranks to defend their steward.
The orcs flat out ran for the gates, the men of Gondor hot at their heels.
Father and son led the charge as they completely evicted the orcs out of the city, where the battle was still raging. "Arise, Men of Gondor! Defend your homes!" Denethor cried once more, and they burst out the gates of Gondor, flying into the throng.
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Percy and Nico ran through the battlefield, trading blows and sending countless orcs to the underworld. They met Aragorn fighting alongside Boromir and Eomer, each commanding their own troops, each of them a sight to behold. They practically had the enemy on the run already, but the orcs were still tenaciously fighting back.
Aragorn spotted him, calling "Percy, Nico! Get Thalia and see if you can help us by taking down those Mumakil!" He swept his sword in an arc, killing three men where they stood.
Percy ducked under an orc blade, rewarding the orc's bravery with a decapitation. "Muma-what?"
Eomer growled. "Those beasts trampling across our armies!"
"You mean the giant elephants?"
Boromir groaned. "Whatever you call them, just go!"
They soon happened on Legolas and Gimli, just in time to see Legolas single-handedly killing the drivers atop one elephant, firing three arrows into its skull, then sliding down its trunk, his hair somehow still in perfect condition.
"Now that's just plain showing off." Nico noted.
Gimli's face reddened. "That only counts as one!"
"Percy! Nico!" Thalia raced across the field towards them. She flung her arms around both of them, and for a moment Percy could've sworn there were wet spots on his shirt. She released them, her eyes shining. "You're here!"
Nico smiled awkwardly. "Hey Thals. Sorry we're late."
She punched his shoulder. "Don't do that again."
Percy hugged her again. "Don't worry. We're here now." She smiled gratefully at him.
Nico blinked. "Hey, what happened to your spear?" Smooth. Trying to change the subject.
Thalia sighed. "Broke it. Long story. What's the plan?"
"Take down the elephants," Percy jerked his thumb at the fallen elephant next to them.
She cocked her head. "Legolas seems to be doing a pretty good job of that."
Legolas was sent flying past them by an elephant trunk.
Nico rolled his eyes. "Okay. What's the plan?"
Nico ran towards one of them, then leaped into the air and landed iron man style, punching the ground. Just as the elephant took a step forward the tremor knocked it off balance. The elephant herders screamed as the elephant fell on its side. Nico chuckled.
"Not bad, Death Boy. Try this." Thalia fired a hydra arrow upward, quickly entangling all the drivers. She yawned. "Two elephants neutralized." The elephant turned and lumbered off the battlefield.
"Thalia, I'm going to need you to give me a little boost." Percy ran alongside one elephant. And as Thalia sent a strong gust of wind his way leaped up and held on to one of the saddle straps, slicing off the other one. As Thalia sent him another boost, he sliced off the second strap, allowing the whole basket to tilt and fall, sending its drivers screaming as the entire saddle slipped off. Percy stabbed the elephant in the butt and watched in amusement as the beast went berserk, forcing the orcs to take it down themselves.
Gimli and Legolas soon caught on, and soon they were cooperating in bringing down those giant elephants. It was a hard fought battle, but they finally managed to clear the field of beasts.
"Forty!" Gimli cried.
Legolas snorted. "Forty eight."
"BY THE BEARD OF DURIN!" They ran again.
More shrieks pierced the sky. Percy glanced up. "Looks like they're not giving up."
Thalia shrugged. "Eowyn basically just killed their King. They got to be hopping mad right now."
"She KILLED one of THEM?" Nico's eyes bulged.
She winked. "I helped."
Nico eyed the black forms. "One or two of them are probably wondering where the Tartarus I am."
"Do you think they'll fly away when they see their army losing?" Thalia wondered aloud.
Percy snorted. "Do they look like they're flying away?!"
Thalia shot him a look. "So why don't we make them fly away?"
"And how do you propose to do... ah."
"But you're doing most of the work this time, Kelp Head. From the hurricane I did this morning and all my lightning, the only reason I'm still awake is that I ate half my ambrosia supply."
Percy laughed. "You got it."
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Nico scowled. "This is a horrible plan. Why do I have to be the bait?!"
"Because Thalia's scared of heights and I need to be down here. Shut up and do your part."
Nico stomped his foot, rising up on a pillar of earth. He waved his arms like a maniac. "OI! OI! BIG STUPID WRAITHS!"
His voice fell flat against the din of the battle. No one seemed to hear him. Nico facepalmed.
Percy cursed, looking around for something that can help.
"You're sure of this, yes?" An old guy in a blue robe was right next to him.
Percy yelped. "Where the TARTARUS did you come from?! Who are you?"
The guy smiled. "I am Pallando the Blue, an Istar."
"I…see."
The wizard gestured at Nico. "I believe I may be of assistance, but first, I need to ask if you're sure of this."
"It's the best plan we got."
"Alright then." Pallando pointed his staff at Nico. "Shout your message!"
"OI! WRAITHS! UNDEAD GUYS! BLACK GUYS WITH A FASCINATION FOR JEWELRY!" Nico's enhanced voice rang clear across the entire field. All heads turned towards the sea.
"HELLO! I'M NICO, AND THESE ARE MY FRIENDS THALIA AND PERCY! I BELIEVE YOU WANT TO CAPTURE US!?" He taunted. The beasts in the sky turned as one and dived at him.
"WHOAH!" Nico stamped on the pillar frantically, lowering it back. He threw a wall of earth around Percy and Thalia. "Your move, guys!"
Percy gripped Thalia's hand, and they concentrated together. Wind picked up again, blowing some hair into his face. After all that travelling with no sign of civilization, their hair had grown out, and Thalia's now shoulder length hair flapped annoyingly in his face. "You need a haircut, cuz!"
"
You need a shave and a haircut. Shut up and concentrate."
As the wraiths approached, Percy swept his hand towards them, and the sea responded once more, churning and seething at their feet. They waited until the huge beasts were almost on top of them. "NOW!"
The sea rose in a swirling, spinning column, a waterspout reaching for the sky. Thalia's winds whipped the water into a monstrous hurricane. The dragons helplessly flapped their wings as they were sucked into the vortex, spinning as winds and water buffeted them. Percy laughed.
"What do you hope to accomplish, 'godling'?"
Percy's concentration almost broke, but he managed to keep a hold on the hurricane. He gripped Thalia's hand tighter, and the wind noticeably strengthened.
"Such Power! Sauron would truly be pleased with you as His servants."
"How do you know what we are?"
More cackles. "Of course you don't know. Still the wind, quiet the waves, and you shall know the truth."
"As if."
"You postulate strength, but a single word will crumble your will."
"Yeah?"
"Annabeth."
Percy froze. Thalia gasped. The raging wind stilled in an instant. The flying, reaching swirls of water hung suspended for a heartbeat before crashing down around them. The six beasts slumped on the ground, the apparently dizzy wraiths dismounting. "A wise decision."
The water started seething again. Percy clenched his fists, all amusement gone. "What about her?"
The wraith laughed again. "Did you truly entertain hope that a spy could be sent into Mordor undetected? She is enchained before the Dark Lord, even as we speak."
Through gritted teeth, Percy snarled. "If you or Sauron lays a finger on her –"
"She is alive. You will all be kept alive. Sauron wishes all of you unharmed."
Thalia stepped up, hands gripping a spear so tight her knuckles were white. Clouds darkened and thrummed as she spoke. "How do we know this isn't a trick?"
"Surety you crave? Sauron gives none. As for proof, is not her name enough?"
"What do you want?"
"Sauron wishes your unconditional surrender and a pledge to serve him."
"That's stupid!" Thalia's eyes blazed.
"If you refuse to come with us..."
Nico frowned, his eyes showing the true meaning of a death glare. "You just said that the four of us will not be harmed."
"Oh, there are things much, much worse than death."
His voice threatened to crack. "Is she being tortured?"
"Barad-Dur will resound with screams if you displease Sauron."
Percy turned to his cousins. They were angry, the angriest they had been since they had entered this world. They had hated Sauron already, but now that he had harmed one of them. Sauron had just made it personal. Bonus points for angering the children of the big three, the most powerful demigods of their generation. His mind was set, and they could see it in his eyes.
"Percy..." Thalia sighed sadly.
Nico patted his back softly. "Do what you have to do. Come back alive, yeah?"
Percy hesitated for a moment. "What about the Minas Tirith?"
The sound of heartfelt, joyful cheering rang from the plain. Without the Ringwraiths, the men had roused themselves once more, and even as they watched, the orc host retreated, pursued by the men of Gondor. They watched as the men of Gondor and Rohan avenged themselves on their enemies. Less than a fraction of Sauron's army survived the initial assault, and the rest were fleeing in a mindless rout. Aragorn himself led the charge, Denethor and Eomer behind him. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields was won.
"I think we can take care of the rest." Nico smiled.
"And by that, you mean mopping up," Thalia corrected.
"We'll meet you on the other side, yeah?" Percy smiled grimly.
Thalia punched his shoulder softly. "Go get her."
"Your decision, godling?"
The hurricane started up again, wind once more lifting the wraiths to the skies. "IS THAT YOUR ANSWER?!" It shrieked.
"MY ANSWER IS THIS!" A fist of water knocked a wraith off its perch. A swirl of water placed him onto the beast's back. "TELL SAURON HE'S GOT MY ATTENTION! I'M ON MY WAY!"
The wraiths wheeled and flew towards the East.
"Percy, where are you going?" Gandalf cried from below. "Percy, you're not seriously considering –"
"See you in Mordor." Percy administered a sharp kick to the sides of the Beast, flicking the reins. It was much, much heavier than a Pegasus and probably much less agile too. But hey, the principles were similar. He waved to his cousins, and then directed his beast to follow the wraiths.
"I'm coming for you, Annabeth."
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Aww...doesn't this chapter just punch you in the feels? Especially that last line?
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It was real fun, and really rewarding in the end. I quite like the way it turned out. I hope you did too. Well, there's nothing much for me to say,except to thank you for sticking with me this far, and for all your favorites, reviews and follows. It's really heartwarming to know that people actually like this story.
I'm going back to suffer in college...
Oh yeah, please leave a review in the box if you enjoyed this. They encourage me so much, and who knows? Maybe they get me to write a little more each day ;)
PJCrazy out